June the Sixth

FOUR years ago almost to a day the last man was taken off the beaches at Dunkirk. Then, under a pitiless and unopposed German bombardment from the air, the shattered remnants of an Allied army, without stores, without food, without equipment, were rescued from Europe in tugs and trawlers and yachts and rowing boats, in any odd scratch vessel that could make the Channel crossing. This is the picture of defeat and disarray which today can be set against the massive pageant of invasion—the armadas of 4,000 and 6,000 ships, the great armies equipped to the last detail of mechanised armament, the Allied air forces in thousands of sorties raking the French skies empty of all German opposition. It is a tremendous and exhilarating contrast, and in the first hour of relief and jubilation it is only right that the British people should offer their thanks to the one man who, before all, is responsible for the greatest reversal of fortune in this island’s history. Mr Churchill is the supreme architect of this achievement. It was his leadership and inspiration that made possible Britain’s resolve in 1940 “to ride out the storm of war and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.” It was his vision on the very morrow of Dunkirk that saw the forging of a future alliance, the new world stepping forth “with all its power and might” to the liberation of the old, the rallying of the world against tyranny, the long struggle and the final success. This, in June, 1940, was not an easy or an obvious vision. When Mr Churchill said