Chapter 2, Parliament, 5 February 1936
Clive Wigram, 1st Baron Wigram, was the Private Secretary to the Sovereign. Under George V this had been a demanding, though predictable job promoting the Monarch’s view in Parliament, easing the passage of controversial matters, and communicating the Prime Minister and Cabinet’s perspective to the King. Now, with a less consistent master, life was not as predictable, and perhaps less enjoyable.
The rather abrupt summons to Parliament was not without precedent, but was unusual enough to raise an eyebrow. Wigram, privately, wondered if the looming conversation was coming, well, too soon.
If, he allowed,
we’re discussing what I think that we’re discussing. He started, slightly, when he found that he was being taken to the Prime Minister’s suite of offices. He had been expecting this to be at the senior civil servant, or perhaps ministerial level.
“Ah, Clive,” Sir Maurice Hankey, the Cabinet Secretary, greeted Wigram. “Take a seat. Don’t worry,” this was said in response to Wigram’s evident confusion, “the PM is away today. But”, and this was said to the other senior civil servants present, “this meeting takes place with his knowledge”.
“He’s just far enough away that he’s not directly pegged to it”, Sir Warren Fisher, Secretary to the Treasury and Head of the Home Civil Service, said sarcastically. He looked bored, even though the meeting had yet to properly begin. As ever, Wigram, whose rank was broadly equivalent to everyone else present, detected the friction between Hankey and Fisher. Clearly, Fisher was irritated that Hankey had assumed the role of chair for this meeting.
The other figure present was Sir Robert Vansittart, the Permanent Under Secretary at the Foreign Office. He looked tensely around the room, and shifted uncomfortably a couple of times.
“Gentlemen,” Hankey began, slightly primly, “thank you for coming at such short notice. Sir Warren and I have agreed to hold this meeting here; with the PM away we’re guaranteed a measure of privacy that we wouldn’t always have in our own, respective, offices”. Wigram felt that this comment was directed at him; the Palace was known for its indiscretion, despite his best efforts to control it. “Sir Robert,” Hankey said, turning to Vansittart.
Vansittart closed his eyes, as if steeling himself, began. “It’s about His Majesty and Mrs Simpson.”
This was said bluntly, matter of fact, and was all the more devastating for it. “Go on,” Wigram said carefully, warily, giving nothing away.
“We all know that the King’s relationship with Mrs Simpson is more than just a passing fancy,” Vansittart, slightly peeved at Wigram’s failure to declare his sympathies, continued.
Fisher nodded, still looking bored. “My Dear Wigram, she must either be a discreet Henrician mistress, or a full-blooded consort. At the moment, she is palpably both, yet neither”. His manner matched his turn of phrase; languid, slightly patronising.
Hankey frowned at the whimsical nature of Fisher’s comment, but when he turned to face Wigram he clearly agreed with the content. “You and I, Clive, have discussed this before, and I know that you have exchanged your views with the Prime Minister”.
Wigram felt an icy chill. He had, just before the accession, muttered, bitterly, to Baldwin and Sir John Reith of the BBC that Mrs Simpson should be ‘bumped off’, and wondered now how widespread knowledge of that declaration was. “Yes, but that was in confidence…”
Vansittart, who had been tensely waiting for this diversion to end, now regained control. “The point”, he said forcefully, “is that the King is privileged to receive sensitive information. "Our" there was no guidance on who ‘our’ meant, “concern is that he shares that information with Mrs Simpson.”
Hankey, who had appointed himself as prompter as well as chair, raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And,” Vansittart took the prompt, “we have reason to be critical of Mrs Simpson’s choice of acquaintances.”
Wigram was horrified that four of the senior civil servants in the country were gathered to talk about this, but didn’t betray his feelings to the others (although it was a struggle to maintain his composure). “Mrs Simpson keeps many social engagements, if…”
“Ribbentrop, the German diplomat” Vansittart interrupted. “She is known to be friendly with Ribbentrop. They were close during the Naval negotiations last year.”
“Dare I ask, Robert, how you know this,” Wigram coyly asked.
“No, well, partly. I had dinner with His Majesty and Mrs Simpson shortly before the accession. It is clear that he has a racy social circle. Ribbentrop is in that circle. For the confirmation of that, let’s move on.”
But Wigram felt a residual loyalty to the office of the Crown and Edward VIII not to let this slip. “We’re meeting here so that we can be open,” he responded with some venom, “you’re spying on him.” He almost hissed the accusation.
Fisher and Hankey both looked uncomfortable, Vansittart looked like he didn’t care. “Who is ‘he’? Which, one, I mean?”
“His Majesty,” Wigram specified. Vansittart looked at Fisher, then at Hankey (who were both aware), and gave the slightest nod. Wigram frowned. “And Ribbentrop?”
“Yes,” Vansittart confirmed, “these two” he gestured towards Fisher and Hankey “will confirm that Special Branch is watching the King, my interest is in Ribbentrop and von Hoesch.” Von Hoesch was the German Ambassador to the Court of St James. “And my source tells me that they could be receiving some choice cuts from the King’s table.”
They all watched Wigram’s response. The mask slipped, and he looked resigned, deflated.
“Clive, how do
you feel about all of this,” Hankey said conciliatorily. “You know that we sympathise,” Fisher looked blankly at them, but Vansittart certainly looked supportive.
Wigram snapped. Years of worrying about Edward’s suitability, followed by the most unpleasant few weeks imaginable of condescension from Mrs Simpson boiled over. “He’s mad, mad,” Wigram spluttered, the words bursting forth from deep within. “He’ll have to go.”
Hankey looked sharply at Vansittart, both catching the meaning. “Alright, Clive, let’s not be to presumptive, shall we? What can we do to help you?”
“What does Baldwin think?” Wigram looked pleadingly at Fisher and Hankey.
Fisher snorted. He was frustrated with Baldwin’s affected reluctance to do anything. Hankey shot a waspish look at Fisher. “The Prime Minister” Hankey finally said, primly, correcting Wigram’s use of just the surname, “shares your concerns. You and Lascelles have his support.”
“Yes, yes,” Vansittart said testily, “but what can we actually
do?”
Hankey looked at Fisher, who, as the nominal Head of the Home Civil Service, was ostensibly senior. He rolled his eyes and stared sharply at Wigram. “Clive, can we reason with the King?”
“No no,” Wigram said in a rush. “He is impervious to everything but his own selfish wants.”
Fisher smirked at Wigram’s emotion. “Maurice, how is he with his Parliamentary work?”
Hankey accepted that Fisher had asked a relevant question with a nod of the head. “Not diligent,” he acknowledged. “The note on Defence coordination came back late, and with wine rings on the cover sheet.” Hankey shot a wry look at Wigram, who, utterly spent, simply nodded in sad acknowledgement.
“This all suggests that our Dear Prime Minister would be the correct avenue for our frustrations,” Fisher offered, in tactful suggestion rather than direction.
“The PM won’t do it,” Hankey said bitterly, before correcting himself. “At least, I think he won’t.”
Vansittart threw his eyes heavenward. “Is there anyone else? A mentor figure, an avuncular.”
Hankey looked thoughtful. “The King is wary of the PM, actively hates Chamberlain, it should be someone younger.”
“We’ve tried this”, Fisher interrupted, tartly. “The Duff-Cooper thing.” He made a horrified expression at that dismal failure.
“What about Eden?”
Vansittart shook his head as he considered his Secretary of State. “They’re too similar, those two. Eden is a bit of a precious type himself, you know. What about someone older?”
“Churchill?” That was Hankey, “or Lloyd George. An elder statesman, guiding the young King. It could work, y’know.”
Fisher, who was loyal and reverent to Lloyd George, nodded. “What about Lang?”
It was Wigram’s turn to shake his head. “No, our clever archbishop has blotted his copybook with His Majesty. When they met just after the funeral, he pointed out to the King that he had always tried to support him when his father was critical. It made the King feel like an errant schoolboy.”
Hankey had been scribbling. “We shall have to consider the identity of our advisor to His Majesty and agree out of committee. There is another matter, before we depart. The press.”
“Ah,” said Vansittart, heavily. “The reporting from overseas is extraordinary.”
“But at home, we must prevail upon Reith at the BBC, Dawson at
The Times, and of course Beaverbrook, to maintain their discretion.”
They all nodded. “Beaverbrook will be difficult, he’ll do anything to score points off Baldwin”, Fisher said with heavy scorn.
“You should make it clear,” Vansittart began, the ‘you’ rather than a ‘we’ making it clear that he regarded this element of their activity as none of his business, “that this is on the King’s behalf, not the Prime Minister’s”.
“Well that makes you the better emissary,” Fisher said to Wigram. “Maurice, Robert and I serve the Cabinet. You serve the Crown. You don't work for Baldwin.”
Wigram nodded, sadly. He would go to Beaverbrook.
“So,” Hankey said sharply, taking charge, “I think we agree a number of actions. We must, between us, think of a suitably senior person to offer some tacit guidance to our young King. I just need to know whom we think is appropriate. Sir Warren and I will use our levers to support the attempt to manage the Press’ discretion, while you, Clive, will meet with Beaverbrook. Have I missed anything?”
“Yes,” Vansittart began. “This matter cannot be permitted to drift along indefinitely. If we’re having a coronation in the next year then Mrs Simpson’s status must be resolved.”
“Agreed,” said Wigram, closing his eyes at the notion of 'Queen Wallis'.
“And so,” Vansittart continued, picking up where Hankey left off, “we must get this matter to a decision. That has to be Mr Baldwin.” Fisher nodded. “My second point is that you two” he waved at Fisher and Hankey “must agree to sift the papers that go to the King.”
“That would need Prime Ministerial backing,” Fisher replied.
“And potentially Cabinet,” Hankey added.
“Be that as it may, we have to stop Wallis bloody Simpson being an unwitting agent of the bloody German Embassy”.
Hankey and Fisher exchanged glances, before nodding. “It can be done, if handled correctly,” Hankey agreed. “Very well, might I suggest that we meet in a few weeks, or sooner if needed?” They all nodded.
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GAME NOTES
A really chatty update but one that tries to deal with as much of the genesis of the abdication crisis in one update as possible. This one, my imagining of a meeting that actually happened in February, looks at the administrative concerns with the King’s relationship with Mrs Simpson, rather than the moral / constitutional ones. There will be another one looking at why she as a person was considered so unacceptable, but here a dry analysis of the perceived security risk is offered. In deciding to send another senior politician we have, dear reader, our first, very gentle POD. This was, it seems, ruled out in 1936 after the Duff-Cooper fiasco (see El Pip’s assessment in the comments above!). We are now starting the drift away from the 1936 that we know.
While the course of discussion and the outcomes of the real meeting are not clear, the attendees and their concerns are well documented. Aside from Wigram, the Private Secretary to the King (broadly equivalent to the other senior civil servants) these are, really, the men who ran the country. Wigram was, I’m afraid, as broken as portrayed: he really did snap as I have described here (on a number of occasions) and in my telling of this story he has turned to his peer group as much for therapy as political advice. His therapists are a mixed bag: I have a grudging admiration for the Secretary to the Cabinet, Sir Maurice Hankey, who although not (quite) the senior attendee was probably the one with the closest understanding of Baldwin and the key Cabinet ministers. He is now better known for his attendance on varying committees in the build up to war. Sir Warren Fisher, the Secretary to the Treasury and titular Head of the Civil Service, is worth an AAR in his own right; he is, despite being the senior attendee, the ‘odd man out’ of the group and was often described as ‘mad’ by his peers (notably Hankey). He seems, from what I have read, to just had an unconventional approach which in the stuffy 1930s Civil Service makes his rise even more remarkable.
Sir Robert Vansittart led the Foreign Office through most of the 1930s; we’ll see him again but with Wallis accused of being open to German influence a sore spot for Vansittart has been touched. The meeting depicted in this chapter was convened at Vansittart’s request and was done, apparently, because of his (rather than Eden, the Foreign Secretary) concerns that Mrs Simpson was indeed a threat to national security; although Edward’s attitude to his state papers was seemingly as much to blame as Wallis’ choice of friends. This is part of the Edward and Wallis myth, and has been read in a number of ways: he / she / both had Nazi sympathies, she was acting as an a free agent / on someone else’s behalf, she and Ribbentrop were lovers (this has been alleged in a few sources), the Germans had ‘dirt’ on her, this was all a scam to secure patronage for her husband, etc.
‘Unpacking’ the allegations slightly, I think that Edward was, certainly, in part to blame for the perception held by the ‘establishment’. He was hugely selfish, and while bright had not really prepared for his future role in any way like a Prince of Wales ought to / was expected to. That he had a lax attitude to the security of his red boxes is on record: more than one account of a visit to him (usually at Fort Belvedere, his little retreat in Windsor) regales the reader with a request from the King to ‘drop off’ the red boxes in Downing Street on the way home! He was also an undisciplined worker, and Baldwin became weary (and wary) of the delays in his completing his papers. So on a charge of negligent performance of his Parliamentary duties, I think that there is a case to answer.
But what of the Nazi sympathies? Well, I am going to defer that discussion for a couple of reasons: one, it is late and I would like to answer your comments, and two, let’s leave some possible PODs for another day. I am, deliberately, setting the scene quite carefully before wheeling on the King.
J66185: Weirdly yes – there is a stack of state ceremonial to get through; I have to confess that I find the state ritual a little trying (hence this is the only bit of it that I will feature in any depth).
Cromwell: So I stumbled upon that (I think it was when looking for something on the SCW, actually) and just had to use it. But it is hilarious given what’s about to happen…
Stnylan: So that’s interesting, because for a long, long time the Jacobi Baldwin was my “go to” portrayal of our erstwhile PM. I have to confess that I now prefer the Anthony Andrews Baldwin from the “The King’s Speech”; he has the physical presence of Baldwin that the rather elfin Jacobi doesn’t have.
It is a great point, though, that the media gets our PMs just, well, plain wrong. It’s probably worth a thread elsewhere, but I cannot abide “The Crown” for a lot of reasons – but the main one is that I have hated how the PMs have come across.
El Pip: It’s shrewd, in that it gets a politician into the King’s inner circle, but it is, as you will see from the this chapter, utterly doomed. You are right about Duff-Cooper, he just couldn’t help himself, and but for his utterly unsuitable character could have been great.
Crimson Lionheart: Welcome aboard, Sir, and I hope that you enjoy the ride.
Nikolai: Welcome to the AAR, and thank you.
Bullfilter: It is a wonderful production (and welcome, BTW). That and “The Thick of It” are often watched in the Le Jones household.
DensleyBlair: Thank you, and welcome.
Specialist290: Thank you for your kind words and welcome to the AAR. Eden and Baldwin are both fascinating studies, and I have tried to keep reasonably aligned to their real personas (as much as one is able to be objective).
H.Appleby: Welcome! He certainly was an interesting one!
El Pip: I know what you mean, utterly incomprehensible.
TheButterflyComposer: Welcome! I’ve often found that phrase, well, interesting. Beguiling even. I suppose, when measured against their ambition, most do fail.
H.Appleby: A genuine LOL comment!
TheButterflyComposer: I think that’s woven into the national fabric.
