from Madeleine Albright's Prague Winter: A Personal Story of Remembrance and War, 1937-1948:
Winston Churchill was stately, plump, and sixty-five years old. He had held virtually every important official position except those of prime minister and foreign secretary. In so doing, he had attracted acclaim and derision in roughly equal measure. The two-time prime minister Stanley Baldwin once observed:
When Winston was born lots of fairies swooped down on his cradle with gifts—imagination, eloquence, industry, and ability. Then came a fairy who said, “No person has a right to so many gifts,” picked him up and gave him such a shake and twist that with all these gifts he was denied judgment and wisdom.
In 1915, as first lord of the admiralty, Churchill had presided over the disastrous British attack on the Gallipoli peninsula in the Dardanelles. In the twenties, as chancellor of the Exchequer, he had overseen damaging reductions in the British defense budget. In the 1930s, he had railed against Gandhi and staunchly opposed loosening the imperial rein in India. Churchill could always be counted on to defend freedom with matchless tenacity—provided those exercising it spoke with the right accent and had the proper skin color. Yet for all his faults, the new prime minister would quickly validate the views of those who believe that when history most requires it, Fate lends a hand.
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