Finest Hour

Originally Published December 6, 2018.

I remember it so clearly and vividly, as if it were yesterday. The old, cracked stone walls a dark shade of charcoal, the aged yet polished desks row on row, and the teacher talking away while tapping away on his dark green chalkboard. There I was, sitting quietly and attentively at the back of my aristocratic classroom trying my hardest to form even a remote understanding of the material being taught, all the while mindlessly jotting down notes like a printer. I closed my eyes and stared down at the ground, rubbing my eyes in mild frustration. With a deep breath and a sigh, I reluctantly picked up my pencil yet again, immediately returning to writing my notes.

In what felt like hours later, the school bell finally rang. I packed my things up and slowly strolled out of the classroom, eager to make my way home after a long and stressful day at school. On my way out, however, I was called over by my teacher. Slowly and reluctantly, fearing the worst, I walked over to him as he slammed an old white binder onto his desk, rather aggressively for that matter. He opened up the binder to a page with my name on it, pointing out my simply appalling grades.

“You are a disappointment to my class,” the teacher snapped in a furious tone. “You make me look as if I am doing a bad job. I want you to fix this, now!” I stared blankly into his soulless eyes as he repeatedly uttered just the most terrible of things with not even a second thought as to how I was feeling. Turning his attention back to that dreaded binder, he sighed in disappointment. “Actually, why does it matter?” he started. “You’re going to amount to absolutely nothing in your life! Even your own parents are disappointed at your overwhelmingly low level of intelligence.” After a slight pause, he spoke again. “Get out of my classroom.”

These words would turn out to stick with me for the rest of my life, forever burned into my heart. I walked home that day with nothing on my mind but those scarring words, telling myself over and over that they were just words uttered in anger, unconsciousness, duckspeak as George Orwell might put it; that the teacher whom I looked up to so greatly would never say such a thing about his students. But I just could not stop myself from believing him. What if I truly was a disappointment? What if I am indeed never to amount to much? What point is there to try anymore? What if—

“Mr. Prime Minister!” a young and rather cheerful female voice called. “Mr. Prime Minister!”

I woke up, shaken and rather frightened on a chair in the hallway of a dark underground war bunker. Ah, yes. The dreaded war was still on. The lights were glowing with a slight tint of red, the reinforced steel walls clanked loudly with even the most minute of movements, and the countless men hard at work scuffling along in the map room to the right of me. Directly in front of me was Elizabeth Nel, my new secretary. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir,” she began in a calm and polite tone, “but your meeting with the war cabinet on the situation at Dunkirk is about to begin.” “Oh yes, right! Thank you for reminding me!” I replied, arising from my chair and picking up my cane, still gathering myself. Immediately, I shuffled along the narrow corridors of the war bunker, stopping only to pour myself a glass of whiskey and to light my cigar. Then, I opened the door to the war cabinet room and sat down at the head of the table, ready to begin what was likely to be another stormy meeting. Yet again, as he did the last meeting, Lord Halifax arose to his feet and demanded we enter a process of negotiation with Adolf Hitler or Benito Mussolini, where we shall pull out of the war and return our troops at Dunkirk home safe. The entire cabinet seemed to silently agree. Yet again, as I did the last meeting as well, I overruled them. Britain must not falter or in the face of tyranny. For I will not stand idly by as the banner of the Swastika is raised over London, and even if it is the last thing I do, I will not let Britain surrender.

After the meeting, I walked around and through the war room, still puffing away on my giant cigar with not a care in the world. However, to my left, I heard multiple ministers in my war cabinet talking about me. They called me “absurd” and “ridiculous;” one of them even suggested beginning a process for my impeachment! After hearing this, I immediately made my way into my private quarters of the war room. I was greatly troubled, for their words reminded me of what my teacher said to me all those years ago. This time, however, I promised myself that I will not give in. I must not flag or fail, for I have but an entire nation to rally.

I returned home from that long, stormy day at the war room with a fire of ambition burning furiously in my heart. With not a moment to waste, I stormed up the stairs and straight to my office. Swiftly planting myself at my desk, I drew a black pen, a small container of ink, and a black leather notebook with creamy-white pages from its drawer. I needed to prove to my ministers, and more importantly to the British people that I most definitely could be the strong leader, they so desperately needed in such a crucial time. I needed to convince the British people that they must carry on to the end, that they must stand strong against Hitler’s treacherous tyranny. All the while, the lives of three-hundred thousand British soldiers stood on the line at Dunkirk with no plan of evacuation. I worried a repeat of Gallipoli; whereby my hand forty-five thousand men were sent out to their deaths. If I failed to get these men safely home, and moreover if I allowed Britain to surrender herself to the odious apparatus of the Nazi rule, then I will forever be remembered as the man who stood by as Britain fell. The pressure was high, and I was not at all sure if I was up to such a daunting task. Even still, I began writing.

That night was a night of endless working, dragging on even until the early afternoon drafting up countless upon countless copies of my speech, yet still unhappy with every single one. That evening, and with not a moment of rest, I made my way back to the war room; the night was young and the sky glowed in oh, so many beautiful colours. I locked myself away in my private office, setting down my notebook, pen, and canister of ink on the desk, ready to resume writing. First, however, there was something I had to do. Picking up my notebook, I made my way across the hallway to the phone booth room and sat down at the chair, quickly flipping to the top secret number only I knew. “WASHINGTON D.C., WHITE HOUSE, OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT.” The phone was answered almost immediately by a man with a deep and aggressive American accent. It was none other than Franklin D. Roosevelt, my good friend. Oh, and did I mention he was the President of the United States? “Hello?” he began. “Mr. President?” I responded after a slight pause, gathering my words. “Winston! How are you? It must be late out in London.” His voice immediately lit up when he heard mine, and I could not help but smile for a second. The smile very quickly faded away, however. That was the reality of wartime; smiling was just a faint, distant memory. “Truly, in more ways than one. Look, Franklin, I have a big favour to ask of you.” “For sure, Winston, how can I help you?” “Our hands are all tied up at Dunkirk right now. I was wondering about some of your navy ships, if we could just borrow some of your older corvettes or cruisers, I’m sure it would help us greatly.” “Winston I—, trust me, you guys have been on my mind constantly these past couple days, but, we can’t. I can try to ask around, but that Neutrality Act is likely going to tie me up good. It’s not that I don’t want to, Winston, it’s just that I can’t.” “Could you maybe even send some of your older bombers maybe? Not to the isles, just maybe up to Canada? I do not believe I need to remind you of the trouble at hand.” Roosevelt winces on the other end of the phone, hating not being able to help. “Look, we could take some of the planes you bought about half a mile from the Canadian border. We can’t take it across, because that would be violating that act we signed. And either way, that’s only about ten planes, most were already shipped off before the war. Unfortunately, Winston, that’s about all we can do for you right now,” he said, disappointed. After a long pause, he begins again. “Prime Minister?” “Anything you can do for us in this desperate time will be welcome, Franklin.” Disappointed, Roosevelt speaks again. “I’m sorry, Winston. Goodnight to you.” “Goodnight, indeed.” I hung up the phone, saddened and stressed, for I need not be reminded that due to this German conquest of Europe, Britain and her mighty empire stood alone, and without America, alone seemed like an understatement. In a surge of anger, stress, and frustration, I crossed the hallway and slammed the door to my private office, locking myself inside. Nevertheless, I sat back down at the desk to begin writing away yet again. My pen flows of ink and marks the blank creamy-white pages of my notebook as the crimson blood of the fallen will mark the beaches of Dunkirk if I fail. These are the only thoughts in my mind that work to motivate me to finish this speech.

Even IF Britain stood alone, and even IF there were no hope left, I had to lead this nation to the end, to never surrender, to defend this island whatever the cost may be. For it is my duty as both the Prime Minister and a fellow Briton to rally this nation and her mighty empire against our common enemy. Even though I am not alongside the countless brave men currently on the front line with a rifle in hand, I will lead the nation the only way I know how. My weapons are my pen, my voice, and my words.

Finally, after hours of relentless working and severe stress attacks, I created a rough first draft, requiring much further work but a draft nonetheless. I summoned my secretary, Elizabeth, for help. Almost immediately, she showed up outside my office with her typewriter in hand, unpacking it and setting it down on the desk while I leaned back in my armchair, staring up at the ceiling and almost mindlessly reading the speech I put so much into. We worked for countless hours editing, revising, and typing the speech. After hours of seemingly endless clicks and dings, Elizabeth removed the last page from the typewriter, smiling warmly at me as she carried it off with the rest. Finally, it was ready.

The next day, I made my way to the Parliament buildings to address the House of Commons. It was now or never. There I was, arising to the podium and setting the multiple sheets of paper on the platform in front of me. Without hesitation, and without a second thought, the words flew out from my mouth. “We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air! We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds; we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall NEVER surrender! And if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our empire, beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British fleet, would carry on the struggle! Until, in God’s good time, the New World steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the Old!” The entire house roared in applause, applause loud enough even to drown out the sounds of Nazi boots marching and gunshots on the beaches of Dunkirk. Raising my hand in triumph, I formed my now famous ‘V for Victory’ sight and waved it in the air as a symbol for Britain to follow through the darkness.

Through my powerful and driving speech formed through the help of so many, I rallied my nation and pushed my fellow Britons to carry on and push on, even if it does not seem like we can any longer. Even after our heavy-hitting defeat at Dunkirk, a combination of its swift and successful evacuations and the desire of my fellow Britons to carry on in the face of death and terror result s in a whole nation standing together to take the fight away from our fair isles and to Berlin. I was stunned by the power of my words,m for the lead me, my nation, and her empire on to victory. But, of course, in conjunction with the efforts of the British people, all the men and women who put their lives on the line in defence of our empire, and all those who perished in the process. At the end of the day, it is them who truly carried the nation to victory. But more than all this, finally, I overcame the very thing that has struck me down and killed on the inside at every turn since my childhood. I proved to my teacher, to my ministers, and to the British people that I really could be a good leader. For I believe I have amounted to much more than “nothing,” much more indeed.