A few months ago, just before Christmas, I lost a friend and the Churchill world lost an erudite scholar.
Patrick Powers spent more than half a century teaching at various Catholic colleges in New England. He leaves a wife and sons, relatives and friends and colleagues, but, perhaps most of all, students. So many students, whom he engaged and provoked, challenged and inspired.
Among Patrick’s admirers, there are many more capable of writing traditional obituaries, which have already been composed and read. What I wish to say here about Patrick, I say as a friend.
I learned of Patrick’s bleak and imminent prognosis not many days after he did, on 13 December. I was planning to visit him in January and pestering him for approval of dates. Annoyingly, he was not answering. After a few days of my prodding, he responded, uncharacteristically via text, and shared his terrible news. He may be the only person I know who could tell me both that he just learned he is dying and that he is “Grateful for everything” in the same message.
We argued, Patrick and I. Constantly. With vigor, pointedly, and with the edge-of-insult directness that two intellects who love to argue and truly regard one anther can apply without worrying about offense. I loved him for it. It was our habit to announce at the beginning of a phone call whether we were constrained for time, since we both knew that phone calls would otherwise last and wend far beyond whatever pretext prompted them.
When I learned he was dying, it hit me that I had argued with my friend for the last time. I confess to a terrible selfishness; this, more than anything, truly left me feeling bereft. Later that day, I wrote to Patrick’s wife some of what I share in this post. It took me some hours to find words. This made me laugh out loud, because I knew that Patrick would have relished my being at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
Regarding faith, I like to think I had a sense of what Patrick believed. And he knew what I did not believe. If we could speak again, I would tell him that he now has the opportunity to settle the question for us. I would ask him if he might do me the courtesy of letting me know what he has found and how he finds it. He would likely tell me to find faith and stop simply looking for answers.
Here’s what I know – and what I hope he knows/knew (as the metaphysical case may be). I expect Patrick is unable to tally the number of minds he has touched and kindled, prodded and provoked. This is a worthy legacy. This, and the ripple effects, are a quietly sublime and worthy immortality, irrespective of any other.
It is no accident that the night before he died, Patrick was grading the work of his students. And, of course, in his final days, he was still refining his thoughts on exhaustively interpreting Churchill’s Savrola. We should all hope that his efforts – at last review, a prologue and epilogue that threaten to exceed the actual text – see publication.
I told Patrick’s wife, Mary Ann, that this infidel won’t insult Patrick by pretending to pray for him. But I did wish him as peaceful, swift, and merciful a journey as the difficult circumstances permitted. And this he had. I am grateful for that, as for many other things.
If we were able to joyfully, vehemently argue today, as we did so many times, I might just concede Patrick – just this one time – the last word. I might even prayerfully steeple my hands, as I once did as a boy in Catholic school, bow ever so slightly, and incline my head to him with a deferential-yet-definitely-also-sardonic smile. I’d also concede that he summed up matters between us well enough; I’m “grateful for everything” too.
Then, if he was really fishing for hagiography and praise, I’d hit his Catholic sensibilities with some Yiddish and call him a Mensch. For so he was.
Some rarefied and significant material finds our shelves here at Churchill Book Collector, but seldom something both truly singular and so absolutely compelling.
We have just finished researching and preparing to offer a Second World War album. We call it an “album” but the nature and substantive diversity of the contents really render it more of an archive. But “album” we’ll call it for simplicity’s sake, and respecting the fact that it is contained between two covers.
Between the covers are found meticulously captioned photographs and mementos of an R.A.F. officer’s work flying VIPs during the 1945 Yalta (or, if you prefer, Crimea) Conference, a number of “Secret” documents related to transport to and from the Conference, correspondence and currency signed by dozens of senior military figures and pilots, and, last but certainly not least, the dated inscription of Winston S. Churchill and signed correspondence from Churchill’s private secretary confirming that Churchill personally received, examined, and inscribed this album, and conveying Churchill’s appreciation to the album’s compiler.
Yes, that’s a long sentence, but it still utterly fails to fully encapsulate the treasure trove of material herein.
The fact that the album contains material from and about the Yalta Conference – the final meeting of Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin – is of course noteworthy. But what truly sets this album apart is its unique perspective.
The Album, Its Charm, Its Contents
This album was painstakingly compiled, decorated, and annotated by Royal Air Force Group Captain Walter J. Pickard, “the first to arrive and the last to leave the Yalta Conference. Pickard titled his album “The Story of 150 Staging Post and the Airlift to the Yalta Conference February 1945”.
Pickard spent January and February commanding a base in Russia and organizing the air side of the conferences. All British and Americans had to go to him to be dispatched. His album documents the staging, preparation, and flights which conveyed Winston Churchill, as well as other British and American delegates, to the Yalta Conference in 1945, earning Pickard the accolades of his commanders, the appreciation of his Prime Minister, and the Order of the British Empire (O.B.E.).
The album is 100 numbered pages in length, bound in leather-covered boards with a large, hand-labeled title “Saki” affixed diagonally on the front cover. Clearly, the album served its purpose; it was looked at, handled not only by Churchill, but presumably by others over the decades. The boards show wear to extremities and the leather-covered spine is gone. The boards and contents nonetheless remain tenuously connected, the mull and overall binding structure quite fragile but still holding. The binding has done its job of preserving the treasure trove within; the contents are generally clean, only lightly toned with scattered stains and occasional creasing, and appear complete, as originally compiled.
The contents of the album include the following:
A September 9, 1947 typed letter signed by Winston Churchill’s Private Secretary addressed to Pickard acknowledging that Pickard sent the album to Churchill, expressing Churchill’s thanks, and confirming that Churchill inscribed the album, which was returned with the letter.
Winston Churchill’s inscription in three lines inked on the album’s front free endpaper recto: “Inscribed by | Winston S. Churchill | 1947”. Below and to the right of Churchill’s signature is that of Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick William Bowhill, who signed as “C in C. Transport Command.”
Pickard’s title page executed in elaborate, multi-hued calligraphy: “The Story of 150 Staging Post and the Airlift to the Yalta Conference February 1945.”
A hand-annotated, color map of Crimea.
Personnel list of those under the command of Group Captain W. J. Pickard.
10 typed pages, marked “SECRET”, comprising Pickard’s detailed “REPORT ON OPERATION ‘ARGONAUT’”, dated “26th February, 1945” and signed by Pickard.
Five letters of appreciation from senior military commanders, including letters signed by U.S. Brigadier General James S. Stowell and General Lord Hastings Lionel “Pug” Ismay.
“TOP SECRET CYPHER MESSAGE” of “24th JANUARY” from “150 STAGING POST” to “TRANSPORT COMMAND” that, according to Pickard’s elaborate calligraphy annotation, “nearly stopped the Conference”.
50 photographs from the conference, 13 of them featuring Churchill, Roosevelt, or both, the balance featuring a mix of senior figures, including British Foreign Secretary Eden, U.S. Ambassador Harriman, U.S. Army U.S. Fleet Admiral King, Chief of Staff Marshall, Soviet Foreign Secretary Molotov, U.S. Secretary of State Stettinius, British Field Marshal “Jumbo” Wilson, as well as Pickard himself, various senior military and diplomatic figures, and support personnel.
Seven currency notes, including Soviet, American, and Greek, five of them signed by a bevy of people, including pilots.
A “TOP SECRET – MOST URGENT” typed “1st February 1945” letter signed by Air Commodore Whitney Straight to Group Captain Pickard conveying the “Flight Plan” and “Passenger Lists”, as well as the fighter escort of P-38s and other details, for the transport of VIPs to the Yalta Conference.
The “Friday, February 16th, 1945” farewell dinner menu, signed on the blank verso by the members of Pickard’s command.
Pickard’s original Yalta Conference passes – both British Delegation and Soviet.
An original, colored, full-length, dated and signed 1945 caricature drawing of “Group Captain Pickard” in uniform, accompanied by a clipping from The Evening News about Pickard and his role at Yalta.
A contemporary Observer clipping that specifically refers to this, Pickard’s “remarkable autograph book…”
A “24th January” 1945 typed and hand-annotated “TOP SECRET CYPHER MESSAGE” from Pickard regarding critical communication and transport difficulties preceding the Conference.
“Saki” in bold green and red on the album’s front cover refers to the Crimean airbase, built by the Soviets in the 1930s, that served as the landing point for the aircraft bearing Churchill and Roosevelt to the Conference. The base has remained in operation since, most recently by Russia following the the Russian annexation of Crimea.
Beginning with the title page, the album has the look and feel of both military precision and treasured story book. Annotations and embellishments are both meticulous and multi-hued. Finely ruled colored pencil borders surround nearly every document and photograph. Section titles feature colorful, manifestly careful calligraphy. Myriad captions are typed, affixed, and then bordered in perfectly linear colored pencil. Every item seems quite specifically and intentionally placed in the album. Annotations show both diligence and almost boyish enthusiasm. The net effect of all the colorful flare and military exactitude leaves no doubt that the compiler was a pilot. The album is the adult manifestation of a seasoned commander and pilot recording his actual experience of every lad’s dream to fly, to dare, and to overcome.
Pickard organized his album into five titled sections: Operation Argonaut, detailing the official report of Pickard’s successful mission; Appreciations, containing typed signed letters congratulating Pickard on his mission; This Signal Nearly Stopped the Conference, showcasing a top secret message from Pickard expressing concern over the signal equipment functionality and the highly dangerous flying conditions between Saki and Yalta, the latter of which almost caused Pickard to crash on his first attempt; Some Actual Kodak Impressions, photographs of the staging post in Saki, members of Pickard’s squadron, and of Churchill and Roosevelt. Pickard loosely organized the remaining content by theme, such as two pages of signed short snorters, top secret cypher messages, Pickard’s original British and Soviet Yalta passes, and newspaper clippings about Pickard.
The Yalta Conference
In early February 1945, British Prime Minister Winston S. Churchill, U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and Soviet Premier Josef Stalin met at the Yalta conference in Crimea. The meeting turned out to be their last; 1945 witnessed the final months of the war in Europe, of FDR’s life, and of Churchill’s wartime premiership.
The Yalta Conference, also known as The Crimea Conference, was held at the Livadia Palace near Yalta in the Crimea from 4-11 February 1945. This conference proved a geopolitically defining event of the 20th Century, fundamentally shaping the postwar world and drawing the battle lines of the long Cold War to come. A conventional perspective is that Roosevelt – terminally ill and trusting – viewed massive concessions to Stalin as a hopeful path to lasting peace. By contrast, Churchill deeply distrusted Stalin’s character and motivations, but had little power to resist the tide of Roosevelt’s rash concessions and groundless optimism.
Several images in this album seem to visually assert this interpretation; they feature a sickly and thin FDR, draped in a black cape and seated in an open car, including one in which Churchill stands beside FDR as the latter speaks, both men’s heads turned toward one another, but with the serious countenance of each man facing down into the space between them.
Perhaps better informing this simplified characterization of Yalta, “The central, ever-present fact lying behind everything was that Stalin had an army of more than six million men in eastern Europe, including by then in every region of Poland. The Western Allies thought they needed Russia to declare war against Japan once the German war was over, as they could not be certain that the atomic bomb – which for obvious reasons was not mentioned – actually worked.”
Another constraining imperative was that “Churchill and Roosevelt wanted the Russians to engage meaningfully in the United Nations”. In sum, “There was idealism at Yalta as well as Realpolitik, but there was also lethal decision-making” and, for better and worse, the “Big Three… remade the world in eight days”. There continue to be many ways to regard the competing imperatives and unsavory compromises of Yalta. One might choose to draw inferences from the fact that, “on the 11th Churchill suddenly decided, while giving no reason, that he wanted to leave… immediately, despite being scheduled to leave the next day. He gave his secretarial and household staff only one hour to pack everything up and be off”. (Roberts, Walking With Destiny, pp.859-863)
“They Are Trying To Shoot Us Down”
In order for there to be a conference, the participants first had to get there. Hence his album, Group Captain Pickard, and the Wing Commanders, Squadron Leaders, and Flight Lieutenants under his command. Air transport to the Conference was both a major logistical undertaking and deadly serious business.
Documents in Pickard’s album testify that, under his command, Operation “Argonaut” was tasked with providing “Staging Post facilities at Saki in the Crimea, for aircraft conveying British and American delegates for the three power conference at Yalta”. This effort involved 252 aircraft of at least nine different types – 120 of the aircraft British and 132 American. Additionally, fighter escorts were provided “to accompany the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary’s aircraft between Malta/Saki and Saki/Athens.” Obstacles chronicled included severe weather and heavy snowfall, mechanical challenges that saw engine repairs to both Churchill’s and Roosevelt’s aircraft, and communications.
Apparently, there was also the risk of friendly fire. Included in Pickard’s album are the “Flight Regulations for Allied aircraft to Saki aerodrome” supplied by the Soviet Command. Beside this document, in his album Pickard chronicled an “Incident!!” and outlined section 4 of the Regulations in red: “All aircraft infringing these regulations or flying without clearance, or flying off course or outside the corridors and not observing recognition procedures will be considered hostile aircraft and are liable to be forced down or even destroyed should they not obey the orders of the fighters.” According to the album, Pickard’s and other Allied aircraft came close to being shot down by Russian fighters. ‘“HARPHAM [Wing Commander T. A. S. Harpham], they are trying to shoot us down” cried the Group Captain.’” Prior to arrival at Saki airbase, Pickard and his command were not apprised of “prohibited areas” and his aircraft were engaged by Russian fighters. As Pickard notes in his album, “the warning came afterwards!”
In the words of a 25 February 1945 Air Ministry letter in this album marked “SECRET”, “The establishment of this Staging Post under what were clearly very difficult conditions in a place where, in spite of the goodwill of the Russians, facilities were limited and the climate severe, the satisfactory handling of the difficult administrative problems which are always met when operating in Russia, and the reception and dispatch without mishap of a very large number of aircraft both British and American constitute a feat of which your Command may justly feel proud, and which reflect the greatest credit on Group Captain Pickard and those serving under him at Saki.”
Group Captain Walter J. Pickard
Forty years old at the time of his Saki Command, Walter J. Pickard (b. 1905) was married and had an eight-year-old son. Pickard was “tall, fair, with a quiet persistence of character and a keen sense of humour.” He had first joined the R.A.F. in 1925 and served for five years. In 1930, Pickard began working for the “’Ye Mecca’” company, “whose cafes provide the City [of London] with no inconsiderable part of its refreshment needs.” Pickard rose to become an assistant managing director before the Second World War began. On the outbreak of the Second World War, Pickard became a flying instructor at the first R.A.F. school in Canada. Thereafter, he returned to head the Lyneham, Wiltshire, R.A.F. Transport Command Station, where he served until being tasked with the most important of his war tasks – organizing air transport to and from the Yalta Conference, including enhancing and commanding the staging post in Saki on the Crimea peninsula, through which were conveyed British and American leaders, delegates, and staff to the Yalta conference. For this service, Pickard received numerous accolades – many recorded in this album and including the gratitude of his Prime Minister – and was awarded an OBE, becoming an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Like so many others, after the war, “he [returned] to the business life which he led before the war.”
It Runs in the Family
Walter Pickard’s sister was Lady Hardwicke (Helena Pickard, 1900-1959), the wife of Sir Cedric Hardwicke, both of them stage and screen actors. But the strongest thread in Pickard’s family was flight. Walter Pickard’s brother, celebrated bomber pilot Percy Charles “Pick” Pickard (1915-1944), was the first R.A.F. officer to be awarded the DSO three times during the war. He was known for his role in the 1941 R.A.F. documentary film Target for To-night, as the pilot of the bomber “F is for Freddie”. He was less fortunate in his off-screen fame; Percy Pickard was the commander of Operation Jericho, intended to liberate French Resistance fighters held in Amiens prison, located in occupied France – an operation which claimed his life.
After his film appearance made him a public figure in England, Percy focused on real, off-screen heroics; he flew paratroopers to the Bruneval Raid and commanded the squadron that flew SOE agents in and out of occupied France. His luck ran out on 18 February 1944, while he was leading a group of de Havilland Mosquito bombers on a raid of the Amiens prison to destroy the walls, freeing the prisoners inside, some of whom were reportedly scheduled for execution the next day.
It was a notably daring raid, planned for midday when the guards were taking their lunch. The pilots had the unwieldy task of blowing holes through the prison walls, leaving an escape route. The mission was conspicuously risky for both the pilots and prisoners. The pilots flew so low that their bomber wings skimmed the treetops lining the road to the prison.
Operation Jericho was ultimately successful, measured by its intentions to free those held captive by means of penetrating the prison walls. A number of prisoners were killed by the bombing, but hundreds escaped. Moreover, Resistance members who escaped were able to expose a large number of Gestapo agents and informers. Unfortunately for Pickard, his Mosquito was engaged by a German Focke-Wolf 190 fighter and his aircraft’s tail was shot off. Both he and his navigator, Alan Boadley, died in the ensuing crash. The two had flown more than 100 sorties together over four and a half years. The raid was sufficiently secret that Percy Pickard was not formally announced as killed in action until September 1944, only months before his brother, Walter, would take command at Saki.
So Many Signatures
Amid the wealth of correspondence, documents, mementos, images, and ephemera in this album, it is easy to overlook that it is positively riddled with signatures.
Of course, the standout signature in the album is that of Winston S. Churchill (1874-1965), perhaps the preeminent statesman of his age, whose political career lasted two-thirds of a century, saw him occupy Cabinet office during each of the first six decades of the twentieth century and serve twice as Prime Minister of Great Britain (1940-1945 and 1951-1955), and who became synonymous with Britain’s celebrated perseverance during the Second World War.
On the same page as Churchill’s dated inscription, below and to the right, is the signature of Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick William Bowhill (1880-1960), whose last R.A.F. assignment was Commander-in-Chief Air Transport Command
Identified autograph signatures on correspondence include those of:
Nina Edith “Jo” Sturdee, later Countess of Onslow (1922-2006), “one of the most significant of Churchill’s personal secretaries… served Churchill during the war years of 1942 to 1945, after which she became his main personal secretary from 1945 to 1953.”
The Album’s compiler, Group Captain Walter J. Pickard, in his role Commanding No. 150 Staging Post, R.A.F. Transport Command
U.S. Army Brigadier General James S. Stowell (1900-1978), then Commanding General North African Division, Air Transport Command, later a Major-General in the U.S. Air Force
General Lord Hastings Lionel “Pug” Ismay, 1st Baron Ismay (1887-1965), wartime Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff Committee, professional head of the army, and Churchill’s foremost wartime military advisor.
Air Marshal Sir Francis Joseph Fressanges (1902-1975), then serving as Air Officer commanding 47 Group, and who would eventually rise to Assistant Chief of the Air Staff.
Air Commodore Whitney Willard Straight (1912-1979), who would later become Managing Director and CEO of British Overseas Airways Corporation and Deputy Chairman of Rolls-Royce.
Identified signatures on the verso of the 16 February 1945 Farewell Dinner menu for Pickard’s staff include:
Wing Commander R. F. Bulstrode, Flight Lieutenant W. C. Painter, Squadron Leader D. Shehan, Flying Officer W. C. Over, Squadron Leader A. Leitch, Flying Officer H. G. Melors, S. Baxter, Flying Officer W. Rose, Flight Lieutenant A. R. Matheson, and Squadron Leader E. W. Minto.
A short word on Short Snorters. There are five signed banknotes in the album – “Short Snorters” in the parlance of the time. A Short Snorter was a banknote signed by people with whom you were flying. The tradition was allegedly started by Alaska bush pilots. However it may have begun, it certainly spread widely through military and commercial aviation, becoming particularly prevalent in military circles during the Second World War. “Snort” is derived from the slang for a stiff drink and “Short” is less than a full glass. During the Second World War, Short Snorters became a record of those with whom you’d served and also a drinking game and status symbol. If you could not produce your short snorter on request, you owed a drink. Eventually the signatures sought by pilots on Short Snorters became those of V.I.P.s, not just fellow flyers and colleagues.
This album includes five Short Snorters, on Roubles (1, 5, and 10 denominations), a “5 Piastre note”, and a U.S. Dollar (Series 1935 A), together featuring dozens of signatures, many of which we cannot readily decipher or identify, as well as various annotations, dates, and inscriptions. Among these dozens of names, a number are identifiable as United States Army Air Force personnel with ranks as high as Colonel. Many appear to be R.A.F. officers of various ranks. Intriguingly, there are also a scattering of female names – a “Millicent”, a “Joan”, and a “May” among them. There are also several 1945 dates, and a few place names (“Athens” repeated among them). Intriguingly, at the head of a number of signatures on two of the bills (The “5 Piastre note” and the U.S. Dollar) is the same inscription and apparent claim by one signer, a Col. Dick Phenig U.S.A.A.F. The inscription on both notes reads: “Short Snorter | original [indecipherable] 8-45 | started 1927 | Dick Phenig”. This claim that “Colonel Dick Phenig U.S.A.T.C (in peace-time Vice-President of United Air Lines)” is “the originator of the Short Snorter Club” is stated in one of Pickard’s typed captions.
Still More to Discover…
We have had the privilege of spending quite some time examining this artifact and sussing some of its history, doubtless there is more to discover. We look forward to placing it with a new owner who will continue to explore and preserve the story preserved in this album.
Albums and archives? No, we don’t mean vinyl records and stodgy old buildings full of dusty whatnot.
Here’s what we mean. “Album” is fairly straightforward – a group of photographic prints collected in the form of a book. “Archive” is a broader term – and typically a more variegated collection of material. The Society of American Archivists says that “the word archives… refers to the permanently valuable records – such as letters, reports, accounts, minute books, draft and final manuscripts, and photographs – of people, businesses, and government… They are the documentary evidence of past events… the facts we use to interpret and understand history.” Put more simply, an archive is a coherent collection of varied material that offers us a window on the person, place, or time it frames.
Why the explanation of terms? Because we have managed to gather a large and diverse treasure trove of albums and archives related to Sir Winston S. Churchill.
Albums and archives are compelling. They are often unique in content and presentation. They offer us perspective and insight different than the edited, printed, and polished history of books. And they can also be tantalizingly intriguing to figure out; they often come to us shorn of the context and raison d’etre explaining when and why they were created and what they are trying to show us.
The material we have accumulated is truly diverse in time and content. Our collection of albums and archives spans Churchill’s engagement in the Boer War as a young cavalry officer and war correspondent to the State Funeral honoring the end of his life. This span is difficult to overstate, extending from colonial conflicts fought on horseback at the end of Queen Victoria’s reign well into the age of nuclear weapons and human exploration of space.
In our hoard of albums and archives there are, of course, photograph collections – taken and collected by journalists, soldiers and sailors, staff, and various spectators. There are also fascinating collections of non-photograph material.
There are archives of members of Churchill’s staff, including his Chief Clerk at 10 Downing Street during the Second World War. There is a remarkable memento album of one of the military pilots at the Yalta Conference.
There is an incredible set of 24 large, hard-backed promotional posters from the original publication of The Second World War, still preserved in the gigantic wooden crate in which they were shipped by the publisher, Life Magazine. There are images and items that may exist nowhere else and would otherwise be lost to history. And, of course, within some of these albums and archives are found the inscriptions and signatures of Churchill.
The unexpected challenge we’ve faced is how best to present this material to you.
This time of year typically finds us putting the finishing touches on a print catalogue. Our catalogues are the result of diligent, disciplined, and even positively covetous accumulation; we pick a theme, amass material – sometimes for several years – and then pour it all into an annual catalogue.
This year, something different. Because, like Churchill, this collection of material is larger than life. And we are having some trouble squeezing all these albums and archives we’ve been hoarding between the covers of a catalogue!
So, instead, we will begin releasing this material in early November in small groups of half a dozen or fewer items at a time.
As always, those on our contact list will receive first notification of when we list these items, and first opportunity to own them. Stay tuned!
As an American, I’m keenly aware I am American only because a bunch of fractious, chafing British colonists chose to rebel against monarchical British rule – a bloody, protracted struggle that took two wars spanning four decades to resolve. Thereafter, it took another two centuries for Great Britain and the United States to settle into what we now call the “Special Relationship”.
Yesterday, the text I received repeatedly from my fellow Americans was: “The Queen is dead.” THE Queen. Here in my mature democratic republic (well, OK, sometimes mature), the British monarch merited a singular article. “The”, implying a personal, cultural, and political presence that transcended social, institutional, and, frankly, even logical barriers.
Much ink will spill in memory of Queen Elizabeth II. Anything I have to say will pale in both eloquence and significance. So I’m going to let Winston Churchill speak for me.
The 70-year reign of Queen Elizabeth II saw 15 British Prime Ministers. Her first was Winston S. Churchill. Perhaps the coincidence of the beginning of her long reign in the twilight of his own long moment on the world stage was unexpected, but the fact that Elizabeth would prove exceptional was anything but unexpected.
While shooting with Elizabeth’s father, King George V, in September 1928, Churchill remarked in a letter to his wife that the King’s granddaughter, Elizabeth – then two and a half – was, “a character. She has an air of authority and reflectiveness astonishing in an infant.” (Personal Letters of Winston and Clementine Churchill, p. 328) Of course he could not guess that the young princess, then third in line for the throne, would become his Queen and he her first Prime Minister. But Churchill continued to see early signs of promise in Elizabeth. During Churchill’s wartime premiership “In January 1944 he had proposed that when she became eighteen that April she should be given the title Elizabeth, Princess of Wales.”
When Elizabeth became Queen in February 1952, Churchill was less than four months into his second and final premiership. On the day of the Coronation Churchill gave a speech introducing the Royal Broadcast, “Here, at the summit of our world-wide community, is the lady who we respect because she is our Queen and whom we love because she is herself.” This was not mere dutiful hyperbole. “Churchill established an early and excellent rapport with the new monarch, with whom, as all his entourage immediately spotted, he became besotted.” (Roberts, Walking With Destiny, p.929-930)
The regard was mutual. It was Queen Elizabeth II who invested Churchill as a Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. The night before Churchill resigned his premiership, on 4 April 1955, Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip paid Churchill an unprecedented honor, dining with him at 10 Downing Street. Churchill’s after-dinner speech that evening was his last as Prime Minister. (Gilbert, VIII, p.1120) The notes from which he spoke read now as both commencement and valediction. “Your Royal Highness… I was a Cavalry Subaltern in the Reign of Your Majesty’s Great-great-Grandmother, Queen Victoria…. Madam, I should like to express the deep and lively sense of gratitude which we and all your peoples feel to you… for all the help and inspiration we receive in our daily lives… Never have we needed it more than in the anxious and darkling age through wh we are passing and which we hope to help the world to pass. Never have the august duties wh fall upon the British Monarchy been discharged with more devotion than in the brilliant opening of Your Majesty’s reign. We thank God… and vow ourselves anew to the sacred causes and wise and kindly way of life of wh Your Majesty is the young, gleaming champion.“
This Elizabeth, in whom so early Churchill recognized remarkable qualities, became “The Queen” to whom Churchill spoke these words more than 67 years ago. Her long life and reign will be celebrated, her loss mourned, and her like seems unlikely to be seen again.
When I hear contemporary politicians invoke Churchill, I usually feel like I’m watching King Louie, the Orangutan who wants to be a man, sing “I wanna be like you” in the 1967 Disney version of The Jungle Book.
“You!” sings King Louie,
“I wanna be like you
I wanna talk like you
Walk like you, too”
Yeah. Not so much.
IF you happen to draw a comparison between King Louis and another loud, big-headed, oddly orange, wanna-be-king with impulse control issues and destructive inclinations, well, that’s up to you. I refer you to another Disney movie. Cinderella. If the shoe fits… But I digress.
“I’m tired of monkeyin’ around!”
Sure, there’s a lot of ways in which most of those who self-flatteringly invoke Churchill fall short. Intelligence. Eloquence, Historical perspective. Foresight. Principle. Conviction. Courage. General capability. But, to me, none of these are the biggest shortcomings of the chorus of King Louie/wannabe Churchills. In my book, here’s the most important and most regrettable thing the Louies typically lack – a presumption of shared purpose and the primacy of decency.
Churchill could be fiercely partisan and relentless in pursuit of a policy or cause. And he was a true combatant by nature, whether on the battlefield, at the rostrum, on the backbenches, in Cabinet, leading a Government, or leading the Opposition. But Churchill did not confuse mere opponents with actual enemies. He regarded sincerity of convictions that he did not share. He was able to pursue cooperation in greater cause over petty conflict and momentary aggrandization. He was able to disagree without demonizing.
And, critically, he was not the only one. We were reminded of this recently by “Manny” Shinwell. Or, more accurately, by – of course – a book inscribed to him.
The book in question (foundHERE) is Great Contemporaries, Churchill’s famous collection of character sketches, first published in 1937. At the time Churchill had been out of power and out of favor, frequently at odds with both his own party leadership and prevailing public sentiment.
But, in April 1943, Churchill was wartime Prime Minister. This finely bound presentation copy is a wartime reprint inscribed to “one of Churchill’s most persistent Labour Party critics.” Inked in blue in five lines in blue on the blank recto preceding the half title, the inscription reads “To | Emanuel Shinwell | from | Winston S. Churchill | 1943 April.”
A barbed gift?
In April 1943, the British were on the cusp of their first decisive Second World War victory over Hitler’s Germany, and by mid-May would declare “One Continent Redeemed” when Axis forces were expelled from North Africa. In the House of Commons, Emanuel Shinwell, the Member for Seaham Harbour, was apparently feeling less than celebratory, leaning into his role as a leading Parliamentary critic of Churchill’s Government.
Let’s not sugar-coat it. Churchill and Shinwell disagreed strongly, frequently, and were often unstinting in their criticism. A review of the House of Commons records for April 1943 – the month Churchill inscribed this book for Shinwell – indicates that in that month alone Shinwell personally questioned Churchill directly in the House regarding U-Boat losses, wartime suspension of elections, and compensation for ministers. That same month, Shinwell also questioned various ministers of Churchill’s Government regarding post-war planning, property rented by the Royal Air Force, Armed forces, civilian, and old age pensions, operations in Burma, and pay for Army chaplains. And that was just April. (Hansard)
We cannot know precisely what precipitated the gift of this inscribed volume, but it does seem plausible that Churchill may have presented this particular title – Great Contemporaries – with a sense of barbed irony to one of his most vigorous and persistent backbench critics. Another irony is that Churchill might have eventually chosen to include Shinwell’s own profile in this book.
Two pugnacious personalities
First elected to Parliament in 1922, Emanuel Shinwell, Baron Shinwell (1884-1986) was – not unlike Churchill himself – “a major personality over sixty years” and “always a pugnacious member of parliament” as a vocal and influential member of the Labour Party. (ODNB)
In 1935, two years before Great Contemporaries was first published, Shinwell had turned on and defeated former Labour Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald. Not unlike Churchill, Shinwell would spend his long career at turns vexing and serving – sometimes both at once – the leadership of his own party. Like Churchill, he was guided by a strong sense of what was right, and what was not, and of greater priorities than politics or political party.
Pugnacity was literal as well as electoral for Shinwell, who in 1938 actually struck a Conservative member of Parliament – a former naval boxing champion. During the Second World War, “Shinwell was a vigorous, though always patriotic, critic of Winston Churchill’s coalition government.” (ODNB) Hence it is plausible to sense some cheek and irony in Churchill inscribing Great Contemporaries to Shinwell in 1943, even as Shinwell was regularly assailing Churchill and his Government in the House of Commons.
Kinship even in fierce opposition
But however fierce and occasionally sharp their political battles, in the placement of country before party Shinwell and Churchill shared a kinship. During the Normandy invasion in early June 1944, Shinwell wrote a note to Churchill: “I should like you to know that at this time, when the thoughts of all of us are turned on grave events, I and others, whose views do not always accord with Government policy, are with you and your colleagues to a man.” (Letter of 8 June 1944, quoted in Gilbert, Vol. VII, p.800)
As for Shinwell’s criticism, Churchill had ample opportunity to return the favor. Churchill’s government fell to Labour in the General Election of July 1945. Shinwell served in Prime Minister Clement Attlee’s Government, eventually becoming Secretary of State for War in October 1947 and Minister of Defence in February 1950. Shinwell thereby fell squarely in Churchill’s own crosshairs, given Churchill’s extensive experience as wartime leader, architect of the Second World War, and stints as First Lord of the Admiralty (in two different world wars), Minister of Munitions, Secretary of State for War, Secretary of State for Air, and Minister of Defence (ultimately thrice).
You can kick me in the Shin(well) and I’ll still respect you…
Shinwell left office after Churchill’s Conservatives regained a majority in late October 1951, returning Churchill to the premiership. On 6 December 1951, Churchill asked the indulgence of the House in order to speak in praise of Shinwell: “We have our party battles and bitterness… but I have always felt and have always testified.. to the Right Honourable Gentleman’s sterling patriotism and to the fact that his heart is in the right place where the life and strength of our country are concerned… I am so glad to be able to say tonight… that the spirit which has animated the Right Honourable Gentleman in the main discharge of his great duties was one which has, in peace as well as in war, added to the strength and security of our country.”
David Hunt, Churchill’s Private Secretary who had accompanied the Prime Minister to the Commons, recalled that “The House was stirred” and in the car on the way back to Number 10 Churchill reflected on his comments. … there’s a lot of good in Shinwell and I’m glad I took the chance of saying something about him.” Churchill’s fellow Conservatives were not so glad – “For the next week and more, letters of complaint continued to arrive… Churchill was robustly impenitent, and the more that people protested the more certain he felt that he had spoken well.” (Gilbert, Vol. VIII, pp.667-8)
The two men continued to disagree with frequency and vigor throughout Churchill’s second and final premiership. But in July of 1964, the day after Churchill went to the House of Commons for the last time, Shinwell was among a small group of House leaders and elders who called on Churchill at his Hyde Park Gate home to present him with a Resolution of the House of Commons conveying “unbounded admiration and gratitude for his services to Parliament, to the nation and to the world…” (Gilbert, Vol. VIII, p.1354-4)
Shinwell’s own career was far from over, and justly recognized in his own twilight. By the time of his hundredth birthday, which was celebrated in the House of Lords in 1984, Shinwell was “a legendary figure.” Perhaps even, had Churchill had opportunity to retrospectively revise and expand his book, a “Great Contemporary”.
“What I desire is man’s red fire”
Alas, greatness is elusive, and certainly cannot be conferred by appropriation and false equivalence.
“I wanna be a man…
What I desire is man’s red fire
To make my dream come true…
Give me the power of man’s red flower
So I can be like you.”
So sings The Jungle Book’s King Louie (voiced by the incomparable Louis Prima). To make himself more of a “man”, and to enforce his dominion over his unruly kingdom of monkeys, this primate populist wants fire. Poor Louie does not understand that power without purpose and some sense of propriety will not make a man of an ape.
Neither does aping Churchill’s stature without regarding his character.
It is, and has always been, a proverbial jungle out there. There’s nothing new about politics being a rough and tumble affair. There’s nothing special – now or in the past – about vigorous disagreement, scheming and maneuvering, and even saying profoundly unflattering things about politicians in a different camp than your own. Likewise, there is nothing new about self-aggrandizing unworthies trying to elevate themselves by association with their betters.
No one appointed me keeper of Churchill’s reputation. I am not empowered to adjudicate invocation of Churchill’s life and legacy. But there is something cartoonishly clumsy and not the least bit entertaining about watching vaunting pretenders try to rally the rabble to them by invoking Churchill. It would seem more fitting – and better serve the public good that so animated both Manny Shinwell and Winston Churchill – if Churchill were invoked less for flagrant self-justification and more for courageous conciliation and cooperation.
One hundred years ago this Sunday, then-Secretary of State for the Colonies Winston S. Churchill accepted the resignation of his chief Arab affairs advisor T. E. Lawrence “of Arabia”. This ended the collaboration of two titanic twentieth century personalities in securing post-First World War peace and political stability in the Middle East. It did not end their friendship, which lasted the rest of Lawrence’s life.
We are positively delighted, not to mention privileged, to offer for sale Churchill’s 17 July 1922 letter to Lawrence. The letter is accompanied by the original franked envelope addressed and initialed in Churchill’s hand. Both the letter and envelope are archivally framed with a limited and numbered intaglio drawing of Lawrence and Churchill by Curtis Hooper, signed and numbered by Churchill’s daughter, Sarah. Details about this item and the opportunity to purchase are found HERE.
But the longer story of the letter and underpinning collaboration and friendship is told in this blog post.
An unlikely basis for friendship
Churchill and Lawrence first met in the spring of 1919, after the First World War, which had profoundly tested and shaped the fortunes of both men.
Winston S. Churchill (1874-1965) had begun the war as First Lord of the Admiralty, a Cabinet position and the political head of the British Royal Navy. There he had led a significant and successful effort to modernize and ready the fleet for the war. But May 1915 saw Churchill scapegoated for failure in the Dardanelles and slaughter at Gallipoli and forced from his Cabinet position at the Admiralty. By November 1915 Churchill was serving at the Front as a lieutenant-colonel leading a battalion in the trenches. Before war’s end, Churchill was exonerated by the Dardanelles Commission and rejoined the Government, first as Minister of Munitions, then as Secretary of State for War and Air. When Churchill was appointed Colonial Secretary in early 1921, he had substantially recovered from both his political and corporeal near-death experiences in the First World War.
Thomas Edward Lawrence (1888-1935) arguably never recovered from the war. Lawrence’s remarkable odyssey as instigator, organizer, hero, and tragic figure of the Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War transformed him from an eccentric junior intelligence officer into “Lawrence of Arabia.” He spent the rest of his famously short life struggling to reconcile, reject, share, and repress this indelible experience.
Lawrence was catapulted to fame while acting (and arguably exceeding his role) as British liaison tasked with coalescing, coordinating, and supporting Arab revolt against Ottoman rule. In early 1918, Lawrence was captured in photographs and on film by American writer and promoter Lowell Thomas. The glamorous and romantic image of Lawrence became a transatlantic sensation and permanently alloyed with the man and his accomplishments. Lawrence, who never rose above lieutenant-colonel, vaulted all notions of military rank and restraint, propelled into legend. The fame thrust upon him became a hair shirt that Lawrence never shed.
These are the proximate arcs of the two men who met for the first time in the spring of 1919, during the Paris Peace Conference following the First World War. As Churchill recalled many years later, Lawrence’s exploits were brought to the attention of Churchill. Hence the then-Minister for War and Air invited Lawrence to lunch – where he upbraided Lawrence for not accepting decorations from the King. Lawrence received Churchill’s rebukes with grace, and Churchill later learned that he had misunderstood the incident. It proved a suitably unlikely basis for an equally unlikely friendship.
Together at the Colonial Office
In early 1921, Winston Churchill accepted his eighth Cabinet appointment, becoming Colonial Secretary. Churchill’s brief included setting up a new Middle East Department. Swiftly after accepting the post, Churchill recruited T. E. Lawrence as a chief adviser on Arabian affairs and convened the Cairo Conference to settle borders of the Middle East. Together, Churchill and Lawrence rectified some of Lawrence’s unrealized wartime promises and aspirations by setting Lawrence’s First World War friend and comrade Feisal on the throne of Iraq, and making another comrade, Abdullah, Emir of Transjordan (and then, eventually, Jordan’s king). Of the effort, Lawrence would later write that the settlement was “the big achievement of my life: of which the war was a preparation.” (1927 letter to Robert Graves) During the year following the Cairo Conference, Lawrence continued to act as Churchill’s essential liaison and emissary to the Middle East, repeatedly dispatched thence to meet with key leaders, often alone, sometimes in secret and with plenipotentiary authority.
Nonetheless, “his mentality was that of a crusading politician rather than a civil servant.” That, combined with other complex factors, including “disinclination to follow a conventional career”, his authorial ambitions, and the tormented feelings he had about his sense of integrity and public adulation, limited Lawrence’s time in the Colonial Office. (Wilson, pp. 665-8) As Churchill himself later observed, “Lawrence was one of those beings whose pace of life was faster and more intense than the ordinary… He was not in complete harmony with the normal.” (Great Contemporaries) Lawrence had promised Churchill a year and given him just over that. Churchill granted Lawrence three months leave beginning 1 March 1922 to afford Lawrence time to work on his Seven Pillars of Wisdom manuscript. Lawrence never really returned.
The end of their collaboration
Churchill finally allowed Lawrence to leave the payroll of the Colonial Office at the beginning of July 1922.
The permanent Under-Secretary of Churchill’s new Middle East Department was Sir John Evelyn Shuckburgh (1877-1953), previously a senior official at the India Office. So it was that Lawrence, officially an adviser on Arabian affairs, addressed his 4 July 1922 letter of resignation to Shuckburgh:
My Dear Shuckburgh,
It seems to me that the time has come when I can fairly offer my resignation from the Middle East Department. You will remember that I was an emergency appointment, made because Mr. Churchill meant to introduce changes in our policy, and because he thought that my help would be useful during the expected stormy period.
Well, that was eighteen months ago; but since we ‘changed direction’, we have not had, I think, a British casualty in Palestine or Arabia or the Arab provinces of Irak. Political questions there are still, of course, and wide open; there always will be, but their expression and conduct has been growing steadily more constitutional. For long there has not been an outbreak of any kind; and while it would be foolish to seem too hopeful, yet at the same time I think there is no present prospect of trouble.
As I said, I think of myself as an emergency appointment. There are many other things I want to do and I came unwillingly in the first place. While things run along the present settled and routine lines I see no justification for the Department’s continuing my employment – and little for me to do if it is continued. So if Mr. Churchill permits, I shall be very glad to leave so prosperous a ship. I need hardly say that I am always at his disposal if ever there is a crisis, or in any job, small or big, for which he can convince me that I am necessary.”
Although the letter was clearly pitched to Churchill, despite the formality of being addressed to Shuckburgh, Lawrence concluded:
“I have to thank you personally for the very pleasant conditions under which I have worked in the Department itself.
T. E. Lawrence”
Churchill replied to Lawrence directly on 17 July 1922 in the letter we are privileged to offer.
The autograph letter signed by Churchill fills the entire 8 x 10 inch (20.3 x 25.4 cm) front panel of a single, folded sheet of Churchill’s “Colonial Office. Downing Street, S.W.1.” stationery with the Colonial Office embossed seal at the top center. Dated “July 17, 1922” with the salutation “My dear Lawrence”, the letter reads: “I very much regret your decision to quit our small group in the Middle East Department of the Colonial Office. Your help in all matters and your guidance in many has been invaluable to me & to your colleagues. I should have been glad if you would have stayed with us longer. I hope you are not unduly sanguine in your belief that our difficulties are largely surmounted. Still, I feel I can count upon you at any time where a need may arise, & in the meanwhile I am glad to know that you will accept at least the honorary position of Advisor on Arabian Affairs.” The two-line valediction is “With every good wish | yours sincerely” followed by Churchill’s signature, “Winston S. Churchill“. At the lower left corner is written “Lt Colonel T. E. Lawrence.”
Accompanying the letter is the original, 8.875 x 3.75 inch (22.5 x 9.5 cm) franked envelope in which it was sent. The envelope flap features the same embossed Colonial Office seal as the stationery. In four lines, the letter is addressed: “Lt Colonel T. E. Lawrence | 14 Barton St | Westminster | S.W.1.” – the address of the attic room which was Lawrence’s London base for several years. Churchill initialed the lower left of the envelope “WSC”. The red ink “PAID” stamp at the upper right indicates that the letter was posted at “8:15 PM” on “JUL 18 1922”.
Lawrence’s official biographer, Jeremy Wilson, records that both letters were published in the 20 July 1922 edition of the Morning Post.
Lawrence’s expressed desire to depart from the Colonial Office with Churchill’s willing approval seems genuine. Lawrence wrote to a friend on 23 July “I liked Winston so much, and have such respect for him that I was determined to leave only with his good-will – and he took a long time to persuade!” As testified by Churchill’s letter of 17 July, Lawrence secured Churchill’s goodwill, along with his respect and appreciation. And four days after Churchill wrote his letter to Lawrence accepting his resignation, on 21 July Churchill also agreed to Lawrence’s desire to enlist in the Royal Air Force ranks. (Wilson, p.674)
After the Colonial Office
The end of Lawrence’s political partnership with Churchill marked the deliberate end of Lawrence’s brief, meteoric, and dramatic presence on the geopolitical stage. His remaining years would be spent on literary aspirations, in tortured efforts to encapsulate his First World War experience, in the feigned obscurity of his assumed names and enlistment in the Royal Air Force, on his diverse friendships, and, of course, on his motorcycles.
Though he was already two decades into his political career, Churchill’s own presence on the geopolitical stage would long continue to ramify and resonate, not reaching its storied apex until long after Lawrence’s death.
An enduring association
Their association remained warm for the rest of Lawrence’s life.
When Lawrence gifted his friend, Churchill, one of the precious few, magnificent copies of the Subscribers’ Edition of Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Lawrence addressed his presentation letter to “Winston Churchill, who made a happy ending to this show.” Churchill wrote to Lawrence with a level of effusive praise and enthusiasm hardly befitting a sober and seasoned statesman:
“I cannot tell you how thrilled I was to read it… Having gone on a three days’ visit to Paris, I never left my apartment except for meals… and lay all day and most of the night cuddling your bulky tome. The impression it produced was overpowering… The copy you gave me, with its inscription, is in every sense one of my most valuable possessions.” (letter of 16 May 1927)
Churchill had begun his career as an itinerant cavalry officer and war correspondent, eager to prove his mettle both on the battlefield and in print. And though he chose politics as his lifelong vocation, Churchill was, within his sphere, conspicuously headstrong and unorthodox. Hence it should be little surprise that Churchill so regarded such a remarkably literate, conspicuously gifted, iconoclastic, intrepid, and heroic paladin.
What is perhaps a bit surprising is that Churchill’s admiration was reciprocated by Lawrence. When Lawrence’s dear friends, Bernard and Charlotte Shaw, deprecated Churchill, Lawrence admonished them to be “kind to Winston”, telling them “I know that he is a bogey-man for all the left wing of the House of Commons… give him time, and the atmosphere to think, and he takes as gently broad a view of subjects as ordinary human kind can expect… his Colonial Administrations did more solid good to our native clients than all the good wishes of their loudest advocates… Winston in office does a great deal: and he is as fond of his friends as they are of him.” (Letter to Charlotte Shaw, 27 May 1927)
Diffident, ascetic, and distinctly uncomfortable in the limelight, devoid of political ambition, masochistic, and defined as much by personal demons as by any public persona, Lawrence was a different creature than Churchill. They differed in upbringing, temperament, education, and even stature – physical, social, and political. And yet the two men seemed to recognize in one another fundamentally kindred sensibilities and an unusually stubborn commitment to the integrity of their internal, often unconventional, sense of direction. For all the differences between them, these two men shared even greater differences from those around them. Perhaps that allowed them to appreciate one another.
Churchill, famously a politician, was also a prolific and celebrated writer, a soldier and journalist, an ardent social reformer, an icon of the Conservative Party, a staunch defender of British imperialism, a pioneering internationalist, a bellicose adversary, a fair-minded peacemaker, a painter, a pilot, and even – though a poor one – a bricklayer.
In short, Churchill was capable of recognizing a polymath in Lawrence. Certainly, Lawrence became best known for his First World War role in Arabia and for the famous expression of this time and experience in his magnum opus, Seven Pillars of Wisdom. But Lawrence’s literary and intellectual reach far exceeded the world and words of Seven Pillars.
Churchill may have said it best: “Lawrence had a full measure of the versatility of genius. He had one of those master keys which unlock the doors of many kinds of treasure-houses. He was a savant as well as a soldier. He was an archaeologist as well as a man of action. He was an accomplished scholar as well as an Arab partisan. He was a mechanic as well as a philosopher. His background of somber experience and reflection only seemed to set forth more brightly the charm of and gaiety of his companionship, and the generous majesty of his nature.” (Great Contemporaries)
Despite the fact that his span of years was only half that of Churchill, Lawrence’s published works span crusader castles and ancient Greek translation to technical manuals on high-speed boats. His published volumes of correspondence reveal his engagement with an incredibly diverse array of foremost intellectual and political luminaries of the early twentieth century.
When Lawrence died, Churchill was among those at the small ceremony at St Nicholas’ Church in Moreton on 21 May 1935, and was reportedly moved to tears.
In his 1937 posthumous profile of Lawrence in Great Contemporaries, Churchill wrote “I always felt that he was a man who held himself ready for a new call. While Lawrence lived one always felt – I certainly felt strongly – that some overpowering need would draw him from the modest path he chose to tread and set him once again in full action at the centre of memorable events.” Five years after Lawrence died, on 10 May 1940, Winston Churchill became wartime Prime Minister of beleaguered Britain. Had he lived, Lawrence would have been 51 years old. It is difficult to believe that his friend and former boss would not have called Lawrence back to service, invoking the phrase from his letter of 17 July 1922: “…I feel I can count upon you at any time when a need may arise…”
Recently we had the privilege of acquiring a compelling artifact from the first political campaign Winston S. Churchill contested as a Liberal in January 1906. This extravagantly rare leaflet publication – potentially unique thus – is the first edition, only printing, of Winston S. Churchill’s Address to the Electors of North-West Manchester, published on 1 January 1906 specifically in preparation for his campaign.
Of the three copies known to us, this is the only privately-held copy of the four-page leaflet. But this is the sole known to retain the canvassing leaf insertion inviting “the undersigned” to declare intention “to support the candidature of Mr. WINSTON S. CHURCHILL at the forthcoming General Election.”
The single-sheet, perforated leaflet insert is clearly meant to accompany Churchill’s message. The upper two thirds is a message from the local Liberal committee introducing Churchill as a “Free Trade and Liberal Candidate”, urging support for him, and stating “Mr. Churchill’s views… will be found in the Accompanying address… To simplify the work of the canvassers, will you please fill up the annexed slip and send it by first post to the Central Committee Rooms.” The bottom portion is perforated, meant for detachment, signature, and submittal in declaration of support for Churchill’s candidacy. The solicited voter is asked to append their signature and address to the statement “Gentlemen, I, the undersigned, intend to support the Candidature of Mr. WINSTON S. CHURCHILL at the forthcoming General Election.” Both the leaflet and insert state “Printed and published by Wm. Hough & Sons” of “Swan Court, Market Street, Manchester.”
In the first days of 1906, Winston Churchill was 31 years old. Already he had been in Parliament for half a decade. Yet already he was on his second political party.
On 31 May, 1904, Churchill left his father’s Conservative Party, crossing the aisle to become a Liberal, beginning a dynamic chapter in his political career that saw him champion progressive causes and branded a traitor to his class. That year, the Liberal candidate for North-West Manchester died and the MLF noted that “it is hoped that in the immediate future another name may be put before the North-West Division.” It would be Winston S. Churchill.
On 2 January 1906 he published his two-volume biography of his father. Immediately thereafter, he campaigned for eight days in North-West Manchester, hoping to win his first election as a Liberal. Churchill’s party defection was on the minds of the voters. His father’s history was much on his own mind. “…I have changed my Party… I am proud of it. When I think of all… Lord Randolph Churchill gave to… the Conservative Party and the ungrateful way he was treated… I am delighted that circumstances have enabled me to break with them…”
Churchill arrived at Manchester on 4 January 1906 to campaign; this election address had already been published on 1 January. “It was a sober and realistic statement of the Government case and of the general failure of the Tories in the previous Parliament. His strongest arguments turned on the case for Free Trade”. (RS, Vol. II, pp.114-5)
The leaflet consists of a single sheet folded once vertically to form four panels. The upper left of the front panel features the same iconic image of a stern and earnest young Churchill later featured on the dust jacket for Liberalism and the Social Problem (1909) and the wraps edition of The People’s Rights (1910). To the right of Churchill’s image is the statement “NORTH-WEST MANCHESTER | PARLIAMENTARY ELECTION, 1906.” and the titular “TO THE ELECTORS OF NORTH-WEST MANCHESTER”. Churchill’s address, with bolded sub-headings, fills the lower half of the front panel, two inner panels, and two-thirds of the rear panel, terminating in his printed name and “Colonial Office, New Year’s Day, 1906.”
It was a distinctly pointed political document, full of the vehemence of a strident, confident young Churchill, hyperbolic on the hustings: “Few Parliaments in our modern experience have been less deserving of respect… It has spent public money with careless, unexampled profusion. It has hurried to place retrograde legislaton upon the Statute Book. It has consented to every abrogation or infringement of liberty, constitutional or personal, at home or abroad, that was suggested to it. Under its hand the procedure of the House of Commons has been mutilated, and respect for Parliamentary institutions has been notably and notoriously diminished. Jealous of nothing save the leisure of its members, it has bartered Parliamentary rights for longer holidays and easier hours of session, and shirked urgent public business at the promptings of personal indolence… grudged the freedom of speech, conspired against the freedom of trade, parodied the freedom and the dignity of labour… enabled a Minister to maintain in office himself and a small clique of favourites – mostly incompetent – and to rule in default of national esteem and in defiance of popular authority for upwards of two whole years… It is wonderful that a Ministry with so ill a record, and such doubtful and divided aims should fear to present themselves at the bar of public judgment.”
The bold subheadings encapsulate many of the issues that led Churchill to cross the aisle – among them “Free Trade”, “Liberal Policy”, “A Degenerate Parliament”, “The Tory Record”, and “A Fair Chance”.
Manchester had been a Conservative Party stronghold for nearly fifty years. Nonetheless, on 13 January 1906 Churchill, at the age of 31, won the traditionally Conservative seat with 5,639 votes out of a total of 10,037 votes cast with 89 percent of the electorate voting. “His efforts… helped… other Liberal candidates to overturn Conservative seats” in what became a Liberal landslide.
Churchill’s Address was published the same day in The Times and the Manchester Guardian, but this is the only stand-alone publication.
This conspicuously political leaflet and canvassing leaf is a tangible reminder of the bare-knuckle electoral underpinnings of a life spent in politics. Churchill’s political career would last nearly two thirds of a century, see him occupy Cabinet office during each of the first six decades of the twentieth century, carry him twice to the premiership and, further still, into the annals of history as a preeminent statesman. All of that depended on the support of the voters that he needed to place and keep him in office, and who he was already learning to cultivate in this 116-year-old piece of political ephemera that has – remarkably -both survived and made its way to us.
Gary Stiles has done something really cool. Who’s Gary? Well… Gary is a physician, medical researcher, corporate executive, and student of history. But most relevant to this post, Gary is a lifelong collector of Winston S. Churchill’s memorabilia and writings. And Gary is the author of the soon-to-be published Churchill in Punch. His book is the first ever effort to definitively catalogue, describe, and contextualize all of the many Punch cartoons featuring Churchill.
Why is that a big deal? After all, Churchill was cartooned in myriad publications. What’s so special about Punch? Well, Punch was… Punch. “It is hard to escape the legacy of Punch Magazine. From 1841 to 2002, the magazine cast a satirical eye on life in Britain. It charted the interests, concerns and frustratons of the country and, today, it stands as an invaluable resource for social historians… Punch combined humour, illustration and political debate with a fresh and radical audacity… In the Western world, Punch played a significant role in the development of satire. In the field of illustration, it practically revolutionised it.” (Illustration Chronicles: How Punch Magazine Changed Everything)
Punch or The London Charivari began featuring Churchill cartoons in 1900, when his political career was just beginning. That political career would last two thirds of a century, see Churchill occupy Cabinet office during each of the first six decades of the twentieth century, carry him twice to the premiership and, further still, into the annals of history as a preeminent statesman. And throughout that time, Punch satirized Churchill in cartoons – more than 600 of them, the work of more than 50 different artists. So in both a visually compelling and historical sense, a chronicle of Churchill’s appearances in Punch is a chronicle of Churchill himself – how he waxed and waned, strove and succeeded and failed and strove again, all in the public eye, during an incredible span of decades reaching from the end of Queen Victoria’s reign into the beginning of that of Queen Elizabeth II.
Churchill said “cartoons are the regular food on which the grown-up children of to-day are fed and nourished. On these very often they form their views of public men and public affairs; on these very often they vote… But how… would you like to be cartooned yourself? How would you like to feel that millions of people saw you always in the most ridiculous situations, or portrayed as every kind of wretched animal, or with a nose on your face like a wart, when really your nose is quite a serviceable and presentable member? How would you like to feel that millions of people think of you like that? – that shocking object, that contemptible being, that wretched tatterdemalion, a proper target of public hatred and derision! Fancy having that process going on every week, often every day, over the whole of your life… But it is not so bad as you would expect. Just as eels are supposed to get used to skinning, so politicians get used to being caricatured. In fact, by a strange trait in human nature they even get to like it. If we must confess it, they are quite offended and downcast when the cartoons stop…” (Thoughts and Adventures)
Churchill and Punch was a near-perfect relationship between satirists and subject. That Churchill was distinctive in both persona and physical appearance helped make him easy to caricature. To his persona and appearance he added myriad additional satirical temptations, not just props, like his cigars, siren suits, V-sign, and hats, but also a variety of ancillary avocations and vocations, like polo, painting, brick-laying, and writing. All these were occasionally exalted and most often skewered as well.
Some Punch cartoons were laudatory, some critical, and many humorous, like the man himself. Nearly always, Churchill was distinctly recognizable, a larger-than-life character whose presence caricature served only to magnify.
Now, thanks to Gary, we can see the complete, coherent arc of that character throughout his long public life as portrayed through the myriad cartoons of multiple generations of Punch artists.
Our appreciation and congratulations to Gary for this splendid effort!
Churchill in Punch will be published by Unicorn Publishing Group. We are informed by the publisher that the UK publication date is 9 June, with U.S. publication following on 5 September. Copies may be pre-ordered.
An archaeologist’s job is to rescue the past from obscurity. So there is irony in seeing an archaeologist forgotten. That’s what nearly happened to Ann Axtell Morris (1900-1945) – one of America’s first female field archaeologists.
We have a natural affinity to archaeologists. As an Antiquarian bookseller, it’s our job to pay attention to sometimes obscure yet worthy parts of our past, and commend that past to the attention of others. Yet – with some chagrin – we confess that we did not know about Ann until a stroke of luck brought her life to our attention a few weeks ago.
That stroke of luck was in the form of a first edition of Robert Frost’s third published book of poems, featuring a charmingly creative and warm inscription to Ann. It turns out that this inscription also involves the man who was the real-life archaeologist said to have inspired George Lucas’s and Steven Spielberg’s legendary big-screen archaeologist, Indiana Jones. But most interesting to us, this inscribed copy caused us to dig into the history of an extraordinary woman who merits remembrance, and whose own inspiration to film had to wait quite a bit longer.
Ann received her bachelor’s degree from Smith College in 1922. She clearly acquired this book while a student. In two lines in black ink Axtell wrote on the front free endpaper “Ann Axtell | Smith College 1920”. Frost later conformed his own inscription to Axtell’s, writing above in four lines in dark blue “Robert Frost | to | Mrs. Earl Morris | née”. A further two lines below Ann’s own, Frost wrote “with admiration we won’t | go into here”. Well, in this blog post we finally go into it.
After graduation, Ann Axtel undertook field training with the American School of Prehistoric Research in France and then entered professional life as an archaeologist. The field was in a golden age; archaeology “had become more scientific and professionalized in the late 19th century.” There were considerable discoveries waiting to be made, an increasingly professional basis for making them, and strong public interest in what was being discovered. In this exciting climate, 1923 Ann married fellow archaeologist Earl Halstead Morris (1889-1956).
Fortunately, Ann and Earl shared professional passion. Beginning during their honeymoon, they excavated and explored ancient Native American sites in Arizona. While their work would take them to sites spanning Mesa Verde in Colorado to Aztec Ruins in New Mexico to a Mayan city in eastern Mexico, Arizona arguably yielded their most important contributions to archaeology. “Together, Ann and Earl wrote many studies on ancient lifeways within the American Southwest and Mexico.” Ann also wrote two popular books on her own, including Digging in the Southwest, “which upended conventional thinking about the Anasazi people”. Over the course of her career, “Ann developed methods to document architecture, petroglyphs and pictographs, and landscapes. Ann’s colorful drawings captured information that then-popular black-and-white photography would have lost.”
Certainly, all three individuals present in this inscription – Robert Frost, Earl Morris, and Ann Axtell Morris – labored for their opportunities.
Frost had repeated flirtations with penury before he published his first book of poetry at the age of 40. And that only after relocating his family to England (“the place to be poor and to write poems”). In 1912 – the same year Robert Frost began his sojourn in England – Earl Morris dropped out of college to join an excavation in Guatemala.
By the time of his death, at age 66, Earl Morris had received numerous awards, including the Norlin Medal, an honorary doctorate, and the Alfred Vincent Kidder medal. And, as a notional inspiration for Indiana Jones, Earl Morris may have catalyzed legend and helped father the most famous of all archaeologists. By the time he died at age 88, Frost had won the Pulitzer prize for poetry four times, spent the final decade and a half of his life as “the most highly esteemed American poet of the twentieth century” with a host of academic and civic honors to his credit, and become the first poet to read in the program of a U.S. presidential inauguration.
Ann pursued her own path with similar passion and achievement, but with quite different obstacles. When she entered the field, archaeology was offering tremendous insights to the world and exciting opportunities for archaeologists… as long as you were not a woman. In archaeology, “women faced discrimination in employment, publication, and fieldwork.” As a result, Ann “often worked without pay and was passed over for opportunities that were instead offered to her husband.” In 1924, when she first arrived in Mexico for an excavation of a Mayan city in cooperation with the Carnegie Institute, Ann was told by the lead archaeologist to babysit his six-year-old daughter and act as hostess to visiting guests. Ann had to convince him to allow her to excavate a small, overlooked temple. Initially relegated to nanny status, Ann would eventually spend four seasons copying the Temple of the Warrior murals, and her final illustrations were published in Temple of the Warriors at Chichén Itzá, Yucatan, coauthored with Earl and a French painter, Jean Charlot.
Co-authorship was not just naturally collaboration, but often a prudent necessity. “Despite her accomplishments,” Ann’s work “was often buried in papers that bore her husband’s name or went entirely uncredited.” Ann wrote two books herself for which she intended to have a popular audience “in order to educate the public about the field. The publishers, however, marketed the books to older children because they did not recognize that women could write literature about archaeology for adults.”
There is poetic irony in the fact that it was the work of Ann’s life to foster greater understanding of the lives and culture of ancient Native Americans and Indigenous Mexicans whose complex societies had been overlooked.
There is further ironic poetry in the fact that this particular work is inscribed by Frost to Ann. Frost’s first decisively American publication is inscribed to one of America’s first female field archaeologists. The book and the inscription limn very different experiences for Robert Frost and Ann Axtell Morris. Mountain Interval was Frost’s third book of poetry, but the first for which the U.S. edition takes precedence; both A Boy’s Will and North of Boston – Frost’s first two books – were first published in Great Britain. When Mountain Interval was published, Frost was newly returned to the U.S. from England and establishing the reputation that would give him that rarest of experiences for a poet – to be recognized and even revered in his own lifetime. The year that Mountain Interval was published, Frost was made Phi Beta Kappa poet at Harvard – from which he had dropped out years before – and elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters. In Mountain Interval, Frost’s singular voice is clearly heard in some of his finest poems, such as “Birches,” “Out, Out–,” “The Hill Wife,” and “An Old Man’s Winter Night.” The volume opens with the poem “The Road Not Taken.” We can only imagine how a young woman aspiring to become an archaeologist read Frost’s words:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Ann’s voice has been harder to hear. Ann’s alma mater, where she was an undergraduate when she acquired this book, recognized her with an honorary masters degree in 1935. Unfortunately, her life was shortened by illness and alcoholism. She died ten years later at age 45. We can only speculate what role her professional marginalization played in cutting short her life, her career, and her contributions to her field. Nonetheless, recognition of Ann’s legacy has grown in recent years and “She is widely credited with helping open the field to other women and inspiring generations of readers with a passion for archaeology.”
To the point, one of Ann’s daughters entered her field, becoming both an archaeologist and professor. A film biography about Ann Axtell Morris titled Canyon Del Muerto premiers in 2022. Notably, it is the first time the Navajo Nation allowed a film crew into the magnificent red gorge known as Canyon del Muerto and the film was produced in close cooperation with descendants of the same Navajo with whom Ann worked nearly a century ago.
We will offer this book for sale later this year.
References: American National Biography, National Geographic, The Smithsonian, The U.S. National Park Service
Most times I try to put words to a notion, it turns out that a poet has already done it, and done it better. So it is with Robert Frost today, just a few days from the official start of spring here in the northern hemisphere.
… Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
… Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
… Run the rattling pages o’er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.
(from Robert Frost’s “To the Thawing Wind”)
On the cusp of spring, we’ve been heeding Mr. Frost. Recent weeks have often found us as busy out of the library as in. Hence we have some (mostly) non-bookish news to relate.
First, Everett Spencer Shelley
This week saw the birth of Paul’s son. We are thrilled to report that Everett, Mom, and Dad are out of the hospital and home. Those of you accustomed to email responses from Paul at virtually all hours of the day may need to temper expectations for a while. Everett, it seems, is having a go at being a nocturnal mammal. Paul, alas, is not. In fact, he is so sleep-deprived he’s even lost his reflexive gift for terrible puns.
Some of you may note Everett’s middle name and wonder if that is a nod to Mr. Churchill. Hmmm…
In the meantime, while Paul was preparing to become a father again, Marc was in Richmond, Virginia, competing in U.S.A. Fencing’s North America Cup as a Veteran (a respectful term for “old guy”). This is one of three national fencing tournaments held in the U.S. each year. Think thousands of people dressed in white trying to stab one another in a convention center.
There were months of training, daily workouts, diet adjustments, and all rest you’d expect from an aging athlete. Despite this, Marc made a poor showing the first day of competition. In classic “adapt and overcome” spirit, he tried a different strategy for the night between the first and second competitions. This cunningly crafted plan involved three different bars, late night (well, technically early morning) fried chicken, brief, inebriated sleep, and then being up at 6:00 AM to compete. Apparently, that’s the winning recipe, since he made the podium at a national tournament for the first time.
If you’re ever in Richmond, may we recommend The Jefferson Hotel bar. Strikingly beautiful place. Strikingly good bartenders. Suffice it to say that given the indulgences of the night preceding and the podium the following morning, the conventional training regimen is officially under review…
But for now, spectating is on the agenda. Track season just started and Marc’s 15-year-old daughter has eyes on the hurdles. A league champ as a freshman last year, Dessa is aiming higher this year. If you happen to be a hurdle, don’t get in the way…
If there is a bookish flag being carried, it is by CBC’s own Aaron Styza. Last year, Aaron founded, edited, and oversaw publication of the inaugural issue of Thuya Poetry Review. For those of you unfamiliar, it is a huge effort to launch a credible literary review. There’s not only the considerable setup and logistics, but the necessity of securing a ludicrous abundance of submissions, all to be carefully read, and from which to cull a select few for publication. All this Aaron and his team did. Click HERE to check it the Thuya Poetry Review website.
Note that Thuya’s submission period for the forthcoming Issue #2 recently opened…
For those of you sharing a hemisphere with us, our best wishes for coming spring. In Marc’s final minutes in Richmond, just before he caught a ride to the airport, he caught this Cherry tree just beginning to bloom – quite a beautiful herald of the impending season. Spring is a headlong thing, full of urgency, with no patience for hesitation. May the heady thaw and rush of spring find you likewise, making haste in pursuit of your own passions.