The King Who Had to Go Read online

  Beaverbrook was calculating that the benefits of putting the King under an obligation would have been far greater than the benefits of a good news story, and he took full advantage when Edward showed how desperate he was to shield Mrs Simpson from publicity. He personally telephoned Beaverbrook to ask for a meeting the day after his telephone conversation with Goddard. Beaverbrook made full use of the King’s invitation to ‘name your own time’ and set the appointment for three days later, Friday 16 October.66 In his memoir he explained away the delay with a claim that he needed urgent dental treatment, but the historian A. J. P. Taylor, who edited the memoir and openly revered Beaverbrook, was for once sceptical and pointed out that Beaverbrook’s appointments diary for the days between mentions no dentist but does mention Ernest Simpson late in the afternoon of Thursday 15th.67 It seems that Beaverbrook wanted to make the King sweat a little and to check on the relationship between him and Mrs Simpson before committing himself to suppressing what might have been a very major story indeed.

  There is a small hint that the King might have been somewhat reluctant to see Beaverbrook, perhaps because of his previous distrust, perhaps because he dimly foresaw the political cost. On the Thursday, Mrs Simpson nagged him by post to perform ‘Friday’s job’ and secure appropriately low-key press coverage.68 Against this, there was ample reason to seek Beaverbrook’s help. The King’s plea to Beaverbrook was heartfelt and focused on his desire to protect Mrs Simpson, ‘ill, unhappy, and distressed at the thought of notoriety’.69 Beaverbrook accepted and in his usual style swung into action, bringing in Esmond Harmsworth, his fellow press proprietor. The Harmsworths’ Daily Mail and Beaverbrook’s Daily Express stood together as the great popular newspapers of their day, reviled by conservative politicians; their owners tried to translate their huge circulations into political influence. Beaverbrook and Harmsworth approached other national and local newspapers and won them over to a policy of restraint. Beaverbrook overcame the doubts of Sir Walter Layton of the left-leaning News Chronicle, which held the line of silence. Edward was ever afterwards immensely grateful for Beaverbrook’s assistance but, in reality, Beaverbrook had got much for very little. His habitual exercise in dramatically exaggerated activity masked a far more modest performance. The silence of the News Chronicle was Beaverbrook’s only solid achievement. There is no indication that he even contacted either The Times or the Daily Telegraph, the two dominant Establishment papers. They were conservative papers who supported the government and were far more likely to follow an official lead than that of competitors whom they despised anyway. Geoffrey Dawson, editor of The Times, knew that his paper ‘“will have to do something about the King and Mrs. Simpson”. But that the Prime Minister must tell him what he wishes done.’70 It is unlikely that either would have broken the silence spontaneously. The Labour Daily Herald also kept silent without intervention; the Labour Party leader had decided not to fish in the troubled waters of the King’s affairs.

  Intentionally or otherwise, the King had made a significant political choice in calling Beaverbrook to his assistance. There was a gulf between those papers who supported the government and those who didn’t. Beaverbrook was the most extreme example. He was a bitter enemy of Baldwin, who had signally failed to give him the same privileged position that he held during the brief premiership of his fellow Canadian and business partner, Andrew Bonar Law. Bonar Law had benefited financially from the relationship, and Beaverbrook in terms of backstairs political influence. Beaverbrook had also been a leading light in Lloyd George’s coalition government, the ‘thieves’ kitchen’, loathed by the traditional Conservatives championed by Baldwin. Beaverbrook’s genuine enthusiasm for the Empire had led him to campaign vigorously against Baldwin on the issue of Empire Free Trade. When Baldwin famously denounced the press for exercising ‘power without responsibility, the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages’, he was aiming squarely at Beaverbrook. At the start of Edward’s reign Beaverbrook was suspected of plotting with Winston Churchill, then struggling to return from the political wilderness, to remove Baldwin.71 At this stage, the King was concerned only to protect Mrs Simpson, but he had unthinkingly stepped into the camp of the government’s opponents. He had strayed into a singularly venomous political feud. It was to have serious consequences.72

  NOTES

  1. NA PREM 1/466

  2. Roskill, Hankey: Man of Secrets, Vol. III, p. 215

  3. Duff Cooper diaries, 20 January

  4. Jones, A Diary with Letters, p. 163

  5. NAA M104, Bruce memorandum, 15 November

  6. Reith diaries, 21 January, p. 185

  7. Duff Cooper diaries, 20 January

  8. Ziegler, King Edward VIII, pp 249–50, A King’s Story pp 274–5

  9. The Times, 3 February

  10. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, entries for Albert Baillie and John Dalton, accessed 4 April 2016

  11. NA PREM 1/466

  12. Lascelles, King’s Counsellor, pp 107–108

  13. Chamberlain diary, first entry, second volume, n.d. but 18–23 November

  14. Davidson memorandum, February 1936, quoted in Sebba, That Woman, p. 125

  15. Channon diaries, 12 June 1935

  16. Sitwell, Rat Week, p. 35

  17. Templewood papers, IX/7 Abdication notes

  18. Andrew, Defence of the Realm, pp 195–200; Ustinov, Dear Me, p. 60

  19. The Heart Has Its Reasons, pp 234f

  20. Ziegler, Edward VIII, p. 273

  21. Davidson memorandum, February 1936, quoted in Sebba, That Woman

  22. Reith diaries, 6 March

  23. Lascelles, King’s Counsellor, p. 108

  24. NA CAB PREM 1/466

  25. Reith diaries, 8 April

  26. DGFP Series C, Vol. IV, p. 106

  27. Hesse, Das Spiel um Deutschland, pp 60f, Bundesarchiv Nachlaß Hesse 1322/1/1

  28. Nachlaß Hesse, 1322/4/39

  29. Hesse, Das Spiel um Deutschland, p. 37

  30. Bloch, Ribbentrop, p. 129

  31. Nuremberg Trials evidence 075-TC, von Ribbentrop to Hitler, 2 January 1938

  32. NA PREM 1/466, Ziegler, King Edward VIII, p. 273

  33. NA PREM 1/466

  34. NA PREM 1/466

  35. Ziegler, King Edward VIII, pp 255f

  36. Donaldson, King Edward VIII, p. 184

  37. Channon diaries, 6 December 1935

  38. Lascelles, King’s Counsellor, p. 138

  39. Channon diaries, 6 December 1935, NA PREM 1/466

  40. Ziegler, King Edward VIII, pp 259ff

  41. Greig, Louis and the Prince, pp 258–62

  42. The Times, 3 March

  43. Jones, A Diary with Letters, p. 189

  44. The Times, 16 March

  45. The Heart Has Its Reasons, p. 243

  46. Reith diaries, 28 May

  47. Nicolson diaries, 28 May, pp 261–2

  48. Brooks journal, 22 July

  49. NA PREM 1/466

  50. Nicolson diaries, 13 July

  51. NA PREM 1/466

  52. Streat diaries, 13 December

  53. DGFP Series C, Vol. IV, p. 980

  54. DGFP Series C, Vol. IV, pp 980–81

  55. DGFP Series C, Vol. IV, p. 1001

  56. NA PREM 1/466

  57. Wallis to Ernest Simpson, quoted in Sebba, That Woman, p. 141

  58. Aberdeen Evening Express, 23 September

  59. Citrine, Men and Work, p. 327

  60. Channon diaries, 11 November

  61. Brooks journal, 22 October

  62. Thornton, Royal Feud, p. 75

  63. Goddard narrative

  64. Bruce Lockhart diaries, 1 September 1928, pp 70–71

  65. Beaverbrook (ed. A. J. P. Taylor), The Abdication of King Edward VIII, pp 19–20

  66. Beaverbrook (ed. A. J. P. Taylor), The Abdication of King Edward VIII, p. 30

  67. Beaverbrook (ed. A. J. P. Taylor), The Abdication of King Edward VIII, p. 30 fn.

  68. Mrs Simpson to K
ing, 15 October [misdated as 14 in Wallis and Edward]

  69. Beaverbrook (ed. A. J. P. Taylor), The Abdication of King Edward VIII, p. 30

  70. Jones, A Diary with Letters, p. 277

  71. Chamberlain to Ida, 13 April

  72. Ramsden, The Age of Balfour and Baldwin 1902–1940, pp 297f and 306–12; Searle, Corruption in British Politics, 1895–1930, pp 399–404 and 409ff

  * shirker

  CHAPTER 4

  A JOB IS ASSIGNED TO THE PRIME MINISTER

  * * *

  As to the particular job in connection with a ‘serting’ lady assigned to the P.M. he has done it but I can’t make out that he clinched anything…

  NEVILLE CHAMBERLAIN TO HIS SISTER IDA, 24 OCTOBER 1936

  THERE WAS A gulf between Stanley Baldwin’s public persona and the reality. He cultivated the image of a bluff and stolid Midlands businessman and country lover, the epitome of a rank-and-file Conservative MP. Beneath this façade, he was acute and highly strung. People unfamiliar with his true personality might have thought that outside events were barely registering on him. In reality, he would agonise over the best way to tackle a given problem until he was confident of the right move. Baldwin paid for this habit in two quite different ways. Even close colleagues mistook his inactivity for nonchalant idleness. Some, notably Neville Chamberlain then Chancellor of the Exchequer and his de facto deputy, were driven to near fury and nursed a growing contempt for Baldwin based on a complete misunderstanding of the man and his methods. Baldwin’s resolute concealment of his doubts also put him under huge mental stress. Contrary to Chamberlain’s contemptuous opinion, Baldwin took his responsibilities as Prime Minister immensely seriously. As he aged, Baldwin found the burden a heavy one and by the summer of 1936 he was close to a nervous breakdown. Of the various accidents that shaped the abdication crisis, this was one of the most significant. Just as the Nahlin cruise was propelling the King’s relationship with Mrs Simpson into global consciousness and transforming a significant scandal into a major problem for the government, the Prime Minister was not available to tackle it.

  The strains of dealing with the international situation had taken Baldwin to the verge of collapse. Since he had become Prime Minister in 1935, the pressure had been almost unremitting. Diplomatic crises had come one on top of another beginning with the invasion of Abyssinia. Confronted by its first major test, the League of Nations failed abjectly to deliver on its promise of harmonious and peaceful resolution to this kind of challenge. Not only was Britain politically unprepared to rebuild the old order in Europe, but the crisis threw into stark relief the extent of her military weakness after years of minimal spending on the armed forces. In March 1936, Nazi Germany reoccupied the Rhineland in a flagrant breach of the Versailles Treaty. Even if Britain had seriously wanted to intervene, it lacked both the diplomatic and the military power to do so. The outbreak of the Spanish Civil War added another layer of complexity and danger. Baldwin found himself struggling with the dilemma that baffled British statesmen until Hitler’s invasion of France in May 1940 gave Britain no option other than fighting an all-out war against the fascist dictatorships on its own.

  In late July, Lord Dawson, the most eminent doctor in the country, strongly advised Baldwin to take three months of complete rest.1 Baldwin did not get his full three months, but he dropped out of all political activity to an extent inconceivable for a modern head of government. For more than two months he was away from Downing Street, unaccompanied by either politicians or civil servants. He was almost completely out of contact; the telephones of the time were unreliable and insecure, and letters or personal visits were the only method of contact. He spent August at Gregynog Hall, an isolated mansion in Wales owned by the Davies sisters, devout Methodists deeply involved in the revival of Welsh culture but entirely uninvolved in the greater affairs of the country. They were friends of Tom Jones, former assistant secretary to the Cabinet and Baldwin’s confidant and speech-writer. In honour of the Prime Minister and to the delight of their butler, they suspended their usual absolute ban on alcohol.2 Baldwin toured the Welsh Marches, exploring his ancestral homelands.3 It is far from certain that he was more than dimly aware of the full scale of the Nahlin debacle. Baldwin’s only recorded serious contact with his official life was a visit by Tommy Dugdale, his parliamentary private secretary.4 Dugdale’s drive from his home in North Yorkshire was sufficiently epic by the standards of 1930s motoring to remain a strong shared memory, but what prompted him to make the journey remains a frustrating mystery although it was planned some days in advance, suggesting the business was not urgent.

  Baldwin’s next destination brought him back nearer to London, both literally and figuratively. Blickling Hall in Norfolk was the home of Lord Lothian, an intimate member of Lloyd George’s circle and a former minister. Official life began to press Baldwin again. Tom Jones, Horace Wilson and Maurice Hankey came down separately from London to see him. But there is no positive evidence that suggests that the King’s affairs were even mentioned. Jones briefed the Prime Minister on his recent visit to Hitler and floated a scheme for a summit meeting.5 All that Hankey remembered of his visit to Blickling in old age was that Baldwin had promised him a peerage there, but that the promise was forgotten amidst the abdication crisis that ensued, which implies that Hankey believed that the crisis began later.6 Of the three visitors, Wilson was the most preoccupied about the King, but there is no hint whatever in current or later accounts as to what he talked about with Baldwin. Wilson visited Blickling on 16 September, even before the minor scandal of the King’s choice of guests at Balmoral had broken and weeks after the Nahlin cruise had vanished from the news.7 If he did bring up the subject of the King, the conversation was inconclusive. The only indication that the crisis was under way lies in the memories of the servants’ hall at Blickling, but this is not decisive.8 It may reflect what the servants gossiped about amongst themselves or a gloss of memory. Mrs Baldwin made a great impression with her tip of £25 to the staff, immense by the standards of the day, perhaps unintentionally creating a sense that great matters were afoot.

  Baldwin’s absence from London left a void at the centre of government for the critical period that the King’s behaviour began to appear as a flagrant challenge to convention. But could he have done anything? Before Baldwin left on his convalescence, Hardinge recognised that ‘the Prime Minister’s natural reluctance to interfere in the private life of the Sovereign … was reinforced by the fact that no constitutional issue could arise as long as Mrs Simpson remained married to Mr Simpson’.9 British Prime Ministers had never advised sovereigns on their private lives, only on marriage. Only if the King proposed to marry Mrs Simpson (or anyone else) would practice have demanded that he consult the Prime Minister. Notwithstanding, Baldwin’s absence from Downing Street isolated him from two forces that would have pushed him towards action: the growing stream of letters from concerned members of the public and Horace Wilson. It was at least hypothetically possible that the King might have been warned against inviting Mrs Simpson on the Nahlin cruise or to Balmoral, the two episodes that most shocked opinion. Wilson knew about Mrs Simpson’s presence on the Nahlin before the cruise began. Had Baldwin been in Downing Street, it is a near certainty that Wilson would have tried his hardest to make the Prime Minister act given the extent of his fears. When Baldwin briefly passed through London on his way from Gregynog to Blickling, Wilson was itching to broach the King’s affairs but deferred to Lord Dawson’s view that Baldwin should be kept from public business.10

  If there ever had been any opportunity to persuade the King to behave decorously before he triggered a full-scale crisis, it had gone by the time Baldwin returned to Downing Street on Tuesday 13 October. He was much restored by his weeks of rest, most fortunately given the trial that awaited him. The scandal of the King’s private life had escalated into a crisis. What had been a painful and degrading spectacle now appeared to pose acute risks, and the Prime Minister was the only man in a posi
tion to do anything. Baldwin was very soon made aware of this. The mountain of letters had been building up over the summer and offered brutal, physical testimony to the level of public revulsion at the King’s behaviour. This was soon reinforced by urgent warnings from senior figures from the Establishment. When he attended what proved to be an entirely routine audience with the King on Wednesday 14th, Hardinge expressed his concerns to the Prime Minister both before and after the audience itself.11