5
Marriage
A
T THE END OF TWO WEEKS
, the Spencers returned to Pensacola. Wallis was delighted to find that their new house, at 6 Admiralty Row, was on the same street as that of her cousin Corinne. From the main gate to the U.S. Naval Air Station, Admiralty Row gently descended past the commanding officer’s mansion down to the long white beach. The house itself, like the Mustins’, was a single-story frame bungalow, painted white and faced with a large veranda. Aromatic and colorful oleander and roses bloomed in the neat yard, and it commanded a lovely view of Pensacola Bay.
1
The house was fairly large, with a living room, dining room, kitchen, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms. This was the first opportunity Wallis had had to decorate a home of her own, and she filled the house’s rooms with white-painted furniture, plants and potted palms, wicker chairs, and chintz curtains, which helped enliven the somewhat stark Craftsman-style interiors. The crates of wedding gifts were carefully unpacked: Family photographs topped tables, china filled the shelves, and the Kirk silver service glistened on the dining-room sideboard. Carefully arranged vases of flowers added color. Although Win’s salary was tight, they found money to hire a maid and a cook, the latter a necessity, for Wallis had not yet learned the culinary arts.
2
At first, life in Pensacola was easy and comfortable for Wallis. The weather was usually good for late-afternoon walks, and Win’s pay was enough to keep Wallis in the latest fashionable, if slightly practical, clothes. She had security previously unknown in her life. Corinne escorted her to luncheons, where she met the officers’ wives. Wallis was sociable but found she had little in common with these rather quiet, reserved women who spent their afternoons discussing children, gardening, and needlework—all topics which held absolutely no interest for Wallis. The wives, in turn, found Wallis unconventional: She was bold, she spoke her mind freely, and she laughed easily. Perhaps inevitably, Wallis got on better with their husbands, whom she and Win frequently hosted for evenings of bridge or poker.
On Saturday evenings, they often drove to the San Carlos Hotel for dinner and dancing. It was only after dinner on Saturday nights that officers were allowed to drink, but Win and his comrades circumvented this by sneaking martinis at dinner in soup bowls. On occasion, the alcohol got the better of Win, who once grabbed a neighbor’s cane and hat and danced around the dining room, pretending he was George M. Cohan. Wallis said nothing; her husband’s performance was slightly embarrassing but harmless enough.
3
Each morning, Wallis saw Win off to his daily flights. A gong was stationed at the edge of the airfield and was rung to alert the entire station whenever an accident occurred. “Whatever else we might be doing on our own account,” Wallis recalled, “our subconscious was always waiting for it to sound. Then, once it had sounded, the first frightening thought was ‘Has it sounded for me?’ “ Telephone use was forbidden on the base during an emergency, and Wallis, along with the rest of the wives, could only sit and wait. The minutes and hours of uncertainty seared themselves into her consciousness, leaving a fear so intense that she would refuse to fly for the rest of her life except in cases of the utmost emergency.
4
For all of her worry, however, Wallis could not prevent the inevitable. One day, she learned that Win had crashed; although he had somehow managed to escape unharmed, the danger was a terrifying jolt to Wallis. She began to loathe his hours in the air, the tenor of the times leading to war, and the dreaded anticipation underlying life at Pensacola.
The regularity of life at Pensacola soon proved monotonous to the young woman who had so craved her freedom. To relieve the pressure of worry over Win’s safety as well as her increasing boredom, Wallis often sat through repeated showings of the same films at the local cinema, happy for whatever distraction she could find.
But the hostilities in Europe were soon to take their toll. As war fever increased, so did the population of the air station; every week, trains deposited new recruits, whom Win supervised in their flight training. His hours at work grew longer, and he returned home exhausted. Inevitably, he began to drink more and more; not sociably, with Wallis, but alone, with his flask. Some nights, he would return home already drunk; other evenings, he would disappear to the beach or lock himself in the bathroom, only to stumble out a few hours later, intoxicated. Wallis’s despair was coupled with loneliness: in January 1917, Henry Mustin was transferred to Washington, D.C., and with Corinne gone, she found herself alone except for Win.
5
Finally, on April 6, President Woodrow Wilson went before the U.S. Congress to declare war on Germany, news which those at Pensacola greeted with relief. Win was promoted to full lieutenant and in May received orders to go to Squantum, Massachusetts, near Boston, to help organize a new naval air station. He had hoped to be posted to active duty in Europe and was disappointed with his new assignment. His brother Dumaresque had joined the famous Lafayette Escadrille; his two youngest brothers, Egbert and Frederick, were members of the U.S. Army’s Expeditionary Forces and were on their way to Europe to join in the combat. For a man who prided himself on his abilities, having to remain behind in the United States while others had the excitement of fighting the war was a blow to his considerable and increasingly fragile ego.
The Spencers took a small apartment in a residential hotel in Boston’s Back Bay. Each morning, Wallis was up at six to cook Win’s breakfast; by seven, he was on his way to work. He rarely returned before eight at night, often later. He was frequently too tired to do anything but join Wallis in the hotel’s dining room for dinner and go straight to bed.
6
Their time in Boston was lonely for Wallis. There was no established base and therefore no opportunity to mix with other navy wives. She knew no one, and even had she made friends, their apartment was too small to entertain properly; the only alternative was the hotel’s dining room. Instead, she spent her days sight-seeing, touring the various monuments and historical landmarks connected with the American Revolution. When this diversion wore thin, she discovered a rather surprising new activity: attending trials. Wallis found that she could sit in courtroom galleries for hours on end, watching the latest cases; this soon became an obsession. Entire weeks were lost attending one murder trial, and she later sheepishly admitted that she had been fascinated by the grisly proceedings.
7
Win ushered his new recruits through an advanced eight-week course in seamanship, navigation, gunnery, meteorology, signaling, aerodynamics, and aviation basics. Once they had successfully completed their initial training, he supervised their flight instruction. He had only been given a handful of petty officers to assist him, none of whom knew much about flying. Through his sheer energy, Win toiled and managed to create the Squantum Naval Air Station.
8
His accomplishments were clearly recognized, for in October 1917, Win received orders to transfer to California, where he was to organize a new naval air station on North Island, near San Diego. Once again, he was not happy, having campaigned for an overseas combat assignment. He felt worthless and despondent and questioned his abilities; he seemed unable to comprehend that he was more important as an instructor to thousands than as a single combat airman. But the transfer, as Wallis repeatedly pointed out, was an immense promotion: at San Diego, he was to supervise hundreds of others and once again be responsible for the establishment of a station.
9
After a long train ride, the Spencers arrived in San Diego on November 8. San Diego was a prosperous town at the time, with a population of nearly 100,000, and Wallis was enchanted with the palm trees, semitropical flowers, and warm climate. Their first home was a furnished, two-room ground-floor flat in the Palomar Apartments. Although the rent was slightly higher than in Boston, the management provided a Japanese houseboy to look after tasks, and Wallis fell in love with the views to adjacent Balboa Park, the tiled patio bordered with flowers, and the inviting atmosphere.
10
The extra expense of their new apartment meant that Wallis had to do without a cook. She bought a copy of
Fannie Farmer’s Boston Cooking School Cook Book
and read it from cover to cover. When she felt sufficiently prepared, she sent out invitations to a young army couple for her first dinner party. The menu was carefully planned: Campbell’s cream of tomato soup, roast beef and gravy, roast potatoes, artichokes with hollandaise sauce, and ice cream with chocolate sauce.
11
By the time Win arrived home, however, he found Wallis a nervous wreck. He made her a double martini, which she quickly downed. Within a few minutes, she recalled, her worries had disappeared, and she was utterly unconcerned as she watched the hollandaise fly off her spoon and slide down the walls as she stirred wildly. From that moment on, Wallis was convinced of the benefits of a daily cocktail hour.
12
Although she was the wife of the commanding officer of the North Island Naval Air Station, Wallis found that there was little to occupy her time. When Win was working, she visited newly made friends, did the shopping, practiced cooking, and toured the California sights. She longed for a social life and eagerly accepted invitations to luncheons in Santa Barbara, polo matches in Del Monte, or afternoon picnics along the beach in La Jolla. But Win, under considerable pressure, had no wish to socialize after work; the only company he sought was his own, and his drinking increased dramatically. Within a year, the first cracks in the marriage were already beginning to show.
13
Win poured all his effort and energy into his job; there was little left to give to the marriage. He made conscientious attempts to reform his behavior, but as the strain increased, his moods became darker; he was more withdrawn, and Wallis noted that he rarely spoke when home. Then, in the middle of January 1918, he learned that his beloved brother Dumaresque had been killed in an aerial battle in the war in Europe; grief, along with the shame that he felt at not serving his country in the trenches, inevitably led him again and again to the solace of the bottle. Win’s drinking also began to change him physically: he was no longer the young, handsome aviator who had captivated Wallis, but a thicker, prematurely aged man, with growing circles under his eyes, speckled, graying hair, and a rapidly increasing waistline.
On November 11, 1918 the Armistice was signed, ending the Great War in Europe. There were wild celebrations in San Diego, and Wallis and Win joined the crowds, dancing in the streets at midnight to the light of exploding fireworks.
14
The sounds of gunfire, whistles, honking horns, and bells filled the air; on the following day, Win proudly led his men through the streets in a parade, loudly cheered by Wallis. She dared hope that now the pressures on her husband, both from his work and from his own guilt at not fighting, would disappear.
But the happy times were soon over. Now that the war had ended, and the North Island Naval Air Station was successfully up and running, he felt worthless. Before, the pressure had driven him to drink; now it was frustration and irritation that poisoned him. Although their own private lives were strained, as a commanding officer, Win could not avoid the usual round of social functions with Wallis at his side. However, once at parties or receptions, the gloves came off. He had always been jealous of the attentions other men paid to his wife; now these feelings turned to suspicion. He became unaccountably sadistic. “At parties,” Wallis later wrote, “he would go out of his way to direct at me a running barrage of subtle innuendoes and veiled insults. Outsiders were not supposed to understand these clever thrusts, but I certainly did, and they made my evenings terribly uncomfortable.”
15
Win sat silent at a table, slowly sipping on drink after drink, while his lively wife circulated, her boisterous gaiety gradually working away at his morose character. He refused to mix with the crowds and more often than not disappeared entirely, leaving Wallis alone, with no idea of his whereabouts. Embarrassed, she would quickly make excuses, and finding a friend with a motorcar, set out in search of her missing husband. On occasion, Win went missing for several days before finally turning up, looking much worse for wear and without any explanation. Everyone at the naval air station knew of this behavior, and the state of the Spencer marriage became fodder for base gossips.
16
Wallis was a private person, not given to living her personal life under such a microscope. Although she was aware that her marital difficulties were being discussed openly, she was determined not to complain, not to show any evidence that the union was less than perfect. For comfort, she became great friends with Katherine Bigelow, a charming, vivacious woman whose husband had recently been killed while on duty in France. The two women quickly became inseparable and formed a friendship which would last many decades. In December 1919, Henry Mustin was posted to San Diego, where he assumed command of the air detachment of the Pacific Fleet; a month later, his wife, Corinne, followed, increasing Wallis’s circle of intimates.