Chapter 20, Parliament, 9 May 1936
Baldwin was still tense, seized by his conversation with the King. He had managed to steal an awfully broken sleep during the night, and so faced the day irritably. With the strange coincidences that fate throws up, he had a long-arranged meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury. Hypersensitive that the press would draw a link between his visit to Windsor and his meeting with Lang, he arranged to work from his offices in Parliament.
He forced himself to stop pacing the room and adopt a more prime ministerial air, sitting in his arm chair as the Archbishop was shown in.
“Your Grace,” Baldwin said heavily, almost huffily. “Has anyone offered you a tea?”
“No,” the Archbishop said bluntly.
“You were attending the Lords anyway, I understand,” Baldwin said partly in clarification, partly as explanation for the change of venue.
Lang wrinkled his nose. “I see,” he said primly.
There was a knock at the door and Baldwin, whose bluff affability was clearly stalling, jumped to his feet and practically skipped to the door. “Ah! He’s here.”
He opened the door and ushered, virtually propelled, Viscount Halifax to a chair next to the Archbishop.
“Pwime Minister,” Halifax said in his rich, awkward voice. “Your Gwace,” he said, inclining his domed head in acknowledgement of Lang. The Archbishop, to Baldwin’s astonishment, actually smiled as he shook the lanky peer’s hand.
Baldwin pulled a chair over to face Halifax and Lang. “Before we get on with our Parliamentary business, I wanted to talk to someone about a very troubling conversation that I had with His Majesty yesterday. Your Grace, your role here is clear. Lord Halifax,” Baldwin shied away from calling him ‘Edward’, “as a leading churchman in Government, as well as a friend of the Royal Family, I have decided to cancel our routine meeting and bring you to this instead.”
“Intwiguing,” was Halifax’s only comment.
Baldwin smiled wryly, wondering if he had judged this badly. “I fear that we
may,” he was playing with them, the ‘we’ designed to bring them into whatever conspiracy he was concocting and the emphasis on ‘may’ a canny ambivalence on something that he thought was inevitable, “
may, have to contend with an” he waved a hand languidly, “undesirable Royal marriage.”
Lang closed his eyes. Halifax, whose saintly, otherworldly affectations belied a keenly political mind and a role at the heart of the establishment, frowned. In truth he was just not used to this sort of interaction with his Prime Minister. “You talk, I pwesume, of Mrs, er…”
“…Simpson,” Baldwin said. “It might be premature, of course, to canvas your opinions, but how would you react, Archbishop, to His Majesty seeking to marry Mrs Simpson.”
While Halifax frowned, and pursed his lips, Lang, Baldwin would later admit, was superb. Even his hair ‘played the part’ seeming to frizz as Baldwin spoke. The Archbishop half rose from his chair. “It would be monstrous,” he said, earning a raised eyebrow from the delicate Halifax and a barely concealed grin from Baldwin, who despite his panic, was enjoying the display enormously. “It would be a bigamous union! A forbidden, sacrilegious affair!” Although he hadn’t shouted, he had raised his voice, sufficiently for it to seem sublimely ‘fire and brimstone’. Halifax, despite his deep spirituality, looked bemused. Baldwin was trying (and failing) to conceal his amusement.
“Just so, Your Grace, just so. Do I take it that you as Head of the Church would oppose such a marriage,” Baldwin asked, managing to supress a smile.
“The King is the Head of the Church,” Halifax said heavily.
“Christ,” Lang snapped, making Halifax and Baldwin wonder if he had taken to blasphemy, “is the Head of his Church. His Majesty is the Supreme Governor. And cannot take the Coronation Oath if he is at variance with the teachings of his Church.”
Halifax sensed that Baldwin was baffled, bored and bemused. “Pwime Minister, the established Church does not allow, does not even wecognise, the legality and morality of divorce.”
“So,” Baldwin held up a hand to slow the conversation down, “if he marries a woman who had been previously married…”
“Twice married,” Lang snapped cattily, revealing himself to be more connected with gossip than Baldwin gave him credit for.
Baldwin waved his hand toward Lang in acknowledgement, “
twice married, then the effect, in the Church’s eyes would be that the King has essentially married a woman who is still already married. Is that what you’re both telling me?” He glared at them both.
Halifax and Land exchanged glances. Both nodded. Baldwin leaned back in his chair and sighed, heavily. Lang closed his eyes. “And so it goes, ‘being by God's ordinance, according to our just title, Defender of the Faith and Supreme Governor of the Church, within these our dominions, we hold it most agreeable to this our Kingly office, and our own religious zeal, to conserve and maintain the Church committed to our charge, in unity of true religion, and in the bond of peace. We have therefore, upon mature deliberation, and with the advice of so many of our bishops as might conveniently be called together, thought fit to make this declaration following. That we are Supreme Governor of the Church of England,’ and then we close.”
“Archbishop?”
“The preface, Prime Minister, to the thirty nine articles.”
“But, am I also right, Archbishop, in thinking that your power to prevent this occurrence is, ah, rather limited?”
Lang looked hurt. “It wouldn’t come to that! There are measures: I doubt, very much, that His Majesty’s coronation could in these circumstances be an Anglican one.”
Halifax looked back and forth from Lang to Baldwin. “Is this, Your Gwace, a moment where disestablishmentawianism,” Halifax completely mangled, tortured the word, “waises its head?”
Lang looked pained; he enjoyed his role as spiritual leader of the established, official church, with its place at the centre of State ceremonial and the seats in the House of Lords. While the notion of wrenching the Church of England from the political establishment was occasionally made both by churchmen resentful of political influence in their affairs, and politicians irritated by the dominance of one Christian organisation over the Presbyterians, Church of Wales and other acceptable groups, there was no mainstream appetite for such a breach. Lang resolved, then and there, that he would not be the Archbishop to preside over such a schism; if it came to it, the King was the expendable one.
Baldwin sensed some of this. “Perhaps, Archbishop, you should meet with His Majesty.”
Lang hated that he was taking advice but nodded nonetheless. “Yes, yes I must.”
And, Baldwin risked giving more advice, “if I may, a touch of humility might endear you to His Majesty. He is very sensitive to his freshness compared to our,” he looked around the room “experience.”
Lang bridled and Halifax, wishing to avoid a confrontation, swiftly interjected. “If I may, Pwime Minister, perhaps I can also assist. I am close, as you surely know, to His Woyal Highness the Duke of York. Perhaps I could sound out that quarter?”
Baldwin was impressed. He jabbed a finger toward Halifax. “Good idea, but do so discreetly. I sense that the brothers are growing apart.”
“Do we,” Lang ventured, annoyed that he had been denied his opportunity to reprimand the Prime Minister, “begin to prepare Prince Albert for the enormous responsibility that may soon become his?”
It was said in a ludicrously pompous way, with hushed reverence and faux awe. Baldwin, and this time Halifax, smiled at Lang’s pretentious delivery. But Baldwin felt a chill of fear; the words that came to mind as Lang spoke were not attractive.
Abdication, declaration of unfit to rule, disestablishment, what else will happen? What will they make of this, he wondered.
A coup? He raised his hand again in a ‘slow down’ gesture. “We’re merely talking about helping His Majesty,” he said softly, “aren’t we Lord Privy Seal?”
Halifax was struggling to work out which horrified him the most: the King moving (either voluntarily or by force) aside or a weakening of church and state ties. “Just so,” he croaked uneasily, “just so.”
As Halifax and Lang retreated, Baldwin rubbed his painful stomach; he felt very uneasy.
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GAME NOTES
I have taken a liberty here, but (I hope) a believable one. Another butterfly…
Of course, the real abdication crisis happened much later into 1936 and Baldwin had already taken a spell of recuperative leave. Here, with the crisis breaking much earlier, and after a spate of foreign matters (not that he cared much) Baldwin is more stressed and has sought counsel. I have ventured that he has brought in the Cabinet’s great churchgoer, for whom I have a fascination (if not fondness – see the other AAR) to ease the deliberations with Archbishop Lang. Halifax’s role in the real abdication crisis was muted, practically modest; other than shock (he was easily shocked) and support for the Yorks, he was either overlooked or slyly escaped being consulted (I strongly suspect the former – the swerving was largely done by Baldwin and even Chamberlain felt left out). But, here, in a departure from characterisation so dramatic that I must lie down, I have given him a decent outing – certainly he was politically sharp enough to provide support if asked (and was incredibly well connected – he would be an asset for Baldwin in dealing with the Yorks).
And then Lang. If I am torn on Halifax, I am very clear on the Archbishop. He was a meddlesome, pompous, fairly malevolent little man and if I have played him for laughs I suspect that I am not very wrong in portraying how Baldwin would have received him. His relationship with King Edward was terrible – the King (rightly in my view) thought that Lang patronised him as a younger, inexperienced man, and as I have said elsewhere Lang’s first encounter with Edward as the King didn’t go at all well. Edward was defensive when Lang claimed to have argued with George V in support of him; Lang missed the point, which, for Edward, was that he had gossiped to his father about him.
As I typed this, I realised that this would be one of those innocuous conversations that is nevertheless oft quoted in the history books in the
“following his disastrous meeting with the King, the Prime Minister met with the Archbishop and Lord Privy Seal” sort of way. This is certainly the first open discussion about one of the two constitutional problems with the proposed Simpson marriage; the King’s role as Supreme Governor (not, as Lang correctly points out, the Head). The other issue, here, of course, is the Dominions – this will be explored later. But I wanted to 'flag' the religious aspect - it's often overlooked as soon as the Cabinet and Dominions object to the marriage.
@El Pip: Abdication at the moment is still a far-fetched idea – the King has to consult with Baldwin some more and Baldwin has a lot of work to do (ok we’ve ticked the CofE, but he still needs to talk to the Cabinet and Dominions). Abdication, at this stage, is one of several options – the game does a decent job of offering the morganatic or full marriage options as alternatives.
@stnylan: As ever a very balanced comment – he could ‘compartmentalise’ (to a point, on some things he was obsessive, and could stubbornly hold a grudge) so yes, in another world could be wonderful.
@Kurt_Steiner: The thought had probably occurred to the King. But as the Heir Presumptive was Chamberlain…
@Captured Joe: I debated cropping the image more than I did, but wanted to ‘come clean’ on a couple of points.
I really like the concept of Political Power (PP) as it replicates, quite effectively, a Government’s capacity, its horsepower to ‘get s**t done’ (XP on the other hand, gets a stiff ignoring from me - the idea that I need to run the Home Fleet on an exercise to be able to build a bloody battleship is nonsense). This, to me, made it important not to stockpile PP in order to give whatever emerges from the Abdication Crisis (which devours PP – again, a fair reflection of the chaos engulfing Whitehall) an unfair advantage. My actual gameplaying will be revealed as and when it is helpful / necessary; I toyed with an update every time I picked a developer or minister, but felt it wouldn't advance the story.
@DylanMultiverse: The Abdication Crisis in a nutshell.
@TheButterflyComposer: The Irish Free State was treated like a Dominion – which, if you were British, it absolutely was, and if you were Irish, was a fig-leaf offered to the British after independence. The Abdication Crisis was useful to the Irish, it pushed them further along the road to full estrangement from London.
@DensleyBlair: I am deliberately keeping ‘the Goat’, the scale of his involvement, and his motives opaque at the moment. We have weeks of scheming and heartache to go…
@Specialist290: A very good point, and a fair assessment of his character from what I have read. I must also thank you for your nomination of me, based upon this AAR, for the Character Writer of the Week award. You are too kind.
@DensleyBlair: But the heartbreaking thing is that no one would offer this to a reigning monarch.
@Cromwell: The naming will, in a few months’ time, become something of a totemic issue.
@TheButterflyComposer: The King gets bullied, that’s all I’ll say.
@Bullfilter: and
@TheButterflyComposer: The problem is that as soon as I reveal the focuses that I have plumped for, any suspense is demolished. Hence my caginess!