Cabinet Minister

Beaverbrook's energies found more productive results in his tenure as minister of aircraft production, (and later as a member of the war cabinet), from mid 1940 onwards. It was a post offered by Churchill, against the advice of George VI. For Churchill had always been impressed by Beaverbrook's 'vital and vibrant energy' even though they had, on several occasions over the last thirty years, been at each other's throats.

 

The new Prime Minister, as the Cherkley visitors book reveals, had long regarded Beaverbrook as a confidant, and now, a very necessary addition to the war effort. The minister's irascible zeal soon proved its worth. Fighter and bomber production were immeasurably increased. 'This was his hour,' Churchill later declared. 'His personal force and genius, combined with so much persuasion and contrivance, swept aside many obstacles.

 

Everything in the supply line was drawn forward to the battle…' That said, there were those in his ministry who did not enjoy being treated like his newspaper editors. And it is a reflection on his character that he could not understand why. Again and again he complained of the difficulties that he faced, firing off a letter of resignation as he did so. Finally, one was accepted. But by September 1943 he was back: as Lord Privy Seal. For all their differences, Churchill could not live without the counsel of the wily Max.

 

The post war years

The post war years, with their combination of rigorous socialism and imperial decline, were an unpleasant reality for the aging Beaverbrook. To the outside world his legend continued: his editors still waited nervously for the call and the unmistakable bark: 'What's news?' But there seemed more of a sense of nostalgia about his conversation and his work, and certainly an embittered isolation from political affairs.

 

He found solace in travel – a tough yearly schedule that took him from Cherkley, to La Capponcina in the south of France, to the Bahamas, to New York, to Canada and back – and, of course, in writing. He turned out well written, if somewhat indulgent, accounts of his heroes and his own contribution to the First World War. He donated large sums of money: he once estimated that he had given some $16 million to various causes in New Brunswick alone. He took more time with his children rather than his girlfriends, though evidently he was a better grandfather than father.

 

By the early 1960s, however, it was clear that the curtain was falling. He was feted one last time at a dinner at the Dorchester for his eighty-fifth birthday in late May 1964. He died but two weeks later on 9th June. He could show outwardly, at least, that there had been no decline.