Chapter 18, Windsor Castle, 8 May 1936
The Prime Minister’s car swept up, past assembled Guards companies rehearsing for some state event (Baldwin, who should have known it, suspected Trooping the Colour, or perhaps a looming state visit, but didn’t have the opportunity or inclination to ask), sighing at this latest instance of Royal / Prime Ministerial conflict. Baldwin had suggested to the Wigram at the Palace, after their recent dinner, that the King was feeling uninformed; it would, he had signalled, be to everyone’s advantage that he be granted an audience and the reason behind the lapses of the weekly call (the King) quietly forgotten. He knew that the lapses, through the Palace’s failure to hold the slot (or, Baldwin thought sourly,
any slot) in what they claimed was a busy schedule, were not Wigram’s fault.
The King had then poured oil onto the fire by inviting the Prime Minister to Fort Belvedere, which Baldwin had absolutely refused. A quiet word from the Palace had indicated that Mrs Simpson had now almost officially moved into the Fort; Special Branch had intercepted a number of threatening letters to her and, seeking the protection of Windsor Great Park and the King’s security, she was now in residence. Given this domestic crisis, the King had refused to meet his Prime Minister in Buckingham Palace, and Baldwin had declined the summons to ‘Schloss von Simpson’ as Alfred Duff-Cooper had mockingly called it, so the compromise agreed was Windsor.
“Prime Minister,” Captain Godfrey-Fausset said, warily. “It is good to see you again.”
“You’d better give me your news, Captain,” his head jabbed back, as if to get a better look at the equerry.
“Clive Wigram will resign; I know that you’re expecting it, but I have a letter for the King which spells it all out.”
Baldwin sighed. “Has he seen it, yet?”
“No, Prime Minister, I wanted to discuss it with you, first.”
“Good man. What does it say?” Godfrey-Fausset handed him the letter, Baldwin shook his head. “We haven’t time for all that, give me the gist, man, the gist!” There was a note of panic, and hysteria, to the Prime Minister.
It was Godfrey-Fausset’s time to sigh. “It says, Prime Minister, precisely what you would think it says. Can’t abide Wallis,” he adopted a nasal, slightly bored tone, “hates the pressures that their marrying will put upon you and the Church, is quite pointed that the monarchy should remain on its pedestal, divorce is not condoned, and so on and so on, thinks that the Dominions will hate him for it, and on it goes.”
Baldwin stopped walking and held out his hand. Godfrey-Fausset handed him the letter. Baldwin skimmed it, grunting as particularly robust passages caught his eye. Godfrey-Fausset, who felt that he knew the Prime Minister’s mannerisms, thought that the Prime Minister resembled a swan, seemingly graceful, but paddling madly beneath the waves. He could see what looked like a nervous tic tapping away on the Prime Minister’s right side, and the narrowed eyes suggested focus and, perhaps, fear.
“I shall give him the letter,” Baldwin said with tight resolve, before deploying his usual gruffness. “What about you? You staying here?”
Godfrey-Fausset understood how the wily Baldwin had accomplished what he had. He handed Baldwin another letter. “I cannot remain,” he said bitterly, “not with all of this,” he pointed at Wigram’s letter. “You need to know that he cancelled the audience last week to meet instead with Lloyd George,” he said in a rushed, almost reverent whisper. “That’s my career gone to the blazes, I dare say. My wife will be furious.” Baldwin was above such personal quibbles and was already thinking of how to question the King on the meeting with Lloyd George. He offered a weak, slightly fake smile in reassurance but said nothing.
Godfrey-Fausset knocked grandly at the door of a room that Baldwin, despite many visits to Windsor, had never visited. He knew that he was near the Waterloo room, they had passed it during their discussion on the letters. It appeared to be a small library, or perhaps it had once been a chapel. It had a vaguely spiritual air.
“The Prime Minister, Your Majesty,” Godfrey-Fausset said formally, Baldwin following two paces behind. Godfrey-Fausset indicated that Baldwin should sit; unusually, the King hadn’t risen to shake the Prime Minister’s hand. He looked thoughtful, lost in reverie.
“Mr Baldwin,” he said, after a long, leaden pause. Godfrey-Fausset took that as a sign to retreat and backed away, closing the door firmly behind him.
“Your Majesty,” Baldwin said heavily, not
quite sighing. “It is has been a while since my last official audience. Weeks, in fact.”
“Yes,” the King said (it sounded very much like ‘yeeerrrrrs’), still disengaged. “It has been a busy Spring. I suppose that I need to tell you that I chose to meet with Mr Lloyd George last week.”
Baldwin was amazed at the directness, but relieved that he would not have to coax it out of the King. “Sir, I rather wish that you hadn’t done that.”
“Why, I can meet with whomever I,” (the last ‘I’ was dragged out, sounding like ‘ayyyyyye’) “wish to.”
“Not in politics, Sir. The Government, Cabinet, and me provide you with advice,” he said, carefully trying to not sound too patronising. “I lead, might I remind you,” the flash in Edward’s eye showed to Baldwin that, he was at least listening, “that I lead
your Government. For you to meet with opposition politicians outside of official meetings, and without telling the Government shows the world that I may not be in close step with you.” He was succeeding, just, in hiding his irritation.
“We met, Baldwin, at Belvedere,” the King said in a wounded tone. “It wasn’t in a Court Circular or any other such Palace nonsense.” That was a dig at Chamberlain and Halifax, who had written, via the long-suffering Wigram, after Baldwin’s attendance at dinner to warm the King of the dangers of Mrs Simpson attending Court functions; after that recent Palace dinner Baldwin and his Cabinet were now firmly against her attendances and their official recording in the Court Circular, listing all engagements and participants.
“Was,” Baldwin hesitated, then decided to risk it, “Mrs Simpson present?”
Edward turned and gave his Prime Minister a withering look. “She was, at least for the start. And that is why we are meeting. David suggested,” (Baldwin was bemused that Lloyd George was now ‘David’) “that I would need to raise the matter, with you, first.”
For the second time in as many weeks, Baldwin felt fear. “What matter, Sir,” he said slowly, formally.
The King stared petulantly, then pleadingly, at Baldwin. “I wish to marry Wallis,” he said, in a wounded, confessional tone.
Baldwin’s head pounded at the tension that he now felt. Looking around, in case one of the courtiers had snuck in, he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Sir,” he began softly, “might I remind you that, all else aside, Mrs Simpson already has a husband. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“Is that your
only objection, Prime Minister?”
Baldwin’s head was awash with many thoughts. “Does there need to be any other objection, Sir.”
The King was insistent. “Is it your only objection?”
Baldwin felt, with a heavy heart, that he would never be properly ‘in step’ with this erratic King. “It is the clearest and most obvious impediment,” he said carefully, “from which all other impediments stem.”
“Such as?” The King was not letting him escape.
Baldwin tossed the State papers that he had intended to discuss with the King on the desk behind him, freeing up his hands to ‘tick off’ the list of problems. “Sir, I wish it to be known and understood that I harbour no ill-feeling to Mrs Simpson, and that, if the situation changes, I will do my utmost to support her as your acknowledged mistress.” He raised a hand when he saw a look of fury from the King, although for Baldwin this was probably the most supportive that he had ever been of the continuing involvement of Mrs Simpson in the King’s life. “But, to marry? Firstly, she
is married, and bigamy cannot be countenanced”, he said this even though he had hoped that it would be obvious, “and I understand that Mr Ernest Simpson is in the best of health.” He allowed himself a smile at the humour, but stopped smiling when he saw that the King did not see the funny side of the thought of Ernest Simpson conveniently dying.
He paused, waiting for an interruption. There was none. “Therefore, the Simpsons must divorce. This would jeopardise the solemnity of Your Majesty’s position if, God forbid, you are named as a factor in court proceedings. Even if Mrs Simpson is successful in jettisoning her husband, and your Majesty is successful in avoiding notoriety in an unseemly court case, there will need to be a discreet period of abstinence between you to continue the illusion that you are not a participant in the destruction of a marriage.”
The King was motionless, but Baldwin saw the fury growing in his eyes. He himself fight a tightness in his chest, but he knew that the King must have this information, which he, Baldwin, could allow to swill around in the King’s head until he made his mind up. “And then there are the problems of State. Your Majesty is Supreme Head of the Church of England, which does not permit the remarrying of divorcees. For you to so wilfully go against your own Church’s scripture would risk a calamitous conflict with Archbishop Lang. The very validity of Your Majesty’s marriage would be matter for debate, and would determine the line of succession, a substantial constitutional matter. That would necessitate consultation with the six Governments that must agree on weighty constitutional matters, namely London, Canada, the Irish Free State, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. I fear, Sir, that they would see things as I do.”
“Having taken advice from you,” the King said tartly.
“There is also, if I may,” Baldwin said, deftly ignoring the interruption and preparing his ground as carefully as a General, “the very ‘earthy’ nature of this scenario. The Monarchy must,” he paused, struggling to explain himself, “remain on a pedestal.” He smiled wryly at his stealing of Godfrey-Fausset’s words, but the King misinterpreted it as an attempt to patronise. He finally gave vent to his anger.
“I disagree, Baldwin, times are changing.”
“Not so far and fast for Your Majesty to be no different from them,” he waved towards a window. “And, Sir,
their view must be heard. The Queen becomes the Queen of the Nation, and the Nation’s view must be understood.” Thinking of Godfrey-Fausset had reminded Baldwin of yet another unpleasant aspect of this saga. “I have been asked to give you these,” he said, gently. “Your Majesty’s Household is buckling, Sir, under the weight of this situation. It is now my duty to inform His Majesty that your Equerry and Private Secretary have submitted their resignation.”
“How will this look?” Baldwin was amazed at the King’s elasticity. One moment he had been berating Baldwin, now he was looking, trustfully, for his advice.
“No one outside of the Palace will care, frankly, for Godfrey-Fausset. Equerries change, go back to their regiments and services. That can be explained away with ease.” He sighed, again. “Wigram is a different one altogether. His leaving is a break from your father’s time, a rupture from the established Palace,” he said, gently. His head was spinning at the gear changes that this conversation had required, from confrontation to counsel. “The timing, however, is fortuitous.”
“How so?”
“Well” said Baldwin, ever the canny tactician, “it is normal for senior civil servants, which Wigram effectively is, to stay in post for at least six months after a change of principal, normally a Secretary of State, in this case, a Sovereign. This allows,” he was enjoying the experience of giving trusted counsel to the King, and of revelling in a bit of light plotting, “consistency of process, if not tone or direction. Your Majesty has been Monarch now for four or so months, so this looks like Wigram giving way to a trusted right-hand man handpicked and groomed by the outgoing chap and Your Majesty.”
“And how would this be managed?”
“Well, we would present it as the first opportunity for you to make your own Court appointment. And, of course, you will have some names in mind,” Baldwin said cannily, knowing that the King wouldn’t but flattering him. “And, if I may,” he ventured hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“The fewer people that know about this the better. If there are battles and struggles to come,” Baldwin said, blatantly meaning Mrs Simpson while not mentioning about Mrs Simpson, “then let this not be an opening skirmish.” Baldwin settled back in his chair.
There was a heavy silence, allowed to continue, before the King punctured it, evidently distracted.
“Was that, er, all?”
Baldwin realised that the state papers would have to wait, “yes, Sir.”
The King nodded, and again didn’t rise to shake his Prime Minister’s hand. “I was upset, you know, that you wouldn’t dine with us again.”
Baldwin failed to prevent his eyes rolling. “I have been detained, Sir, by matters of State,” he said silkily. “The Ethiopia affair, and this business with Palestine.” The lies rolled off Baldwin’s tongue easily enough; Eden was dealing with both Ethiopia and Palestine. Indeed, all Baldwin had to do now was brief the King on the end of the conflict.
The King, a tightly wrapped package of hurt and crushed pride, offered the tiniest of nods.
Stalking from the room, Baldwin turned to Godfrey-Fausset. “Could you telephone Downing Street. I would like the Cabinet Secretary to be there when I get back.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
GAME NOTES
And there we have it, the King declares his intent to marry Mrs Simpson. I have skipped a planned ‘scene setting update’ to advance the story. We are now at the beginning of a painful couple of months for the UK as the POD detonates.
Although floated, via Mr Simpson, earlier in the year (and promptly ignored – as Baldwin rightly says, she is still married, preventing all other action), and hinted at by Wigram at dinner, this is the first time in which Edward has directly explained his intent to Baldwin. For this to differ from the real world, I have advanced the timing hugely (by months, as, BTW, does the game), and have swapped a Churchill written advice to the King’s private staff, advising against a Simpson divorce, for a Lloyd George visit to Fort Belvedere coyly keeping it open. This is the significant POD that I have been trailing for weeks now, and will have far-reaching implications; Lloyd George, who was, originally, on holiday with his mistress in the Caribbean (genuinely!) is now ‘on hand’ to give support to the King as the mentor figure that everyone has agreed that he needs.
Baldwin’s tactic was, as I hope that I have portrayed, to provide (as he should, constitutionally) advice to the King while nudging him to make the choice of Crown or Simpson; to his credit (and I am not a massive fan of Baldwin), he was consistent from an early stage in his position that the King could not have both and that this would be the question around which everything else would be determined. He also never wavered from believing that Simpson as a mistress was tolerable (though far from ideal), but that marriage was out of the question.
How that was explained King Edward is probably where it fell apart a bit (that and the characters of King Edward and Mrs Simpson) and cultivated antipathy and stubbornness.
I moved the game event slightly early, to chime with the Palace resignations; they did happen, with the acrimony here. With a King of greater resolve at this point, it would have been intolerable for those loyal to Edward, but against the marriage.
@DensleyBlair: I have been deliberately dropping insights into our (still largely real) 1936; the changes will come thick and fast shortly, so having a good ‘take’ on how things were is important. Palestine will feature, in late Summer.
@Bullfilter: There is something to your point: certainly Eden and Macmillan were deeply scarred by their WW1 service (although Attlee, intriguingly, wasn’t). Chamberlain was scarred by having not participated – he was ruled out as too old as far back as 1914…
@Specialist290: True, and the contrasts between Egypt, India and Palestine (all ruled under differing statutory / treaty foundations, all with their own unique problems) is fascinating.
@TheButterflyComposer: Sounds hilarious / horrifying!
@El Pip: The problem is that the British will try something; the ‘manifest destiny’ or God-given duty to rule mentality will prevail for another few years (in the political class, anyway).
@stnylan: That is also true; and the conflicting arguments of Sykes-Picot and Balfour didn’t help.
@TheButterflyComposer: Very true – I’ve not read part 2 but part 1 was a staple of my adolescence.
@Bullfilter: Ireland and India loom large over Palestine and, yes, taking what is perceived to have ‘worked’ and transposing it to another region was an old (but understandable) tactic.
@TheButterflyComposer: True.
