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He got his nerve back in Jamaica. Returning in mid-December, he told the nation that he was "absolutely fit," and defiantly insisted: "I am convinced-more convinced than I have ever been before about anything in my public life—that we were right. History will prove us right." Plainly, Eden had no intention of quitting just then. Perhaps he had hoped that, in his absence, the bitter dispute over Suez would have subsided.
It had not; in fact, it was still so virulent that in many clubs the topic of Suez had to be tacitly forbidden. In the House of Lords, Lord Tedder (Ike's air marshal in World War II) called Suez "a tragic mistake" which had split the nation. "One even knows of families who are giving up their Christmas gathering because they know there will be fighting over this issue."
Despite his burnished Jamaica tan, Eden was still a very sick man. In Jamaica he had suffered a recurrence of fever and of the stomach trouble for which he had earlier been operated on three times—the last time in a delicate and rare operation to remove an obstacle in the bile duct, at Boston's famed Lahey Clinic in 1953. Reports trickled back from the Caribbean that he had sometimes waked shouting in the night. At Cabinet meetings, colleagues noticed that his cheeks were hollow, his face lined, his eyes tired and lackluster. "He could still lose his temper, but at points he seemed too tired even to bother to do that," said one colleague.
In Parliament Eden doggedly defended his policies. Before the Christmas recess, he answered a last question: "I would be compelled, if I had the same very disagreeable decisions to take again, to repeat them." Those were to be the last words he was ever to speak in his 34 years in the House of Commons. As the Speaker broke in to move adjournment, Eden fell back onto his seat, head lolling on the green cushioning as he stared vacantly upward. Only when a colleague tugged at his arm did he heave himself to his feet and walk into the lobby to vote. "There goes a 'done' man,'' said one watching M.P.
Lonely Journey. Over the Christmas holidays Eden's doctors hustled down to Chequers several times. A week ago, intimates knew that Eden had reached a decision. The secret was closely held, eluded all the London press. No one even suspected when on Tuesday Eden and his wife boarded a train at London's Liverpool Street station and journeyed 100 miles north into the bleak Norfolk flatlands to see Queen Elizabeth at her country estate at Sandringham. There Eden told her of his decision.
The Edens stayed overnight. Next day it was publicly announced that the Queen was returning to London. Suddenly, all Whitehall was agog.
The Edens, returning by train, reached 10 Downing Street at 2 p.m. The Queen followed by car, arrived at Buckingham Palace at 5:20 p.m. Twenty minutes before. Eden had confronted his hurriedly assembled Cabinet ministers. Briefly and curtly, toying with a pencil in his fluttering fingers. Sir Anthony explained that his doctors declared his health was giving them cause for concern. There were very difficult times ahead, and he felt it his duty to say forthwith that his health was not good enough to sustain him through these tasks. The formal visit to Buckingham Palace followed.*