In my apartment, hanging on the wall above my couch, I have a framed picture of Winston and Clementine Churchill. Above Winston and Clemmie are Julia and Paul Child. And on the side table next to my reading chair is John Adams. Some people have pictures of family (my family and friends are certainly well represented elsewhere in my apartment), some people have movie posters and fictional memorabilia (Harry Potter is also well represented in my house), I choose to surround myself mostly with grumpy old men of history (and Julia- who also has a framed image in my kitchen).

Living in a library, it has always seemed perfectly natural to me to complement my maps and prints (and personal photos) with the likenesses of some of my favorite characters from history. As natural as it seems to me, however, when I was recently asked directly “Why Winston?,” I found myself without an eloquent answer. And that got me to thinking- why Winston, exactly?

When we lived in England when I was six, my grumpy old man of choice was Henry VIII. I had his bust on my bedroom wall back then. I’m told we paid several visits to Chartwell while we lived there as well, but I remember Hampton Court and the Tower of London much more vividly. I did thoroughly enjoy my 2009 visit to the Churchill Museum and War Rooms in London, but I really came to Winston first through Clementine.

Having always harbored a fascination about the Second World War, I have been slowly adding to that section of my library in the optimistic expectation of someday actually reading the books. So last Christmas, in my usual frantic search through the Harvard Book Store for last minute Christmas gifts, I found a stack of Clementine: The Life of Mrs. Winston Churchill by Sonia Purnell, and bought a copy to read on the plane. It was a case of right book, right time, and I devoured the life of the indomitable Mrs. Churchill. That book, in combination with my March visit to the National World War II Museum in New Orleans, opened the flood gates. On returning home, I also devoured Franklin and Winston, and Citizens of London and binged my way through the first season of The Crown, all in pursuit of more Winston.

Larger than life. Single-minded, and pigheadedly stubborn. An insatiable reader, prolific writer, with a love of history and art, and an affinity for painting and tinkering. An adventurous daredevil, and homebody, fond of a drink or several over dinner with good conversation, good friends and family, and a well-placed ribald joke. I could see the twinkle in his eye every time it was described. It was the same mischievous twinkle I can so vividly recall on my grandfather’s face. My Grampa-an insatiable reader who enjoyed writing and encouraged the same in me. An avid tinkerer with a love of history, ideas and conversation. A man who loved adventure and looked death in the face with a laugh and the certain knowledge that it was not his time. My champion, my idol and inspiration. I adored him. And after he died in 2010, I realized just how many other people had as well. He was a leader. I wanted desperately to make him proud. He was my Grampa. Winston reminds me of him. And I think that’s the short of it.

But then, there’s also Clementine. My sweet Grannie passed away in July of this year, and in the process of cleaning out the house, we found ourselves spending almost more time remembering Grampa, though he’s been gone now for seven years. He was her life. She supported his ambitions, indulged his whims, served as a go-between when his larger-than life persona required some softening. And yet she was very much her own woman. Just as feisty and funny and headstrong as he was. They were companions in life, traveled the world together- navigated it all for 62 years. Clementine walked a similar path alongside Winston. A headstrong, independent woman, who spent most of her life in her husband’s shadow- smoothing the seas, correcting his course, and cheering him along through the times when no one else would. Winston may not have made the impact he did without Clemmie. My grandfather may not have gotten so far without my grandmother. John Adams relied on Abigail, and, in a turn, Julia Child relied on Paul.

And I think that’s where they all come together for me. These towering figures of history, men who literally changed the course of the world, and a woman who helped define the emerging medium of television. They all achieved their well-remembered feats while building and sustaining what their prolific correspondences paint as deeply committed and loving partnerships. They all left behind enough for us to get to know them as deeply human, complicated and contradictory. They had their “black dog” days, their disagreements, their fall-outs, their reunions. As many spectacular failures as successes. They faced different struggles in different times. They conducted their lives and relationships in different ways. But they all had each other.

So I have Winston and John and Julia and Clementine, and Abigail, and Paul prominently displayed in my home because they inspire me. They remind me of others whom I’ve loved and revered. I admire their wisdom, their work, their imagination, the lives they built. And beneath, and through, and perhaps despite everything else, my fervently romantic little heart is heartened and soothed to know that history has shown lifelong love is possible.

 

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*RECOMMENDED READING:

Clementine: The Life of Mrs. Winston Churchill-Sonia Purnell

 

 

Franklin and Winston: An Intimate Portrait of an Epic Friendship-Jon Meacham

 

 

Citizens of London: The Americans Who Stood with Britain in Its Darkest, Finest Hour-Lynne Olson

 

 

Speaking For Themselves: The Private Letters Of Sir Winston And Lady Churchill-Edited by their daughter Mary Soames

 

 

The Letters of John and Abigail Adams-Penguin Classics

 

 

A Covert Affair: When Julia and Paul Child joined the OSS-Jennet Conant