He praised the bravery of the troops, the medics, the civilians. But while his words were thick with respect and gratitude, he was very clear on one point: “We must be very careful not to assign to this deliverance the attributes of a victory. Wars are not won by evacuations.”
He sang the praises of the RAF: “May it not also be that the cause of civilisation itself will be defended by the skill and devotion of a few thousand airmen? There never has been, I suppose, in all the world, in all the history of war, such an opportunity for youth. The Knights of the Round Table, the Crusaders, all fall back into the past: not only distant but prosaic; these young men, going forth every morn to guard their native land and all that we stand for, holding in their hands these instruments of colossal and shattering power, of whom it may be said that ‘When every morn brought forth a noble chance,’ ‘And every chance brought forth a noble knight,’ deserve our gratitude, as do all of the brave men who, in so many ways and on so many occasions, are ready, and continue ready, to give life and all for their native land.”
Throughout the House, people began to stir, shouting, “Hear, hear!” in agreement.
Maggie looked over at John, whose face was grim. She nudged David. “Is he all right?” she whispered.
David shrugged, then whispered back, “A friend of his in the RAF was shot down over France. He sometimes feels that’s where he should be, instead of Whitehall.”
“Oh,” Maggie said. Well. That explains a lot.
“We are told that Herr Hitler has a plan for invading the British Isles. This has often been thought of before. When Napoléon lay at Boulogne for a year with his flat-bottomed boats and his Grand Army, he was told by someone, ‘There are bitter weeds in England.’ There are certainly a great many more of them since the British Expeditionary Force returned.”
There was a low rumble of laughter that traveled through the House, when minutes before it might have seemed impossible that anyone should ever laugh again. Maggie knew how the P.M. had written and rewritten those lines, and yet his delivery was so effortless. Quintessential British humor, Maggie thought, telling Herr Hitler to bugger off.
The speech turned somber again. As the Prime Minister continued, Maggie could feel the temperature of the crowd changing. The crowd was utterly still, hanging on his every word, breathing as one. Every last man and woman would march with him, fight with him—they were ready to lie down and die with him.
For there was no question of where he would be—the front line.
“Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end.”
He didn’t need his notes anymore. He flung them down and looked into the crowd, meeting their eyes. “We will go on to the end, 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.”
Throughout the House, and doubtlessly all over England, chins raised and hearts beat faster. Maggie felt a shiver run through her, a shiver of fear, but somehow a powerful wave of ancient strength and honor as well.
The P.M.’s voice rose and rumbled with emotion. “… 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!”
The crowd roared its approval. Several M.P.s were in tears. Even Halifax and Kennedy had the grace to look moved. The majesty and grandeur of the English language, in the hands and on the lips of Winston Churchill, had power that even the threat of bombs couldn’t subdue. Maggie’s lips silently formed the words along with the Prime Minister, so many times had she typed them.
“… And even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.”
At the very back of the House, one M.P. rose from his seat and, slowly but loudly, began to clap. One by one, more people began to stand and join in, until finally the entire chamber shook with strength and power. Maggie, David, and John stood and clapped until their hands were sore and raw. Maggie’s heart was bursting with pride, and there was a lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow.
When, finally, the Prime Minister had left and people began to file out, Maggie turned to David. “You were right,” she said. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me get this job.”