Honor & Damnation

"You have been so faithful, and so loving to us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you have been so hearty in counseling of us that we shall never forget your favor towards us."

--John Bunyan

Beneath the mighty oak roof that Richard II built, on the spot where Charles I was condemned to the scaffold and Cromwell proclaimed Lord Protector, where Britain's dead kings are mourned and its new ones feted, Sir Winston Churchill stood last week and received his country's heartfelt tributes on his 80th birthday. Before him, vast Westminster Hall (hard by the House of Commons) was packed with top-hatted peers and tiaraed peeresses, members of Parliament and their wives, from closest allies to such old antagonists as Aneurin Bevan.

Leader of the Opposition Clement Attlee, in a graceful speech, declared he had come "not to bury Caesar but to praise him. Caesar indeed--for you have not only carried on war but have written your own commentary." Churchill rose to echoing cheers and stood in the wave of applause with his hands splayed across his paunch, beaming over his spectacles. He inspected carefully the ornate book, inscribed with Bunyan's quotation and signed by nearly all MPs. "This is to me the most memorable public occasion of my life," said the man who has known many memorable occasions. "No one has ever received a similar mark of honor before. There has not been anything like it in British history."

It Was Wonderful? Alternately solemn and impish, Churchill commented ambiguously ("A most remarkable piece of modern art") on the portrait of himself painted by Graham Sutherland (see ART). He was loftily deprecatory of his wartime role. "It was the nation and the race dwelling all round the globe that had the lion's heart. I had the luck to be called upon to give the roar." He concluded gravely: "I am now nearing the end of my journey. I hope I still have some services to render." When he sat down, his wife leaned across to pat his hand affectionately. Then she took his arm, and together they passed through the applauding crowd, stopping once as Churchill, a tear glistening on his cheek, shook hands with Lord Salisbury and said: "Thank you so much, Bobbety. It was wonderful."

The whole day Churchill moved amid cheers, gifts and high praise. He called on the Queen (who opened Parliament, then departed to leave the stage to her first minister), was toasted in champagne and received two pairs of antique silver coasters. That night he fell asleep to the singing of "For he's a Jolly Good Fellow" from the crowds who had clustered all day outside 10 Downing Street.

"Do Your Duty." But next day, Sir Winston appeared in Commons in a much different mood. Laborite Emanuel Shinwell apologized for bringing up unpleasant subjects so soon ("Quite right. Do your duty," said Churchill), but Shinwell wanted details of the telegram Churchill had declared he sent to Field Marshal Montgomery in 1945 ordering Monty to stack surrendered German arms so that German troops might use them if necessary against the advancing Russians. Churchill was serious, pale and penitent. Shaking his head remorsefully, he confessed that when he made the statement (TIME, Dec. 6), he was "under the rooted impression" that the telegram had been published in his war memoirs. As for the text: "Indeed, I should be very glad to give that to the House--when I find it . . . Indeed, it may be . . . that it was never sent at all. At any rate, it has not been traced in the official records though a search of the utmost extent has been made." Consequently, said Churchill, "I express my regrets to the House for what I said last week." But he refused to apologize for his intent. "Certainly, it was in my mind. I am not making any concealment of that."

"Stupid Blunder." Attlee seemed content to accept this apology. But more vociferous Labor voices were not: they were ready to turn the previous day's hail into a farewell. "An unbelievably stupid blunder," cried the Laborite Daily Herald. "It leaves Sir Winston no leg to stand on as a negotiator for peace." Other Opposition papers talked of Churchill's "failing powers." At week's end the attack took on real political weight. Ex-Foreign Secretary Herbert Morrison, a moderate who ranks second only to Attlee in the Labor hierarchy, declared bluntly: "If the faux pas was due to a lapse of memory, it is for the Prime Minister himself to consider whether the public interest will be served by his continuing to carry the burdens of his high office."

Other Laborites were disgusted by the demands for Churchill's head. If the Socialists want to get rid of Churchill, said Labor Peer Viscount Stansgate, "I think it's time some cleaner way was found."

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