^e tdiv>
I
n a controversial broadcast the day after the abdication Archbishop Lang denounced the sovereign for giving in to ‘a craving for private happiness’:
From God he had received a high and sacred trust. Yet by his own will he has abdicated – he has surrendered the trust.
Even more strange and sad it is that he should have sought his happiness in a manner inconsistent with the Christian principles of marriage and within a social circle whose standards and ways of life are alien to all the best instincts and traditions of his people.
Let those who belong to this circle know that today they stand rebuked by the judgement of the nation which had loved King Edward.
Although Baldwin insisted that the broadcast was ‘the voice of Christian England’, and the BBC’s Sir John Reith wrote, ‘Few more momentous or impressive messages have ever been delivered … we are honoured to have been the medium,’ the speech was generally considered a disaster, appearing as ‘clerical vindictiveness towards a beaten and pathetic figure’. Lambeth Palace was deluged with more vituperative letters than the staff had ever known. Gerald Bullett, the popular novelist, wrote a widely circulated poem:
My Lord Archbishop, what a scold you are
And when your man is down how bold you are
In Christian charity how scant you are
Oh Auld Lang Swine how full of Cantuar
A strong letter to the
New Statesman
from the drama critic Ivor Brown helped explain why such a lack of compassion was causing nervousness on all sides:
The departure into exile of Mrs Simpson and the Duke of Windsor is a smashing clerical victory and the cock-a-hoop tone of the bishops last Sunday, led by the primate, seems to me thoroughly sinister. You may say that Parliament won – so did the prudes and the Pharisees; a dangerous victory … no doubt according to their principles the Churchmen had to fight the proposed marriage … we may be sure that clericalism will now fight harder than ever to hold all its forts of intolerance and obscurantism.
Lang had truly believed for months that the ex-King had ‘a pathological obsession which completely unbalanced his mind’. He and his Chaplain Alex Sergeant seriously considered that Edward was ‘definitely abnormal psychologically if not mentally or physically. Drink or drugs may have contributed to the result which is that he became a sort of
slave
to this woman and cannot do without her. It is not a case of normal love.’ Because of Edward’s ‘disastrous liking for vulgar society and infatuation for this Mrs Simpson’, the Archbishop had been dreading the Coronation ‘as a sort of nightmare’. He was now confident in the new King and Queen’s regard for traditional morality and ‘sure that to the solemn words of the Coronation there would be a sincere response’, and his broadcast left no one, least of all Wallis, in any doubt of that.
The Archbishop’s personal csast of allsense of relief that he could now proceed with a meaningful Coronation was surpassed by an even greater sense of relief within the royal family at how smooth the transition to the new King and Queen had been and how readily the nation took to the new family with their photogenic young daughters. The country rejoiced that such an unpleasant episode was now behind it, a delight expressed clearly by a seven-year-old Welsh girl: ‘Mummy dear, isn’t it nice to have a Royal Family again.’
But such relief did not signal a general relaxation in attitudes to the exiled former King, sympathy for whom was considered highly dangerous politically in case he proved more popular than the socially awkward, less glamorous George VI. It was generally agreed that should the Duke return to London his presence would be an embarrassment both to the government and to the royal family. But he was well within his rights to return had he wished. As the Attorney General had told the House of Commons on 11 December 1936, a king who voluntarily abdicated was not compelled to leave the country. The new Queen was concerned about further stress for her husband, who had not been brought up to be the centre of attention and whose stammer was a serious problem when it came to public speaking; she was concerned too for their youn
g daughters, whom she wanted shielded from comment and scrutiny. But others worried about more sinister elements who might look to exploit the situation. On the eve of the abdication the British Union of Fascists had made an abortive attempt to rally popular support for King Edward VIII, their leader Sir Oswald Mosley always claiming that he was in direct communication with the King hoping to be asked to form a government. However unlikely this scenario, since Mosley was not then in the House of Commons, the Fascists, while outwardly proclaiming loyalty to King George VI, made no real secret of their support for the Duke of Windsor and for any move for him to return to this country and if possible the throne. Since the Fascists looked forward to any visit with enthusiasm and were certain to arrange some sort of welcome, the Metropolitan Police feared a situation which might serve Communist purposes, as the Communists would be watching and, if there was support for their opponents, would immediately attack both Fascists and the Duke.
15
Virginia Woolf understood the volatility of human emotions, noting in her diary the views of her grocer’s young female assistant, ‘We can’t have a woman Simpson for Queen … She’s no more royal than you or me,’ before commenting,
But today we have developed a strong sense of human sympathy: we are saying Hang it all – the age of Victoria is over. Let him marry whom he likes. Harold [Nicolson] is glum as an undertaker and so are the other nobs. They say Royalty is in Peril. The Empire is Divided … never has there been such a crisis … The different interests are queueing up behind Baldwin or Churchill. Mosley is taking advantage of the crisis for his own ends …
In this febrile time of swift realignments, the writer Osbert Sitwell cleverly captured the mood in his cruel satirical poem ‘Rat Week’, which was not printed at the time for fear of being found libellous. Was the ex-King ‘quite sane’, he asked or merely weak and obstinate and vain? Was Lady Colefax ‘in her iron cage of curls’ one of the rats to desert the sinking ship? Copies were circulating privately and Attlee typed up on his own typewriter all eight verses.
Where are the cWheinking sh friends of yesterday
Where are the friends of yesterday
Submitting to His every whim
Offering praise of Her as Myrrh
What do they say, that jolly crew?
Oh … her they hardly knew,
They never found her really
nice
(And here the sickened cock crew thrice) …
The apprehension of the new Court, and antipathy towards anyone thought to have been part of the ex-King’s circle, was made painfully clear to Perry Brownlow when he returned from France at the end of the month and found his services no longer required. He complained at being ‘hurt and humiliated more than I have ever known before … I am afraid that when I came back last week I did not realise the depth of personal feeling against myself in certain circles: perhaps you should have told me more frankly or maybe I should have understood your hint in the “formula of resignation” shown to me,’ he wrote to the Lord Chamberlain, the Earl of Cromer. ‘My resignation from His Majesty’s household was both obvious and desirable, ’ he agreed, but was it necessary to be demanded ‘in such a premature and unhappy manner’? Lord Cromer tried to reassure Brownlow that the request was not personal as the new King was very grateful for his loyal service in escorting Wallis abroad. But the reality was that he was criticized severely for helping her and remaining friendly to the Duke, who was after all godfather to his young son. Baldwin at least accepted that Brownlow ‘had a difficult row to hoe’, and Wallis, who understood that any intervention from her would only make matters worse, wrote: ‘You know my dear that if there was anything I could do about it I would have done it long ago.’ Spurned by the new Court, Brownlow offered to visit the Duke, brooding at a castle in Austria, Schloss Enzesfeld.
‘The strain here [at Enzesfeld] is pretty great, as you can imagine, and the Archbishop’s outburst hasn’t helped,’ wrote Piers Legh, who, firmly out of sympathy with the Duke and Mrs Simpson and not able to speak German, was hoping to be relieved as soon as possible. Brownlow put it more strongly to Alan Don after visiting the Duke in Austria. He thought the Duke was ‘a pathological case. If Mrs Simpson now lets him down anything might happen.’ But, as the Duke saw it, the only people letting him down were those in England, mainly his own family. When Dudley Forwood replaced Legh to become sole equerry he described the Duke as ‘a broken man, a shell, yet he still expected a full service, a monarch’s service’. If Forwood forgot to bow on arriving in the Duke’s bedroom in the morning to announce the day’s business, he would receive a reprimand.
Schloss Enzesfeld, owned by Baron Eugène de Rothschild, had been chosen in hasty desperation in December as it was clear the Duke could not be in the same country as Wallis. At least it had a golf course, skiing was near by and he could get around by speaking German. His grandfather, King Edward VII, had stayed there on a visit to the Baron’s father. The introduction now came thanks c caerman. Hito the Baroness, Kitty de Rothschild, a thrice-married friend of Wallis. According to a newspaper cutting sent to Archbishop Lang, heavily underscored and with exclamation marks in the margins, Kitty (née Wolf) had left Bavaria as a child and emigrated to America with her parents. An uncle educated her and at twenty she married for the first time a Mr Spotswood, a Philadelphia dentist. She divorced him, went to Paris in 1910 and became a Catholic in order to marry Count Erwin Schönborn-Buchheim, a wealthy diplomat. Later she divorced Schönborn and in 1924 ‘accepted the Jewish faith’ in order to marry Baron Eugène de Rothschild. What really irked courtiers who knew the Duke well was hearing how enthusiastically he read the lesson at a Vienna church on Christmas Day when they recalled how resistant he had always been to going to church when it was required of him. Wallis spent Christmas Day at Somerset Maugham’s Villa Mauresque at Cap Ferrat, with Sybil Colefax attempting to cheer her up.
Bored and unable to amuse themselves – knitting was only so much fun – both Wallis and the Duke were finding fault with those who were trying their best to entertain them. Boredom at least gave Wallis time to read the first of many books published about her. By December 1936 the New York publishers E. P. Dutton had managed to release a biography of her by one Edwina H. Wilson. This superficial and rather breathless account of Mrs Simpson’s furs, nail varnish, jewellery and accomplishments was hugely successful and went into three printings in a fortnight. ‘She can complete a jigsaw puzzle in half the time the average person takes,’ readers were informed. They were then told not to despair, as ‘those who envy Wallis Simpson her success’ could be given hints to guide them, for example on how to emulate her: ‘A wise hostess never entertains at the same time her bridge-playing friends and those who shun the game.’ Wallis, who read it immediately, was furious to find the amount of inside knowledge it contained and concluded that Mary had had a heavy hand in it.
‘Have you read Mary’s effort at literature called “Her Name was Wallis Warfield”? … It is written by Mary and one other bitch,’ she wrote furiously to Ernest. ‘Charming to make money out of one’s friends besides sleeping with their husband. Everyone in London says the amount of stuff she has sold is the top … I warned you of this ages ago but you wouldn’t believe me. I am very sad.’ Even more upsetting was the appalling waxwork effigy of her in Madame Tussaud’s, where she was grouped not with the royals but with Voltaire, Marie Antoinette and Joan of Arc. She begged Walter Monckton to do something about it. ‘It really is too indecent and so awful to be there anyway.’ But he was powerless.
Walter Monckton, ever the emollient diplomat, was trying to keep the peace on all sides and generally advising patience and turning the other cheek, his tact and usefulness evidenced by the fact that he was the first knight of the new reign, dubbed KCVO by George VI on 1 January 1937. Sir Walter, as he now was, had to fly to Austria, which he found extremely frightening in a small plane in horrible weather, to appease the Duke, who was bombarding his brother, the new King, with what he thought was advice as well as demands for future status and income. Numerous stories did the rounds about how Wallis would telephone from France berating and shouting at the Duke, mostly about money but also about position. And she was once, apparently, heard to accuse the Duke over the phone of having an affair with his hostess, Kitty, even though she had written to her friend in advance imploring her to ‘be kind to him. He is honest and good and really worthy of affection. They simply haven’t understood.’ Now she remarked: ‘It is odd, the hostess remain costfriening on. Must be that fatal charm!’ She told him she had heard terrible rumours, but ‘I can only pray to God that in your loneliness you haven’t flirted with her (I suspect that).’ As the atmosphere at Enzesfeld deteriorated dramatically, Kitty left the castle in early February, appalled at the cost of the long phone calls – £800 after three months – which the Rothschilds were expected to pay. The Duke failed to say goodbye to her. Most nights as he sat down for dinner with whomever was staying, he would hold forth to a baffled audience about what a wonderful woman Wallis was.