Churchill's Secret Page #6

Good night, Lady Churchill.

Oh, God...

What happened?

I need to go to London!

Sir, please, sir, you need

to go back to bed now!

...don't do yourself! I need to go to London,

I need to go, I need to see, to see it...

Just let me help you.

Was I, was I talking rubbish then?

A bit.

There is no need to tell my wife.

Nor that defeatist quack of mine.

Growing old is not for cowards.

It's certainly not.

Such a strange thing to happen

to a little boy.

Have you nursed many people

at the end, Minnie?

Yes, I have.

What scares me is

getting to the end before I finish.

L'Attaque. What's that one?

That's my colonel.

- No, it isn't.

- Yes, it is, I've got two

and it beats your captain.

Just keep it still.

L'Attaque.

It's a bomb, so bye bye.

What's next, Jock?

Next is a report on

the safety of helicopters.

Not safe, that's obvious.

- That's what the report's addressing.

- Hmm.

- Use your left.

- No.

L'Attaque.

- That's just a scout.

- Better, Winston.

Bye bye.

I will leave a precis of the report

in the box overnight.

Thank you, Jock.

There's no point in rushing succession

with Eden ill.

If that's the case, then you'll have

no choice but to continue.

Quite right.

Circumstances may well convince me

of my indispensability.

L'Attaque!

That's a bomb, bye bye.

- Morning, Rab.

- Jock.

How was Greece? I see you got a tan.

It's difficult being in Eden's company

and not getting a tan.

- When's he due back in England?

- A week or so.

- Ooh!

- Ah!

Outmanoeuvred by a 5-year-old!

- No, use your left hand.

- Use your left.

Left hand, Papa.

That was a silly shot, grandpa.

Be quiet.

Will Winston be well enough for Margate?

The party wants a public coronation.

"The King is dead, long live the King",

you know, that sort of thing.

But he's not dead,

he's making good progress.

Some days he's stronger

than others, of course.

He doesn't have to dance and sing,

just pass on the crown.

And there's his pride, Rab, he doesn't

want to be seen in a wheelchair.

Foul ball, Nicholas, take the shot again.

That's not fair!

Ah, here's the real enemy, Nicholas.

I hope you don't think of me

as an enemy, Prime Minister.

I don't think of you at all, Rab.

How's my Foreign Secretary?

- Fighting fit.

- Jolly good.

I expect you were disappointed

not to find me ranting in a storm

like King Lear with a lisp.

All I wish is that your health

improves quickly, Prime Minister.

I wish that too.

Pick up the ball, Nicholas.

Nicholas, why don't you let grandpa do it?

What?

Oh, alright...

- Prime Minister...

- No, no, no, no, please!

Just let him try.

Get his stick.

Back.

Now...

Look at that, lovely.

Emma's turn now.

Very sad.

I want you to stop this pretence

that you can go on forever.

I have one more task, Clemmy.

Oh, Winston!

There's always one more thing.

I can try to make those terrible bombs

obsolete before I die.

Everyone else has gone,

I'm the only one left.

Can't my last victory be one of peace?

It's time to stop.

- My darling Clemmy...

- Don't "darling" me.

I want time with you

while you're still you.

While I'm still me.

The children need time with you.

They're not children anymore.

They are desperate for you.

I begged you to retire after the war.

You only stopped because they voted you out.

The people didn't understand.

The people were exhausted!

So was I, and I am now.

Clemmy...

Clemmy...

You asked me once

who was in the photograph by his bed.

The little girl.

Her name was Marigold.

It's Marigold's song he's been singing.

Diana taught her the words

and she was so proud of remembering them.

She died just before her third birthday.

She'd had a cold all summer.

What child doesn't have

a summer cold, Millie?

But...

it wasn't cold, it was septicaemia.

And I wasn't there.

They were at the seaside

with their governess.

By the time we got to her...

It was too late to do anything.

Winston and I sat

with her for... two days.

Neither of us slept.

We sang nursery rhymes with her

and told her stories.

He'd never had the time

to tell her stories before.

At the end...

she asked me to sing that song.

And I did.

But she stopped me.

She was tired, she said.

Then... she asked me

to finish it in the morning.

But that was it.

Her last breath is in that song.

We never talk about it.

We never talk about her.

Do you like Henley?

He was Stephenson's model

for Long John Silver.

- I bet you didn't know that.

- I did.

He was my father's favourite poet.

What does your father do?

He was a shop steward at the pits.

And he was no fan of yours, not since

you sent the army in on the Welsh miners.

Well, at least he's got

good taste in poets.

This one's his favourite.

He wrote it just before

having his leg cut off.

It's about hope.

"Out of the night that covers me"

"black as a pit from pole to pole"

"I thank whatever Gods may be"

"for my unconquerable soul."

Millie... I need some hope.

Good, that's good, well done.

And another, not too fast, you're fine.

Just keep your weight on me.

There you go.

Winston?

Good.

Good.

I'm going to take my hands away now.

Dickens used to walk from his home in Kent

to London almost every week.

- Did you know that?

- No.

I did, my dad told me that.

Her father's a sort

of literary trade unionist.

- If such a thing is possi... oh!

- Oh!

Are you alright?

Yes, I am.

- Does it hurt?

- No.

- Let's try slowly.

- Alright.

Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Here, lean on the stick, that's right.

Okay, one, two, three, and...

- Let's get the wheelchair.

- No wheelchair!

I'm not being carried into the party

conference looking like a bloody maharajah.

What was Winston's mood like

when you were last with him?

Winstonian, as you would expect.

But physically,

he knows he can't carry on.

I mean, he can barely get out of his

wheelchair and pick up a croquet ball.

I think he'll be relieved.

You'll have to be firm with him.

Of course.

We've waited long enough, Anthony.

Here you go.

Jock, bring me an unfinished canvas.

I want Anthony to think

I've been doing this all afternoon.

Where shall I hide the wheelchair?

Put it right here, next to me.

Get rid of that chair.

Thank you.

I didn't know you painted so much.

My great distraction, Millie.

Did you know that Turner

painted better the worse his eyes got?

So there's hope for you yet.

They're here.

Good luck.

- Rab.

- Jock.

Hello, Anthony.

After you.

Good afternoon, Prime Minister.

Anthony, my boy

thank you for driving down, come take a seat.

Make yourself comfortable.

Come on.

It lifts my heart to see you

out and about again, Anthony.

Thank you, Winston.

We were very concerned.

Well, we were concerned about you

and it's encouraging to see you

not confined to bed anymore.

July and August

can't have been easy for you.

I did not enjoy July, but in August,

I believe we beat the Australians.

By eight wickets, I hear.

For the first time in years,

the Ashes will remain at home.

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