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FINE CUT FILMS - NONSENSE |
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True Tales of Winnie Some scurrilous tales of the late Sir Winston Churchill, bricklayer extraordinary
The lovely and talented, not to mention cuddly, Winston Churchill was rather fond of a small glass of sherry with a dry biscuit for his elevenses. He was even more fond of a whisky or three. And a little white wine and soda to wet his whistle before dinner. A glass or six of claret, just four of port, a couple of brandies and maybe an Armagnac on a good day. Then he'd begin the serious drinking. Not to put too fine a point on it, he liked his food and drink (and a good cigar), and tended not to stint himself in that direction. He could frequently be observed conducting affairs of state in a weaving sort of way. In between building brick walls. Among his opposition in the house was a certain Bessie Braddock. She hailed from the north, and was... plain. A sort of stylised Madeleine Albright. Well, okay, a real tractor driver. And, while she wasn't a teetotaller, she did not really approve of people who devoted themselves to the pleasures of the grape. One evening, busying herself along the corridors of the house, she happened upon Winston who displayed signs of being the worse for wear. "Winston, you're drunk!" she exclaimed. "Certainly I'm drunk," quoth the great man. "But in the morning I'll be sober. And you - you'll still be bloody ugly!" Nice
one,
Winnie.
Another of his female antagonists was Lady Astor. One of their most renowned battles was at dinner at Blenheim Castle. The two were in the midst of an unholy row and Lady Astor was losing the logical argument. In the end she was reduced to simply; "If you were my husband, I'd poison your coffee." Churchill
looked
at
her
long
and
hard,
then
took
the
cigar
from
between
his
teeth. "And
if
you
were
my
wife,
I'd
drink
it."
Another brush with his majesty's opposition. Winston was in one of the many well-appointed lavvies of the house, relieving himself of some of his excess liquid one day, when Aneurin Bevan entered. Winston immediately huddled into the corner of the urinal, presenting his back to the socialist chappie. "Come along there, Winston boyo," he chuckled. "We've all got the same thing, look you." But Winston knew better. "I know you," he growled through his cigar. "You socialists. Soon as you see something big and successful you want to nationalise it." Collapse
of
the
Labour
party.
Quote
from
the
great
man
re
the
labour
party; "They
are
not
fit
to
manage
a
whelk-stall".
At a state ball one evening, Churchill observed a very handsome young man dancing with a - well, a lady of uncertain years. A plain-looking sort of person. Oh hell, she was as ugly as Bessie Braddock. Anyway, Churchill was surprised; "What's he dancing with that old frump for, he's a very good-looking boy?" His companion, who was wise in the ways of these things explained that the brylcreemed youth was rather light on his feet and didn't really care all that much for the company of ladies and was dancing for the sake of appearances. "Hmmm," Churchill
did
one
of
his
famous
sideways
looks. "Well,
I
suppose
buggers
can't
be
choosers."
Perhaps the best Churchillian put-down occurred one evening when he was attending a more than usually dreary dinner. Churchill was being harangued by a young lady with a very strident voice about the state of the poor. Our hero had had a few sips of shandy, and, whilst not exactly as relaxed as a newt, found her voice, manner and views (she had probably never met a 'poor' person) decided he'd had enough. "My dear," he leaned closer, "Your concern for the poor does you great credit. But are you really dedicated to the cause? For instance, if I were to offer you one million pounds to donate to any charity you chose, would you make love with me?" She had no choice but to answer in the affirmative. Churchill's voice got rather louder; "Well would you sleep with me for a fiver?" "Sir Winston! Just what do you think I am?" The famous voice rose to full bellow; "Young lady, we've already established exactly what you are - now we're just haggling about the price." The
young
lady
left
in
a
flood
of
tears
and
a
London
taxi,
and
the
rest
of
the
dinner
passed
in
glorious
peace.
One day he was discussing the merits of the opposition party and its various luminaries with a group of Tories. Chief among the victims, was the Labour leader, Clem Attlee, though one speaker wasn't totally condemnatory; "At least you've got to admit that he's modest". "Yes,
absolutely
true," agreed
Churchill, "but
then
he
does
have
so
much
to
be
modest
about."
Actually
I'm
not
sure
I
believe
the
last
one,
or
at
least
the
phraseology
of
it.
Churchill
was
a
stickler
for
correct
grammar.
One
day
he
observed
a
junior
commit
a
small
indiscretion. "That,
young
man,
is
the
kind
of
thing
up
with
which
I
will
not
put!" he
roared.
This
precise
approach
to
English
gave
his
long-time
opponent,
Bevan,
the
opportunity,
one
day,
to
quip, "The
mediocrity
of
his
thinking
is
concealed
only
by
the
majesty
of
his
language".
Not
all
his
enemies
were
politicians.
George
Bernard
Shaw,
although
he
did
not
see
eye
to
eye
with
the
great
man,
sent
him
two
tickets
for
the
opening
night
of
his
play
Saint
Joan.
Enclosed
was
a
note
which
read
'One
ticket
for
yourself,
and
one
for
a
friend.
If
you
have
one'.
Churchill
returned
the
tickets
saying
he
would
be
busy
on
the
evening
in
question,
but
would
like
tickets
for
the
second
night,
'If
there
is
one'.
During the second world war, Churchill found it necessary to take one of his generals to task. The military man was fond of treating his troops like chess pieces, remarking, "Putting the troops in the picture is the sort of familiarity that breeds contempt". "General," growled
Winnie. "Surely
you
realise
that
without
a
certain
amount
of
familiarity
it
is
impossible
to
breed
anything
at
all."
Churchill
had
a
particularly
unwarm
spot
in
his
heart
for
Stafford
Cripps.
This
politician
was
the
opposite
of
everything
Winnie
stood
for
and
believed
in.
He
was
a
man
of
great
piety,
a
rigid
teetotaller,
and,
it
was
rumoured,
had
never
so
much
as
smiled.
Winston
watched
him
lope
dismally
across
a
lobby
one
day,
then
shook
his
head
sadly. "There,
but
for
the
grace
of
God,
goes
God."
Of
Ramsay
MacDonald,
when
he
was
Prime
Minister; "He
has,
more
than
any
other
man,
the
gift
of
compressing
the
largest
amount
of
words
into
the
smallest
amount
of
thought."
Before he descended to the depths of politics, Churchill was a civil servant. It was the custom of the time that all memos concerning policy were circulated for comment. One particularly stupid and time-wasting memo arrived one day, and Churchill, probably after a lunchtime glass or seven, inscribed the just comment 'Round Objects'. After
a
space
of
two
or
three
days
the
memo
came
round
again
with
an
addition;
'Who
is
this
Round
and
to
what
exactly
does
he
object?'
He was more direct in his reply to another example of bombasic correspondence: "Dear Sir, I am in the smallest room of the house and your letter is before me. Very soon it will be behind me."
Very late in his life, Churchill was asked if he had any fear of death. "I am ready to meet my maker," he boomed. "But whether he is ready to meet me is another matter
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