by Brooke C. Stoddard

Just beginning to read serious literature in the 1960s, I wondered – with some self-assured disgruntlement – why Winston Churchill had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Was he not a politician, an orator, a writer (fast) of immense histories? He never wrote a novel or a short story or a poem. Could he really stand with Yeats, Mann, O’Neill, Faulkner, and Hemingway? Volumes he had turned out, but a Go Down, Moses? Surely not. Who in 1953 was shunted aside to award Churchill this prize – Forster, Graves, Auden, Borges? Churchill’s prize must have been more for leading the effort to expunge Nazism, a token as substitute for the Peace Prize.

My young heart softened as I learned more of the man. He was a wit. Surely his volumes of history – which I did not read — were workmanlike, if not a cut above. And it’s true that four other Laureates up to 1953, the year of the award to Churchill, were more noted for philosophy than fiction or poetry.

My defenses collapsed entirely when I started to read Churchill’s multi-volume History of the Second World War in preparation for my own book about the Battle of Britain.  I didn’t have to read further than the opening page to appreciate the Swedish Academy’s decision. Churchill began: “Moral of the Work – In War: Resolution; In Defeat: Defiance; in Victory: Magnanimity; in Peace: Good Will.” Simple, but no mean feat. Thirteen words, but likely only capable of being written by a soldier and a statesman with the soul of a poet. The next page reads in its entirety: “Theme of the Volume: How the English-speaking peoples in their unwisdom, carelessness, and good nature allowed the wicked to rearm.” Again, proof Churchill could work his wiles with the English language.

The war-time speeches, of course, are matchless and helped rouse his nation and others to astonishing sacrifice and accomplishment. But I stumbled upon gems even less well known. To the citizens of Manchester, several months after the war began: “Let us to the task, to the battle, to the toil – each to our part, each to our station. Fill the armies, rule the air, pour out the munitions, strangle the U-boats, sweep the mines, plough the land, build the ships, guard the streets, succour the wounded, uplift the down-cast and honour the brave. . . . There is not a week, nor a day, nor an hour to lose.”

Eulogizing his political rival Neville Chamberlain: “History with its flickering lamp stumbles along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions.”

In presenting the Prize, the Swedish Academy defended its choice. It anointed Churchill “for his mastery of historical and biographical description as well as for brilliant oratory in defending exalted human values.” The presenter said: “He does not beat about the bush, but is a man of plain speaking. His fervour is realistic, his striking power is tempered only by broad-mindedness and humour. He knows that a good story tells itself. He scorns unnecessary frills and his metaphors are rare but expressive.”

Churchill was prime minister (for the second time) on the occasion of the presentation and did not attend. His wife, Lady Churchill, read Winston’s acceptance. In part, she read for him: “I am proud but also, I must admit, awestruck at your decision to include me [on the roll of Laureates]. I do hope you are right. I feel we are both running a considerable risk and that I do not deserve it. But I shall have no misgivings if you have none.”

Over the decades Churchill’s reputation has not diminished. His wit is revered; his books are read both for their prose and their history. As did Shakespeare, to whom he is sometimes compared, he pulled out of air, English expressions that crystallized thought, moved hearts, changed the world. He deserved his Prize for Literature.

Brooke C. Stoddard is the author of the recently released World in the Balance: The Perilous Months of June-October 1940.

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