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

by Erik Larson

“At last I had the authority to give directions over the whole scene. I felt as if I were walking with destiny, and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial….Although impatient for the morning I slept soundly and had no need for cheering dreams. Facts are better than dreams.”

Churchill brought to No. 10 Downing Street a naked confidence that under his leadership Britain would win the war, even though any objective appraisal would have said he did not have a chance. Churchill knew that his challenge now was to make everyone else believe it, too—his

His hatred of whistling, he once said, was the only thing he had in common with Hitler.

one of Churchill’s great strengths was perspective, which gave him the ability to place discrete events into boxes, so that bad humor could in a heartbeat turn to mirth.

Churchill was particularly insistent that ministers compose memoranda with brevity and limit their length to one page or less. “It is slothful not to compress your thoughts,” he said.

“Anything that was not of immediate importance and a concern to him was of no value,”

“When he wanted something done, everything else had to be dropped.”

Often generals, ministers, and staff members would find themselves meeting with Churchill while he was in his bathtub, one of his favorite places to work.

“I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”

“But I trust you realize, Mr. President, that the voice and force of the United States may count for nothing if they are withheld too long. You may have a completely subjugated, Nazified Europe established with astonishing swiftness, and the weight may be more than we can bear.”

After sidestepping Churchill’s various requests, the president added, “The best of luck to you.”

“It would not be good historically if their requests were denied and their ruin resulted.”

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

Here, as in other speeches, Churchill demonstrated a striking trait: his knack for making people feel loftier, stronger, and, above all, more courageous.

First he applauded the success at Dunkirk, though he added a sober reminder: “Wars are not won by evacuations.”

“We shall go on to the end,” he said, in a crescendo of ferocity and confidence. “We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender—”

After Clementine once criticized his drinking, he told her, “Always remember, Clemmie, that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.”

“Love me, love my dog, and if you don’t love my dog you damn well can’t love me.”

The one universal balm for the trauma of war was tea. It was the thing that helped people cope.

The attack on London gave him the pretext he had been waiting for: moral justification for an attack on Berlin itself.

This new surge in morale had nothing to do with Churchill’s speech and everything to do with his gift for understanding how simple gestures could generate huge effects.

It was a curious bit of mass psychology—the relief of hitting back.” The next day’s Home Intelligence reports confirmed the effect. “The dominating topic of conversation today is the anti-aircraft barrage of last night. This greatly stimulated morale:

Churchill slept at 10 Downing Street. When the bombers came, much to the consternation of Clementine he climbed to the roof to watch.

Never was there such a contrast of natural splendor and human vileness.”

One young boy, asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, a fireman or pilot or such, answered: “Alive.”

Many Londoners began complaining of gastrointestinal distress, a condition called “Siren Stomach.”

A Gallup Poll found that 33 percent of the public had begun growing their own food or raising livestock.

There would be turbulence but also luxury. White-jacketed stewards served full meals on china in a dining compartment with tables, chairs, and tablecloths. At dinner men wore suits, women dresses; at night the stewards made up beds in curtained berths. Honeymooners could book a private suite in the plane’s tail and swoon at the moonglade on the sea below.

As the plane approached Bermuda, stewards closed all the shades, a security measure to keep passengers from surveying the British naval base below. Anyone who peeked was subject to a $500 fine, about $8,000 today.

“We were prepared to run the risk of failure, thinking it better to suffer with the Greeks than to make no attempt to help them.”