Winter of the World

‘You know what Stanley Baldwin said about Churchill?’ Baldwin, a Conservative, had been Prime Minister before Chamberlain. ‘When Winston was born, lots of fairies swooped down on his cradle with gifts – imagination, eloquence, industry, ability – and then came a fairy who said: ‘No person has a right to so many gifts,’ picked him up, and gave him such a shake and a twist that he was denied judgement and wisdom.’

Lloyd smiled. ‘Very witty, but is it true?’

‘There’s something in it. In the last war he was responsible for the Dardanelles campaign, which was a terrible defeat for us. Now he’s pushed us into the Norwegian adventure, another failure. He’s a fine orator, but the evidence suggests he has a tendency to wishful thinking.’

Lloyd said: ‘He was right about the need to rearm in the thirties – when everyone else was against it, including the Labour Party.’

‘Churchill will be calling for rearmament in Paradise, when the lion lies down with the lamb.’

‘I think we need someone with an aggressive streak. We want a prime minister who will bark, not whimper.’

‘Well, you may get your wish. The tellers are coming back.’

The votes were announced. The Ayes had 280, the Noes 200. Chamberlain had won. There was uproar in the chamber. The Prime Minister’s supporters cheered, but others yelled at him to resign.

Lloyd was bitterly disappointed. ‘How can they want to keep him, after all that?’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Bernie as the Prime Minister left and the noise subsided. Bernie was making calculations with a pencil in the margin of the Evening News. ‘The government usually has a majority of about two hundred and forty. That’s dropped to eighty.’ He scribbled numbers, adding and subtracting. ‘Taking a rough guess at the number of MPs absent, I reckon about forty of the government’s supporters voted against Chamberlain, and another sixty abstained. That’s a terrible blow to a prime minister – a hundred of his colleagues don’t have confidence in him.’

‘But is it enough to force him to resign?’ Lloyd said impatiently.

Bernie spread his arms in a gesture of surrender. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

(vi)

Next day Lloyd, Ethel, Bernie and Billy went to Bournemouth by train.

The carriage was full of delegates from all over Britain. They all spent the entire journey discussing last night’s debate and the future of the Prime Minister, in accents ranging from the harsh chop of Glasgow to the swerve and swoop of Cockney. Once again Lloyd had no chance to raise with his mother the subject that was haunting him.

Like most delegates, they could not afford the swanky hotels on the clifftops, so they stayed in a boarding house on the outskirts. That evening the four of them went to a pub and sat in a quiet corner, and Lloyd saw his chance.

Bernie bought a round of drinks. Ethel wondered aloud what was happening to her friend Maud in Berlin: she no longer got news, for the war had ended the postal service between Germany and Britain.

Lloyd sipped his pint of beer then said firmly: ‘I’d like to know more about my real father.’

Ethel said sharply: ‘Bernie is your father.’

Evasion again! Lloyd suppressed the anger that immediately rose in him. ‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ he said. ‘And I don’t need to tell Bernie that I love him like a father, because he already knows.’

Bernie patted him on the shoulder, an awkward but genuine gesture of affection.

Lloyd made his voice insistent. ‘But I’m curious about Teddy Williams.’

Billy said: ‘We need to talk about the future, not the past – we’re at war.’

‘Exactly,’ said Lloyd. ‘So I want answers to my questions now. I’m not willing to wait, because I will be going into battle soon, and I don’t want to die in ignorance.’ He did not see how they could deny that argument.

Ethel said: ‘You know all there is to know,’ but she was not meeting his eye.

‘No, I don’t,’ he said, forcing himself to be patient. ‘Where are my other grandparents? Do I have uncles and aunts and cousins?’

‘Teddy Williams was an orphan,’ Ethel said.

‘Raised in what orphanage?’

She said irritably: ‘Why are you so stubborn?’

Lloyd allowed his voice to rise in reciprocal annoyance. ‘Because I’m like you!’

Bernie could not repress a grin. ‘That’s true, anyway.’

Lloyd was not amused. ‘What orphanage?’

‘He might have told me, but I don’t remember. In Cardiff, I think.’

Billy intervened. ‘You’re touching a sore place, now, Lloyd, boy. Drink your beer and drop the subject.’

Lloyd said angrily: ‘I’ve got a bloody sore place, too, Uncle Billy, thank you very much, and I’m fed up with lies.’

‘Now, now,’ said Bernie. ‘Let’s not have talk of lies.’

‘I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s got to be said.’ Lloyd held up a hand to stave off interruption. ‘Last time I asked, Mam told me Teddy Williams’s family came from Swansea but they moved around a lot because of his father’s job. Now she says he was raised in an orphanage in Cardiff. One of those stories is a lie – if not both.’