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Articles
Reporting Churchill: “They’re an Awful Bunch of Wolves…”
- By RON CYNEWULF ROBBINS
- | October 31, 2023
- Category: Churchill's Character Explore
Reporting continued…
Recently herein, Dave Turrell wrote of the Parliamentary journalist Sir Henry Lucy, who covered Lord Randolph and Winston Churchill into the 1920s. This reminded us of Ron Robbins’ account of reporting Winston Churchill in 1945-50 for the Observer and BBC. Note: Mr. Robbins mentions the journalist Tom Lucy. We are unable to establish a connection between Tom and Sir Henry, who married in 1873 but died without issue.
A journalist remembers
Churchill’s second home was the House of Commons. There he used his oratorical genius to challenge prewar appeasers of Nazi Germany. There he pleaded the cause of liberty with memorable eloquence and steadfast conviction. At crucial moments during the rise of Hitler, influential politicians loudly derided him and spurned his warnings. They lived to regret their folly, their reputations aground on the shoals of history.
Long before daily broadcasts of Parliamentary proceedings, we Press Gallery members were vital communicators of Churchill’s message beyond Westminster. A journalist himself early in his career, he had an instinctive understanding of our role. His easy rapport with us never faltered. He sometimes reminded us that he too knew what reporting was like, especially its unrelenting deadlines.
I joined the Press Gallery shortly after completing my war service and saw Churchill for the first time. He was sitting hunched and somehow menacing as he listened to Labour Prime Minister Clement Attlee, his successor following the 1945 election.
Many unfledged Labour members of Parliament crowded the benches. Because of their inexperience, they frequently interrupted Churchill’s speeches. Just as often, they found themselves impaled by his sharp wit. His devastating sallies were duly reported. Attlee hastened to control the damage. He passed word to the new MPs to be more discriminating with their interjections.
Only one member came close to being a worthy opponent for Churchill in repartee: Aneurin “Nye” Bevan. A veteran MP born in a Welsh mining valley, he had been appointed Minister of Health by Attlee. He and Churchill nursed a hidden respect for one another, but this didn’t prevent their mutual taunts. Bevan called Churchill a plutocrat oppressor of the workers; Churchill referred to Bevan as the “Minister of Disease.”
Standing up for Lucy
Churchill would never have rallied to the support of Bevan, but I did see him help another Welshman. Tom Lucy of the Press Association was mild-mannered and conscientious. He had poor eyesight and wore thick-lensed spectacles. Churchill often acknowledged him with a nod and a smile in the corridors. Alas Lucy fell afoul of the only Communist MP, Willie Gallacher. Devoid of charm and courtesy, Gallacher had a reputation as an amateur boxer. By comparison, Lucy seemed designed more for chess than fisticuffs.
MPs and reporters shared a tea-room cafeteria, where we lined up carrying trays. Lucy was in the queue when Gallacher churlishly elbowed him aside. Lucy staggered and nearly fell. Tom said nothing, but later accosted him: “I want a word with you.’’ The Communist adopted a combative stance. Lucy removed his spectacles and floored him with a lightning hook to the jaw. I thought Tom had chosen a rather spectacular way of ending his Gallery career.
Gallacher registered a complaint in the Commons. Deputy Prime Minister Herbert Morrison, unusually stern-faced, dwelt on the seriousness of the charge. I envisioned Lucy being escorted by the Sergeant-at-Arms to a room under the tower of Big Ben to undergo detention, in accordance with tradition, while the House decided his fate.
Then Mr. Churchill rose. “Mr. Speaker, we need not make heavy weather of this.” Downplaying the incident, he told the House: “Mr. Lucy has been a loyal servant of Parliament.” He referred to Tom’s tireless devotion during the Blitz, when the reporting staff was diminished. The House warmed to Churchill’s mood. With a minimum of fuss and apology, the knockdown was dismissed as a response to provocation. Lucy’s career was saved, and he retained his position in the Gallery.
“Among my pals”
Shortly afterwards I joined the editorial staff of the British Broadcasting Corporation. Reporting Churchill in full flood during a Commons debate or public occasion could be difficult. His dazzling vocabulary tested the skill of the most adept shorthand writer. I had learned my shorthand in a hurry; without it I would not have been considered for the Press Association.
Fortunately, when Churchill spoke, no single reporter had to take notes for more than a few minutes. There was an open phone line to the newsroom, and five of us worked in relay style. The same team would cover Churchill speeches at important venues outside the Commons. It took us five to keep pace with him.
He did not speak rapidly, but the richness of his phrases proved demanding. Naturally, his fame made us want to get his words away before competing agencies. We were exuberant, almost festive, whenever Churchill was our assignment. It heightened the exhilaration of victory to be near the man who was its chief architect. I cherish my recollection of a tumultuous reception we gave him at a Press Gallery dinner. “I am among my pals tonight,” he said and raised a glass. That was his entire speech.
James Minifie reporting
A vivid description of reporting Churchill has been given by James M. Minifie, Canada’s most courageous and illustrious radio and television journalist. He was raised in humble circumstances in Vanguard, Saskatchewan. At sixteen he fooled the recruiting sergeant about his age and served in the First World War. Peace found him reporting from Paris for the New York Herald Tribune. In the Second World War he lost an eye reporting the London Blitz. Transferred to Washington, he joined the OSS. He was awarded the Medal of Freedom and the OBE for his contributions. Later he was Washington correspondent for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Here is a vignette Minifie broadcast in old age on what he called his best assignment:
Just before Christmas 1941, I was sitting with a friend in a Washington hotel room. We were waiting for Wendell Willkie, the Republican Party leader, who was visiting the White House. President Roosevelt had sent for him secretly. It was a grim time. Much of the American Pacific fleet was at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. The Japanese were on the march. Great pressure was building to concentrate on the Pacific and let Europe ride. It would have been a popular but fatal decision and I wondered if Willkie was getting that pitch.
He stumbled into the room. “I just can’t tell you, fellas,” he said. “He swore me to secrecy.” We waited. Willkie could never keep a secret long. He took a deep breath, then whispered: “Churchill is coming!” With a flash of conviction, I felt at that moment the tide was turning. Many disasters were ahead, but the European struggle would take priority and Congress and the people would be reconciled to it.
White House press conference
The two leaders gave a joint press conference in the Oval Room at the White House where the President worked. Roosevelt sat at his cluttered desk. He had a cigarette in a long holder. Churchill sat beside him with his inevitable cigar. Both were prima donnas and I hoped they were not getting in each other’s hair. But obviously, they were getting along famously. FDR leaned over to Churchill and said softly, nodding towards us: “They’re an awful bunch of wolves, you know, and I am going to throw you to them.”
Churchill chuckled. He answered the first question sitting down. Someone at the back shouted: “Can’t hear you!” Someone else shouted: “Or see you.” Then the amazing man stood up, climbed laboriously on his chair, beaming at reporters. He waved his big cigar, gave the V-sign and said simply: “Here I am.” Reporters forgot the tough questions they had come to ask. Churchill was always a good assignment, but this was the best of them.
The next day, Churchill brought Congress into camp. Members shouted with laughter when he told them: “If my father had been American and my mother British, instead of the other way round, I might have got here on my own.” The nation watched with approval as he helped light the White House Christmas tree.
Last words
One final recollection: In my Parliamentary reporting days, my wife and I had seats for a performance of Richard III starring Laurence Olivier. We were sitting in the orchestra stalls, fifth row centre. The curtain was several minutes late going up. I anticipated a slow handclap.
Suddenly Churchill, accompanied by his wife and an aide, entered and occupied seats immediately in front of us. The second he was spotted, everyone stood up and cheered. With Churchill in the audience, it is hardly necessary to add that Olivier gave a performance that seemed to rise above even his glorious range.
We had supper afterward at the Savoy. Anything less would have been anti-climactic. I said to my wife: “Well, what did you think of the great man close up?” She replied: “Very pink and cuddly.”
The author
Ron Robbins (1915-2009) of Victoria, British Columbia, was director of the School of Journalism and Communications, University of Regina. Earlier he was director of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s National Television News. Before his death he kindly left me his writings on Churchill. This essay is derived from its first appearance in 1992. —RML
More by Ron Robbins
“Great Contemporaries: William Stephenson, ‘The Quiet Canadian,’” 2021.