W.S.C.
None of the formal tributes matched the theme. None of them could. Here and there, as when Paul Reynaud and when Harold Macmillan spoke, one heard snatches of a requiem. For the rest, the tributes were at best adequate, at worst embarrassing. It was the unexpected moments that lightened the darkness. When, for example, Sir Shane Leslie spoke of their childhood days to- gether, when he was conscripted into Winston's army 'with only one commander and no promo- tion.' The story of them sitting in a mud hut 'wait- England',s enemies' was perfectly tuned to the sad, proud, reflective mood of those who listened.
For me, at least, incomparably the most touching moment came from the service of prayer and praise at Harrow. As the boys sung the last verse:
Guard us waking, guard us sleeping, And, when we die. . . .
the camera tracked in a shot of Churchill's bronze in the Speech Room and held it in profile as the ,voices soared up:
When the last dread call shall wake us,
Do not Thou our God forsake us. But to reign in glory take us
With Thee on high.
Three times on the night of Churchill's death I saw that shot on BBC-1 and each time found myself in sudden tears. Nothing else came near it.
Previous page
