One afternoon early last week a short, stout, chubby-cheeked gentleman wearing a black hat and smoking a black cigar entered the House of Commons and took his place on Government benches. He was the Right Honorable Winston Churchill, most versatile member of the Conservative Party, once First Lord of the Admiralty, once Chancellor of the Exchequer, once Minister for the Colonies, once President of the Board of Trade and now just plain M.P. for Epping, 17 miles northeast of London on the Chipping Ongar Branch of the London North East Railway.
As M.P. for Epping he had no more power than an honorable member for Deptford, Huddersfield, Moss Side, Smethwick, Penryn, and Falmouth, Tavistock, Penrith and Cockermouth, Spennymoor, The Wrenkin, Tewkesbury (pronounced "tooksbroo") or the 615 constituencies of England, Scotland and Wales. But as Winston Churchill the Elder Statesman, scarred veteran of innumerable parliamentary battles, historian of the World War, novelist, biographer of his ancestors, and the most pungent and expressive critic of Prime Minister Chamberlain, he had an influence, a possible future and a voice in affairs that made his position unique. That he was there at all said much about him, more about British politics. Statesmen out of office make speeches in the U. S., particularly at college commencements; are shot in Russia, generally after confessing themselves allied to Jack the Ripper; disappear in Germany without having a chance to do that. But in Great Britain they may step back to the House of Commons, start over, criticize and mold Government policy by the weight of their experience—particularly if, as in the case of Mr. Churchill, events prove their judgment correct, and they have a good chance to get back into power.
The session was historic (see p. 20). From 2:45 p.m. when the clerk placed on the table the great mace, signifying that Parliament was in session, to 10:30 p.m. when members left the building, found crowds singing Rule Britannia outside, it was stamped with the quality of grave decision that has marked the great crises of Parliament. Mr. Churchill did not speak. When the vote came he walked out the door on the Government side of the House, thereby signifying his assent to the granting of war powers to the Government. Implicit in Prime Minister Chamberlain's speech, no less than in the news of war over London, was an acknowledgement that Churchill had been right. For six bitter, hog-ridden years he had pounded on his argument as tenaciously as Cato the Elder demanding the destruction of Carthage: that a rearmed and rearming Nazi Germany was a menace to
Britain, to the Empire, to free speech, to Parliament. To Britons newly enraged by the German-Soviet Pact, he had been terribly justified. Elder Statesman Churchill expected no cheers for his foresight. He rushed off to have dinner with Harold Nicolson, M.P. (author of Portrait of a Diplomatist, Peacemaking, Dwight Morrow, Small Talk, Curzon: The Last Phase), and then hurried to his country home "Chartwell" in Kent to run his six secretaries ragged and hang on the telephone putting in calls all over Europe. "Now," said he, "Hitler is on the run."