Chapter 33, Vimy, Pas-de-Calais, France, 26 July 1936
The flypast was modest, a few dozen French and British aircraft dramatically overflying the monument. The crowds, a mixture of French civilians, British, French and Canadian soldiers and sailors (including, fittingly, the French-Moroccan cavalry regiment whose predecessors had served with the Canadians), British, French and Canadian political figures, and six thousand Canadian veterans and their families, were all, seemingly, impressed. There was a hushed silence as the Royal party arrived.
“Your Majesty,” a Canadian voice said from behind the King, “Ernest Lapointe, Canadian Minister for Justice.” He offered a very correct bow. “The Prime Minister sends his apologies.”
The King frowned. “Why is it,” he began petulantly, “that the French send their President, but the Canadian Prime Minister cannot attend?”
Lapointe coloured slightly but was saved from the need to make a response by Duff Cooper, who had, back in 1914, happily given up a safe job in London for service, in the Guards, at the front. “Well, Sir, Baldwin sent me as flunky!”
Lapointe grimaced but the King loved the remark, roaring with laughter and patting the Secretary of State for War on the shoulder. The King indicated with a flourish that Lapointe should accompany him.
“I had a rather horrid letter from Tweesdmuir,” the King said as they completed the tour of the monument. “I thought that he was very unfair,” the King said in a wounded tone. “Is Canada really, oh, what was the word? Ah yes, ‘the most puritanical part of the Empire’?”
“Your Majesty, the letter also described the Dominion as ‘supremely royalist’,” Lapointe said, obliquely confirming that he had seen, or had been briefed, on its content. “His Excellency is correct to report that we are ‘supremely alarmed’ at anything that damages Your Majesty’s prestige, and that of the throne. We see the reports in the American newspapers, it has hurt our pride. It is, as the Governor General writes, an ‘intolerable impertinence’.”
“I would have thought that the Americans have other things to report upon,” Duff Cooper said quite earnestly. He wondered if he was ‘treading a fine line’, but as the Government representative, as well as a close friend of the King, he felt that he should be involved in the conversation.
Lapointe looked sceptically at Duff Cooper but shrugged, as if deciding that he had no valid reason for challenging his presence. “Sir, the American press is so full of gossip that the subject has almost blanketed the imminent presidential election. So far, the Canadian press has been discreet. The subject has been scarcely mentioned. But that restraint is fraying, and starkly.”
“Good that it is restraint,” the King said with finality, clearly keen to end the conversation. He acknowledged, with a wave, the careful salute of a Canadian veteran.
Lapointe wasn’t finished. "But it is causing the most widespread and profound anxiety for us. We are friendly with America, but we always have at the back of her head an honest chauvinism."
Duff Cooper now gently took Lapointe away from the King, who was led off in an inspection of the guard, made up of sailors from HMCS Saguenay and soldiers of the French Army. The King being the King, Duff Cooper was one of a small handful of people not surprised when the inspection was halted so that the King could go and meet the veterans. From the fixed, hard expression on his face, Duff Cooper knew that his friend was attempting to mask a real fury.
Duff Cooper and Lapointe caught up with the King, who was astonishingly engaged with the Canadian Nursing Sisters and the varying veterans’ groups, making their ‘pilgrimage’ to this totemic battlefield. “You should be more forgiving,” Duff Cooper said gently, “he is a good man. All of this controversy, over a domestic matter.”
“The Monarch should remain on a pedestal,” Lapointe said primly.
Duff-Cooper felt that he was listening to Baldwin rather than a Canadian minister. “Well, Ernest, I disagree. Time are changing.”
“So, it is true then? I hear rumours,” he said in a mildly superior way.
“Massey shouldn’t listen to random gossip,” Duff Cooper said with evident irritation. 'Massey' meant Charles Vincent Massey, the High Commissioner of Canada to the United Kingdom.
“I hear that you and Sir Samuel Hoare are close to the King,” Lapointe, keen to understand the shifting allegiances in the Cabinet and Palace, persisted.
“Slippery Sam and I are doing what we think best, keeping the Government and Crown in step with one another,” Duff Cooper said evenly.
The King mounted the dias, his steady pace adding to the heavy solemnity of the moment. His hair flopped around in the wind. He welcomed the guests in French, first, the grey clouds parting, the sun breaking through as the King now prepared to speak to the audience in English.
“This memorial, crowning the hill of Vimy, is now, and for all time, part of Canada!” The audience clapped enthusiastically. “The whole of the British Empire, spread far overseas, is listening now. The world will long remember what happened here, and Canada can never forget that the Dominion stood shoulder to shoulder with France and Britain, not as a subject, but as an equal!” The audience cheered those comments. “With this monument, Canada shall stand, forever!” As he uttered those last words, he gently tugged on the union flag covering the top of the statue that he stood next to. With a flurry, the union flag rippled to the ground, and ‘
Canada Bereft’ was proudly displayed to the world.
Not far away, two men walked, alone (if alone meant shadowed by two escorting officers maintaining a discreet distance) and deep in conversation.
“But, Anthony,” Yvon Delbos, the French Foreign Minister said in almost a hiss, “Blum has promised, he gave,” he frowned as his English failed.
“His word,” Eden said in a languid drawl.
“Oui, yes, ‘is word. Imagine, no, if the Honourable Baldwin,” in Delbos’ heavily accented English ‘the Honourable Baldwin’ sounded very much like ‘the ‘orrible Baldwin’, “imagine if he ‘ad said something.”
Eden smiled at the little Frenchman’s passion, rejoiced in ‘the ‘orrible Baldwin’ and understood the debt of honour that the Frenchman was espousing. But he didn’t agree with it. “My Dear Yvon,” he said warmly, the charm fully activated, “I do see your point and I sympathise with Monsieur Blum’s desire to support the Government.”
“The, how do you say, légitime regime, the…”
“…legitimate, it’s based on the same word, I think,” Eden said chattily. “The legitimate government, you’re trying to say. Yes, I understand your point,” more charm here, “I really do.” A ‘but’ was coming, and both of them knew it, “we cannot agree with you sending any aircraft to the Spanish. It would allow Germany, Italy…”
“…Russia,” Delbos said, pointedly.
“Yes! Precisely,” Eden added for emphasis. “Er, I mean, precissy-er-monde…”
“…précisément,” Delbos, so far so agreeable, said slightly huffily. A proud Frenchman, he hated hearing his beautiful language tortured by the Anglo-Saxons. “And there is also Portugal, America, Japan, Turkey,” Delbos, notwithstanding that he and Eden understood the point well, started to list every country that he could think of.
“Well, yes,” Eden said affably, “and that is my point, they could all interfere, ah,” he faltered as he wondered how much of this was getting through, “ah, send things into Spain.”
“They could,” Delbos said in a sly way, “do it ah, anyway?”
Eden conceded the point silently, and was determined not to give up his point. “I wish it to be known,” he said formally, “that His Majesty’s Government will not avail itself of an opportunity to embroil itself in the Spanish, er, situation. We will push for a strong policy of non-intervention.”
Delbos nodded, and shrugged, as the civil servants rejoined them at last. He smiled as he watched King Edward with the crowds. “Another ‘Dirty Bertie’, oui?” Eden bristled but said nothing, leaving Delbos to risk a further jibe, “he did not bring the mistress?”
“Even you French,” Eden said tartly, “would struggle to like
this mistress.” He fell silent as the rest of the Britons in this small group, mainly diplomats and the odd civil servant, looked awkwardly at his shoes at each remembered that he really ought to know very, very little about this little saga. Eden, spotting, in the distance, the usual happy chaos that surrounded the Royal party, thought sourly that if the gossip was true a tryst would occur that very evening; if successful the peccadillo might launch one marriage and end another. Eden, normally so keen to travel, felt desperate to return home. With Vansittart already preparing for his trip to Berlin, Eden felt terribly, horribly, alone, and was dreading the return to a Whitehall (or, as the King had privately and caustically labelled it to Eden and Duff-Cooper, 'Whitehell') for the last week of what had been a torrid term.
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GAME NOTES
So this is a slightly frivolous update, based around an event and a monument that I find both weirdly captivating and, well, odd. The monument (or, more correctly, the Canadian National Vimy Memorial) was indeed opened in July 1936 and much as described here. The only change is that, following Eden's being 'let off the leash' a bit by Baldwin, I've included him as an escort to the King as well as Duff-Cooper (whose choice was a canny move by Baldwin both here and OTL, they did get on). The monument, is genuinely impressive and has been instantly added to my ‘if I happen to be driving through Northern France / Flanders I should stop off at…’ list (along with a return visit to Waterloo, Crecy (not Agincourt, I’ve done that to death). The statue of
'Canada Bereft' which the King indeed unveiled is meant as a representation of Canada as a nation, grieving over the Vimy fallen and a focal point for the whole monument. It might be that it’s just me, but the whole thing does look well, very 1930s. If I was going to do a fascist UK (spoiler alert, I’m not) then the pictures of Edward stood over the he adoring crowd with union flags liberally draped all over would be a good pic for a rally…
The characters and the event are largely per the real world, although with the Simpson crisis already brewing (as it wasn’t in the original timeline) I have injected Tweedsmuir’s real comments (which I find, frankly, very prudish) into Lapointe’s words. Lapointe, who is (sorry Canada!) little more than a plot vehicle here, was indeed the Canadian Government’s representative at the unveiling, and if I am honest I think that the Justice Minister is just a tad, well, low ranking – that’s the best that can be done? I detect, from reading, that the cold and tactless Mackenzie King had an uneasy relationship with veterans’ groups, but frankly found it astonishing that Lapointe was the senior man appointed (FFS, the French sent their President!). I do get the argument that Edward VIII was there as the King of Canada, not of England, but I would have though a more senior man could have been sent. Even with a marriage crisis larger and more overt than it was OTL brewing, I still think that Canada would have fudged it and sent Lapointe. Of course, Canada was very unhappy with the Simpson affair, and as she shared a long and porous border with her noisy Southern neighbour she was, of course, the front line; while her press kept reasonably quiet, the torrent of gossipy articles from the US spilled North and caused substantial discomfort for both Canadian politics and society; the contrast with the UK media's 'silence by consent' is stark.
Eden has the last scene, and I enjoyed some light fencing with his French counterpart, the mercurial Yvon Delbos. This memorial unveiling serves to achieve face-to-face that which in the real '36 was done largely via letter and ambassadors, the UK asserting its policy of non-assertive non-intervention. The arguments continue to swirl (as they have done on this forum) about how much the Blum administration wanted to support the Republicans; Eden has acted here largely as he did OTL. And yes, I have reused the 'orrible' joke, but it is based on something that I heard as a student and makes me giggle every time. And it has cheered Eden up.
But troubles at home, darkly hinted at in the dialogue, are never far away and Eden must scurry home. Because it's time to brief the Cabinet...
I have seen this mentioned elsewhere. Never seen the war last longer than six months myself. And that's with me ignoring it too.
The La Resistance DLC has completely screwed with the SCW and not in a good way. For safety and sanity's sake I will stick to a largely conventional telling until something that I (on behalf of our UK) does impacts upon it.
I have the veterans' question, and will have a look before getting back to you. The 'Top Gear Maths' answer is a 'a lot', but some downplayed their military service when their party or their own ambitions made it desirable to ('Major' Attlee is a good example), while others clung to it.
Aside from that unwelcome mental image I greatly enjoyed the updates and the discussion. The Parliamentary scenes are always a lot of fun, I am glad Willie Gallacher made an appearance (somehow I doubt there will be many). He would be a great lead character for a red Clydeside AAR!
I actually rather like Gallacher as much for his Parliamentary language as anything else; he is superb at 'stating the bloomin obvious' when everyone else is pussyfutting.
Thats the prequel where everyone is a french pirate trying to steal a gold hoard directly.
Oh my Lord - beyond my talents, mon brave...
First off, another excellent update. The idea of the Civil Service complaining about someone else not making quick enough progress remains amusing. I also thought Wilson's title of "Chief Industrial Advisor" was vestigal not artifice, he had indeed been in that role for many years (with mixed actual results, but great political and personal effect). Though as you say by this point he had risen above such things, but retained the title as there was nowhere else obvious to fit him in to the hierarchy.
You're right, he was initially advising on this among other things, but by '36 was really an unacknowledged Minister without Portfolio.
Allo allo with bankers would be surreal. Potentially highly entertaining. Everyone would be completely insane and drunk on wine and power. No one understands written French yet insist upon writing everything in that tongue. And they're classical econommists, so they read classics at university and have spent most of their lives bullying the underclass of their own country and natives in colonies.
If push came to shove, they could not find europe on a map and think Belgium is a bar in the doldrums of Paris (and thus is to be avoided at all costs). They have a massive army and military budget, and are terrified of using it. Obsessed with wine and cheese, and carjacking.
To round it all off, and this is most important, the rest of the world must never come into the picture, except in jokes. Absolutely nothing outside the borders affects France and vice versa. Except, perhaps, in one episode, possibly the last one, where the gang are convinced that electing the last bonaparte (or whoever) is a good idea, hijinks issue amongst everyone until the last few minutes, when the coronation is about the begin and the rest of europe shows up and kills everyone except the would be monarch (who got lost) and steal the huge pile of gold the economists have managed to gather the whole series through before setting the set on fire and leaving.
But who would write this - I mean, it would be brilliant, but, just,
who?
Fisher, from Vansittart’s perspective at least, comes across as the dictionary definition of a pompous ass In this meeting. Perhaps it will work out all right, but his and Wilson’s interventions here have potential balls-up written all over them (I’m thinking more POD game events than what may have transpired in OTL).
Quite. Though with them, it’s more of a Manchu Court thing, as opposed to the grubby world of vote-seeking and slithering up the Greasy Pole.
I think you're right, and I suspect that
@El Pip agrees. He was just maddeningly flowery in his written and conversational English, and as I have hinted, was capable of driving his peer group utterly demented with his theatrics. I am warming to Vansittart, and having sketched out the looming Olympics chapter he will feature heavily.
Anyway, the government are all still running about like proverbial chickens and one gets the sense that everyone is just waiting for Edward to do something. (I suppose it’s sort of like waiting for an exam; better the thing just be over, even if it will be highly unpleasant.) At least His Majesty isn’t about to arm Franco – I hope.
You're right, and it is starting...
Clearly masonic influences at work.
Nah, we had that, in an earlier chapter.
Why comment now then, of all the times I've thought I should? Unfortunately, what prompts this is a very specific, entirely inconsequential nitpick.
Spain is in an increasingly severe conflagration, and business of the Chamber is dull. One can hardly use another word to describe it.
(sighs). So I have genuinely agonised over what to say about these, given that my initial reaction would perhaps have been an overreaction. In the spirit of Eden and Delbos and entente, I shall merely say, "er, ok."
It seems as though the chaos of the oncoming Spanish Civil War is not limited to Spain herself -- and with that crisis coming hot on the heels of the still steadily-building domestic scandal surrounding the King, London has become a veritable whirlwind of feverish activity.
The timing is awful, and as we have discussed the sheer ability of the British Government to actively pursue an agenda is now hugely limited by the overwhelming effect of the King. It will get worse.
