This kind of indefatigable defiance was why George Orwell, for all his mistrust of Churchill's conservatism, was so relieved that at last Britain had a leader who realised, as he wrote, "That wars were won by fighting".

Although the socialist and the old aristocrat were so different, though one loved the empire and the other detested it, both understood that those differences were nothing compared with what separated them both from the Nazis and the defeatists.

Orwell's TB at this stage was still undiagnosed, but his coughing fits were bad enough for his application to join the army to be rejected.

Instead, he broadcast propaganda for the BBC and served as a sergeant in the Home Guard.

During the months of the blitz, there were the two of them, in the thick of the action, drawn like small boys to danger.

Orwell, someone said, felt at home amidst the bombs, bravery and danger.

Churchill was supposed to sleep somewhere safe, like the Cabinet War Rooms, but to the horror of his staff, he kept going back to Number Ten. Sometimes he'd climb on the roof to see the "Fireworks".

Churchill and Orwell both drew on a vision of British history for why we were fighting, but they were different visions.

Churchill's was more like a Shakespearean history play, with the war leader stalking through the night camp, drinking the affection of ordinary people.

George Orwell looked around at the millions of ordinary heroes, air-raid wardens, the Women's Volunteer Service, and saw the real heirs to Cromwell, the Levellers and the Chartists.