The train stood on a siding at Halifax, N.S. In the observation car sat a pudgy little man in a visored naval cap, a cheroot in his mouth, his horn-rimmed glasses focused on a newspaper. Outside, a huge crowd swirled and pushed, straining against police lines. The crowd, dressed in its Sunday best, burst into song: first, Roll Out the Barrel; then There'll Always Be an England. Finally, the pudgy man, not relinquishing his cheroot, shuffled to the rear platform, acknowledged the crowd's cheers, and asked for Tipperary. The crowd gave it to him, while Winston Churchill beat time.
The...
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