One fat Englishman
Auberon Waugh
Nothing could be more appropriate than that two members of the Churchill family should step forward at this difficult moment in the nation's history to fill the gap so cruelly left by the retirement of Reginald Bosanquet. For a dreadful moment, I had thought that our national comedy was over, the last giggle had died in a bubbly gurgle as wd finally sank beneath the salty 'waves. In fact, of course, we have known all along that we were only waiting for another Churchill to arise and save us. In the event, two of them answered the call.
Of the two, Young Winston's role provides the more immediate relief. We can throw ourselves into the great debate, saying what a great tragedy it would be if the episode had any permanent effect on his political career. Giggle giggle. If we reflect deeply, some of us may be able to imagine even greater tragedies, but this one is good enough to be getting on with. We can point out (in Young Winston's favour) that at least he did not drown the former Miss Sandra Jarvis-Daly, now Mrs Soraya Khashoggi. Another point in his favour is that he may have issued his statement to protect the good name of a fellow MP who has also, in his time, dallied with the Leicestershire beauty.
, Then there are all the other aspects to be considered. Between the two of them, but independently of each other, Mr Churchill and Mrs Khashoggi have nine children. Under those circumstances, is it proper for people to discuss the matter at all, or should we leave it to the private arrangement of those concerned? Obviously, the behaviour of'the newspapers in informing us of these matters has been utterly despicable, but are we not all, in a sense, guilty? Let those of us who have never lifted a leg cast the first stone . . .
But of course there are security aspects to be considered. And Mr James Wellbeloved, the former Labour Minister of the RAF, puts it with admirable hypocrisy: 'In fairness to Mr Churchill himself, I believe the Prime Minister should make a clear statement.' Then we could all study the PM's statement in the light of the nine children, wives, grandmothers and aun ties concerned and discuss whether she was right to make it in the first place.
But security considerations must, of course, be paramount. Mr Wellbeloved's point, as I understand it, is that although Churchill, as a back-bencher, has no access to classified or defence material, one must remember that several years ago he was a junior Opposition spokesman on defence; that any hint of sexual intercourse is always a matter for concern, particularly when it is with a lady who, although of English descent, was once married to a businessman from a friendly foreign country; and is it right that other MPs should be screwing around with rich, foreign-sounding ladies when Mr James Wellbeloved doesn't or won't or can't?
In point of fact, of course, this is all poppycock. There isn't the faintest security risk involved. Mr Wellbeloved's role is rather like that of an old clergyman who insists on showing his choirboys dirty postcards of naked women as an example of the sort of thing they must avoid. The only appropriate editorial comment on the matter of Mr Churchill's love life is 'jolly interesting' or not, as the case may be. For myself, I always find it interesting to learn that two people I know, or know about, are having, or have had, a roll in the hay together. So did Napoleon once roll with Marie Waleswka, if not with Desiree, Barras with Josephine, Charles II with Nell Gwyn, It explains the fascination of the game of Consequences: Young Winston met Mrs Khashoggi at the soda fountain in Fortnum's. He said to her: 'I hear your husband is away.' She said to him: 'I always like my men on the substantial side.' The result was that Mr Wellbeloved got his name in all the newspapers and Stretford Tories rallied to Young Winston, Some people, no doubt, are quite genuinely uninterested in this sort of thing, being more concerned about the political situation in Rhodesia, but I think most of us, if we are honest, are quite interested. The moral of the story is surely that newspapers are quite right to tell us who in the public eye is rolling around with whom, and don't really have to pretend they are concerned with national security on each and every, occasion.
But it was over Rhodesia that Young Winston left the Conservative Bench last year, and it seems to me that Rhodesia may yet provide the consummation of the Khashoggian role. For my own part, in 15 years of commenting on public affairs, I have never yet written about Rhodesia. This is only partly because I have never been there and know nothing about the place. More particularly, I have never found my sympathies tremedously engaged by either side. It is agreeable for those of us who live in large houses with beautiful furniture to do so, but we cannot expect everyone else to weep when we are eventually turned out. It seems to be my problem, not theirs. Similarly, when Rhodesia understandably declared its independence in 1965, it seemed no longer to be any affair of ours. The obvious thing to do now is to make disapproving noises and secretly break the blockade like France, Russia, Zambia and everyone else, being slightly more discreet about it, perhaps, than the others.
In the circumstances, it seems mildly absurd for Young Winston to raise principled objections to the renewal of sanctions last year, but not nearly so absurd as it was for Mrs Thatcher to sack him from the Conservative Front Bench after his defiant squeak. We now see that Mrs Thatcher has placed all her hopes of immortality on finding a `solution' in Central Africa, and has summoned an alternative Churchill to help. The best that Winston's Uncle Christopher can achieve in Rhodesia is to help Britain wriggle out of a non-existent problem. But what a man to choose for a wriggle!
Lord Soames's appointment marks the last scene in our imperial drama. One imagines it will end in tragedy, of course, but scarcely a tragedy to compare with the Attlee-Mountbatten retreat from India, or the Wilson-Stewart initiative in Nigeria's civil war of 1967-70. And Lord Carrington is surely right in at any rate trying to play it as comedy.
One truth is told as a happy prologue to the swelling act of the imperial theme. Our last great Colonial Governor, the Life Baron Soames of Fletching, is not just a fat man: he is prodigiously, gloriously fat. His greatest interest apart from political advancement is usually described as 'serious eating'. Accounts may differ about how he behaved when under fire with the Coldstream Guards during the last war, but of one thing we may be sure: he will have no choice about what to do when the first gull goes off in Salisbury. With his pathetic entourage of hangers-on, he will have to bolt for safety. Many will find it quite funny eno,ugh that the British, for the occasion of their imperial swan song, should choose to send a joke fat man to sing it. For these people, the spectacle of the same fat man running like a rabbit when the first gun goes off will be enough to bring down the curtain io laughter and applause.
But I would not have lifted my pen t° write about Rhodesia for the first time if I could not see a better ending than that. For a truly poetical conclusion to our imperial story it is not enough that Churchill's son-in-law should be seen to run away. History also demands that our last and fattest white governor should not be able to run fast enough: that the man whose greatest btienteearteesnys in serious eating shoul him d
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