Churchill is the name we should give to the gateway to Britain: London Heathrow Airport. I propose to all the powers that be that we rename Heathrow in time for the millennium so that we enter the new century with a name that means something to the world. What it means, I would argue, is nothing less than the survival of Western civilisation in the middle of the twentieth century.
We know Britain would never have surrendered, that it would have fought on the beaches, on the landing grounds, in the fields and in the streets, in the hills, and from across the ocean until the New World stepped forth to the rescue and liberation of the old. But in 1940-41 it would not have survived alone against the Nazi power, and there was no certainty then that America would wake up; only Hitler's impulsive declaration of war on the United States ensured that it would become a battlefield ally. Franklin Roosevelt was a titanic figure but slow to recognise the fascist menace. And if Britain had not hung on in 1940, the United States would not have had our island as a convenient aircraft carrier for the invasion of Europe in 1945.
Only Britain's stand gave Europe a hope of rescue from a genocidal totalitarianism. Imagine how different history would have been had Lord Halifax succeeded Neville Chamberlain. Neither of those men could have got on with Roosevelt in the way Churchill did. Neither had the red corpuscles required to rally the nation in those dreadful days after Dunkirk.
So 'Churchill' signifies something. It exemplifies Britain as a force in the world. Heathrow signifies nothing except the chance that one runway at the Great Western Aerodrome, privately owned by the Fairey company, was ready for use when the Ministry of Civil Aviation took it over in 1946 and put up a tented terminal. The best that may be said for Heathrow is that there might be some faint echo of a line from Shakespeare, but it has been susceptible to macabre puns. When terrorists were active in the Eighties and tanks guarded the approaches, American students were wont to call it DeathRow.
London Heathrow is wordy as well. You need to say 'London' to be quite sure there is no confusion where you are going. Churchill speaks for itself.
I do not wish to raise a new standard on the blasted heath simply for the sake of history. In these frantically modern days, that might be considered too retro. A more appealing argument to those with a silicon chip on their shoulder is the crass commercial case for Churchill Airport. Think of that profile as a logo. Can anyone call to mind the logo or trademark of Heathrow? I have been through the airport hundreds of times and cannot recall a thing. Of course, the name 'Churchill' is itself the single most effective advertisement. It is not so much a name as a flourish of trumpets. It would remind umpteen millions of air travellers of our great heritage.
'What kind of people do they think we are?' Churchill said in speaking for the Anglo-American allies after the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. Well, as the name suggests, 'Churchill' implies a people of courage and resolution, keepers of a language of iridescent poetry, wit and heroism - the language not just of Shakespeare and Milton and Keats and the Battle of Britain but of Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. Indeed, Americans, whose dollars count for something, might especially relish the notion that a half-American - Winston's mother was born in Brooklyn - was commemorated.
And, of course, there is ample precedent. Nobody flies any more to Idlewild Airport. They fly to Kennedy, named thus in honour of the martyred 35th President. Going to Washington DC, I land at the sparkling new airport, named more controversially after the 40th President, Ronald Reagan.
Alas, I sometimes have to fly to the other Washington airport, named after John Foster Dulles. At least it reminds me of the injunction when Dulles was flying everywhere, calling for arms, more arms: 'Don't just do something. Stand there.'
And from New York, one always rejoices in being able to fly from La Guardia, named in honour of Fiorello La Guardia, 'Little Flower', the reforming Mayor of New York. There are other examples. Israel honours Ben Gurion; France, Charles de Gaulle; Toronto, Lester Pearson; Houston, George Bush; and Oklahoma wisecracks with Will Rogers.
Historians will go on arguing about Churchill's merits and demerits. There was the Dardanelles disaster of 1915. There was his belligerence in the General Strike of 1926; my own father, a railwayman, was reluctant to grant him full honours because of the role he played then. As for World War II, I have made criticisms myself in The American Century.
It is possible to argue that he prolonged the war by inducing FDR to join in the invasion of North Africa and in getting the Allies bogged down in the long slog up Italy. Others, on the Left, have blamed his ingrained anti-Bolshevism for hardening the Cold War with his Iron Curtain speech at Fulton, Missouri.
Be that as it may. I am not arguing for the canonisation of Churchill. But the man who saved the country deserves at least a little bit of Middlesex; and the country deserves a little of the radiated glory. And this November is the time to do it. He was born on 30 November 1874, so this month would be his 125th birthday.
Any objections? No doubt there will be. Other names might be canvassed. Attlee? Thatcher? Fleming? Shakespeare? Whittle? Montgomery? Cromwell? Boa-dicea? Alfred? Elizabeth (either I or II)? Some have virtues: Elizabeth resonates. Others are redolent of damp streets and cold porridge and the barricades, and in the world today none of them has quite the international and historic associations of Churchill.
I hope my proposal will not become sicklied over with the pallid cast of second thoughts. I like the attitude Churchill enunciated during the war after he was told in one of those civil service minutes that it was not really possible to build a floating harbour in the Channel (eventually Mulberry) where resupply ships could anchor in back-up to the invasion.
Pray don't argue the difficulties, he wrote. The difficulties will argue themselves. Just do it.
Harold Evans is a former editor of the 'Sunday Times' and the 'Times'. His latest book, 'The American Century', is published by Cape
Heathrow facts
Heathrow handled 60 million passengers last year. It supplies 90 airlines to around 200 destinations worldwide.
There are an average of 1,200 flights a day; 429,000 a year.
On 2 August last year it had its busiest day to date, when 209,297 passengers used it.
26,000 cups of tea, 6,500 pints of beer and 6,500 sandwiches are sold at the airport every day.
A bottle of whisky is sold every 10 seconds.
10 per cent of UK perfume sales occur at Heathrow. They sell 500 different smells, CK One being the most popular. The most expensive item is a diamond stocked by Gassan Diamonds in Terminal 3 and is valued at £72,000.
There are at least 10 types of bird on the airfield at any one time - including gulls, starlings, moorhens, ducks, coots, Canada geese and swans.
The grass on the airfield is eight inches high to prevent birds settling. At this height the birds are unable to spot predators.
20 mobile phones are lost at Heathrow every day.
The lost property team have found a glass eye, a suitcase of dead fish, a false leg, the whole front of a Ford Escort car, a briefcase containing £37,000, a laptop computer worth £4,000, and some gold bars too.
60,000 people work at Heathrow.
