The Duchess Of Windsor, page 33
When David had informed Monckton that he would likely be forced to abdicate, the latter was determined to do all he could to ensure that the King could marry Mrs. Simpson. “I was desperately afraid that the King might give up his Throne and yet be deprived of his chance to marry Mrs. Simpson.” Until the decree was final, the King’s proctor could claim collusion or illegalities in the Simpson divorce and stop the proceedings. The proctor could not cite David in the case, but once he ceased being King, he was as vulnerable to court action as any other subject. Monckton suggested that a special bill be coupled to the abdication which would make the decree nisi final immediately. “This would have cleared up a grave constitutional position affecting the whole world and left no ragged ends or possibilities for further scandal,” he explained.15 David readily agreed, since he did not want to wait until April to be with Wallis.
Baldwin arrived at the Fort and immediately delivered bad news: the cabinet would not allow the King to broadcast to the nation and Dominions. David was distressed at this, but he said nothing. The prime minister, realizing that he held the upper hand, then pushed the King to make a declaration of his intentions. When David put him off, Baldwin replied, “There is still time for you to change your mind, Sir. That is indeed the prayer of Your Majesty’s servants.”
“I studied the Prime Minister some time before answering. . . .” David later wrote. “For me to do what he asked would have meant my abandoning, in the full view of the watching world, the woman whom I had asked to marry me. If it were indeed Mr. Baldwin’s prayer that I should save my Crown by so base a surrender, that noble ornament would have been laid upon a head forever bent in shame.”16
The King then raised a sensitive political issue: Were he to abdicate, would it be possible to attach a special bill, as Monckton had suggested, to the abdication which immediately granted Mrs. Simpson’s decree nisi? Hearing this, Baldwin must have realized that there would be no fight. David was more concerned with ensuring his eventual marriage to Mrs. Simpson than with keeping the throne. Knowing that the end was in sight, Baldwin told David that he would support the special bill, and if the House of Commons refused to pass the measure, he and the cabinet would resign.
David seemed relieved; he told Baldwin that he needed several days in which to sort through his affairs but that the prime minister would have a formal decision shortly. There was no doubt in Baldwin’s mind that the King would leave. “Well, Sir,” Baldwin is said to have declared, somewhat improbably, “whatever happens, my Mrs. and I wish you happiness from the depths of our souls.” Hearing this, David was overwhelmed and began to cry; Baldwin soon joined him. “What a strange conversation piece, those two blubbering together on a sofa,” wrote Harold Nicolson.17
An hour after Baldwin left, Churchill arrived at the Fort. Knowing that the King had previously pondered a decision to go abroad for the duration of the crisis, Churchill now advised David to remain in the country and drop the entire question of marriage until the decree absolute had been granted. If the government would not agree to the marriage after the coronation, the King could then accept their resignation rather than they his. But David said nothing, and Churchill left the Fort uncertain of his intentions.18
That night, pacing up and down his bedroom floor, David decided to abdicate. In truth, he now had little choice. If he persisted and attempted to marry Wallis before the coronation, as was his wish, the government would resign. David would then be forced to form a new government whose sole raison d’être would be justification and support of his controversial marriage. The two choices that might have allowed the King to remain on the throne, a morganatic marriage and a direct appeal to the people, had now both fallen through.
For all the criticism of the abdication, it must be admitted that given the circumstances, the King undoubtedly made the best choice. He loved Wallis too much to give her up; at the same time, he cared greatly about the empire he had inherited from his father and wished to maintain it. It would have been easy for him to force Wallis on the public; in doing so, however, he might have fractured the empire.
David later wrote:
Even though I might have been able to recruit a commanding majority, I could not have persuaded the entire nation and all the Dominions.... By making a stand for myself, I should have left the scars of a civil war.... True, I should still be King. But I would no longer be King by the free and common consent of all.... The cherished conception of a Monarchy above politics would have been shattered.... I felt I had come to the limit of a man’s power to shape events and fend off catastrophe. Were I to wait longer I might indeed reap the whirlwind. And so, in faith and calmness, not unmixed with sorrow, I resolved to end the constitutional crisis forthwith. I would close my reign with dignity, clear the succession for my brother with the least possible embarrassment and avoid all appearance of faction.... I reject the notion . . . that, faced with a choice between love and duty, I chose love. I certainly married because I chose the path of love. But I abdicated because I chose the path of duty. I did not value the Crown so lightly that I gave it away I valued it so deeply that I surrendered it, rather than risk any impairment of its prestige.”19
Having reached his decision, David was resolute; over the next few days, as he gradually told first one confidant, then another, that he would leave, he met arguments and objections with a stubborn silence. For the time being, he kept his decision to himself. That weekend, he continued to meet with his advisers, but he was more concerned now with details regarding a future off the throne with Wallis than with fighting against Baldwin.
On Sunday, December 6, the Earl of Crawford recorded: “In the press this morning there is a distinct tendency to scold the Church for butting into an affair which does not concern them.... They announce that Cantuar [the Archbishop of Canterbury] was mobbed and that ministers were hooted in Downing St.—merely the ebullitions of a score or two of rowdies; but it is evident that the gutter press has been enlisted to support the King in all he does and wishes to do with the object of overthrowing Baldwin.”20
That same day, Churchill issued a strong statement that duly appeared in the papers:
I plead for time and patience. The nation must realize the character of the constitutional issue. There is no question of any conflict between the King and Parliament. Parliament has not been consulted in any way or allowed to express any opinion. The question is whether the King is to abdicate upon the advice of the Ministry of the Day. No such advice has ever before been tendered to a Sovereign in Parliamentary times. This is not a case where differences have arisen between the Sovereign and his Ministers on any particular measure. These could certainly be resolved by normal processes of Parliament or dissolution. In this case we are in the presence of a wish expressed by the Sovereign to perform an act which in no circumstances can be accomplished for nearly five months, and may conceivably, for various reasons, never be accomplished at all. That, on such a hypothetical and supposititious basis the supreme sacrifice of abdication and potential exile of the Sovereign should be demanded, finds no support whatever in the British Constitution. No Ministry has the authority to advise the abdication of the Sovereign. Only the most serious Parliamentary processes could even raise the issue in a decisive form. The Cabinet has no right to prejudge such a question without having previously ascertained at the very least the will of Parliament. This could, perhaps, be obtained by messages from the Sovereign to Parliament, and by addresses of both Houses after due consideration of these messages. For the Sovereign to abdicate incontinently in the present circumstances would inflict an injury upon the constitutional position of the monarchy which is measureless and cannot fail to be grievous to the institution itself, irrespective of the existing occupant of the Throne. Parliament would also fail entirely in its duty if it allowed such an event to occur as the signing of an abdication in response to the advice of Ministers without taking all precautions to make sure that these same processes may not be repeated with equal uncanny facility at no distant date in unforeseen circumstances. Clearly time is needed for searching constitutional debate. The next question is—What has the King done? If it be true, as is alleged, that the King has proposed to his Ministers legislation which they are not prepared to introduce, the answer of Ministers should be not to call for abdication, but to refuse to act upon the King’s request, which thereupon becomes inoperative. If the King refuses to take the advice of his Ministers they are, of course, free to resign. They have no right whatever to put pressure upon him to accept their advice by soliciting beforehand assurances from the Leader of the Opposition that he will not form an alternative Administration in the event of their resignation, and thus confronting the King with an ultimatum. Again, there is cause for time and patience. Why cannot time be granted? The fact that it is beyond the King’s power to accomplish the purpose which Ministers oppose until the end of April surely strips the matter of constitutional urgency. There may be some inconvenience, but that inconvenience stands on a different plane altogether from the grave constitutional issues I have set forth. National and Imperial considerations alike require that before such a dread step as a demand for abdication is taken, not only should the constitutional position be newly defined by Parliament, but that every method should be exhausted which gives the hope of a happier solution. Lastly, but surely not least, there is the human and personal aspect. The King has been for many weeks under the greatest strain, moral and mental, that can fall upon a man. Not only has he been inevitably subjected to the supreme stress of his public duty, but also to the agony of his own personal feelings. Surely, if he asks for time to consider the advice of his Ministers, now that at length matters have been brought to this dire culmination, he should not be denied. Howsoever this matter may turn, it is pregnant with calamity and inseparable from inconvenience. But all the evil aspects will be aggravated beyond measure if the utmost chivalry and compassion are not shown, both by Ministers and by the British nation, towards a gifted and beloved King torn between private and public obligations of love and duty. The Churches stand for charity. They believe in the efficacy of prayer. Surely their influence must not oppose a period of reflection. I plead, I pray, that time and tolerance will not be denied. The King has no means of personal access to his Parliament or his people. Between him and them stand in their office the Ministers of the Crown. If they thought it their duty to engage all their power and influence against him, still he must remain silent. All the more must they be careful not to be the judge in their own case, and to show a loyal and Christian patience even at some political embarrassment to themselves. If an abdication were to be hastily extorted the outrage so committed would cast its shadow forward across many chapters of the history of the British Empire.”21
However, Harold Laski, one of the Labour leaders, felt differently. He declared: “Out of this issue no precedent must be created that makes the royal authority once more a source of independent political power in the State. The Labour Party is a constitutional party. . . . Pivotal to that conception is the principle that a Labour government with a majority in the House of Commons is entitled to have its advice accepted by the Crown.... He may advise. He may encourage. He may warn. But if the Cabinet stands firm in its advice, the King must in our constitutional system necessarily give way.”22
That weekend, hundreds took to the streets in London to demonstrate; large crowds gathered around the massive gates of Buckingham Palace day and night, singing, shouting, and cheering any vehicle that happened to appear. These supporters carried placards declaring their loyalty: “Hands off our King. Abdication means Revolution!” “We want Eddie and We want his Missus”; “Edward’s right and Baldwin’s wrong!”;23 and “Let the King know you are with him—you can’t let him down. We want Edward. Perish all politicians!”24 “The world is now divided into Cavaliers and Roundheads,” Chips Channon noted on December 7.25 Everyone seemed enthralled at the crisis, at the royal romance. “I think,” says Dame Barbara Cartland, “that it was the first time the public had seen the inner feelings of royalty.”26
Chief among these supporters was the King’s friend Sir Oswald Mosley and his band of British Unionists. They stormed through the streets that weekend, shouting, “Stand by the King!”27 Mosley himself clearly saw the crisis in political terms and lost no chance to state his case. “How would you like a Cabinet of old busybodies to pick your girl?” he was heard to ask.28
The weekend proved fatal to the King’s popular support. While London, more sophisticated and tolerant, took to the streets to support their King in his wish, MPs returning home to their various ridings were often confronted not with support for the monarch but with shock. Their constituents could not see beyond the fact that their King wished to marry a woman with two previous husbands still living. This rural outrage filtered back to London; although David had privately made up his mind to go, his supporters continued to believe that through sheer effort they would win the day. Monday afternoon would see these last illusions shattered.
22
Abdication
ON MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, Baldwin informed the House of Commons during their regular session that the government was awaiting word from the King regarding the crisis. “In considering the whole matter,” he stated, “it has always been, and remains, the earnest desire of the Government to afford to His Majesty the fullest opportunity of weighing a decision which involves so directly his own future happiness and the interests of all his subjects. At the same time they cannot but be aware that any considerable prolongation of the present state of suspense and uncertainty would involve risk of the gravest injury to national and imperial interests, and indeed no one is more insistent upon this aspect of the situation than His Majesty.”1
As soon as Baldwin had finished, Churchill stood up and launched into an attack on the government, saying that it had no right to force the King to abdicate without allowing him to consult Parliament. It was now, however, that Churchill learned just how much the public mood had swung against the King. MPs, previously content to sit and watch the unfolding crisis from the backbenches, had been made fully aware of their constituents’ disapproval of the King’s relationship with Mrs. Simpson. As Churchill continued to speak, he was repeatedly interrupted with shouts, whistles, booing, and calls of “Sit down!” and “Shut up!” “Winston suffered an utter defeat....” Harold Nicolson wrote. “First we had Baldwin—slow and measured. Then Winston rose to ask a supplementary question. He failed to do it in the right form and was twice called to order by the speaker. He hesitated and waved his spectacles vaguely in the air. ‘Sit down!’ they shouted. He waved his spectacles again and then collapsed. It was almost painful.”2 The next day, the Times described it as “the most striking rebuff in modern parliamentary history.”3
After this scene, Churchill stormed out of the House in disgust. As soon as he had gone, an MP rose and asked the speaker, “Does the Prime Minister realize the deep sympathy which is felt for him in all sections of the House?”4 The wild burst of applause which followed signaled the end of any idea for a King’s Party. It was clear that such a course of action would tear the country apart.
That evening, as word began to filter back to the Fort of what had taken place in the House of Commons, David once again met with his brother the Duke of York. After their last meeting on Thursday, the King had asked the Duke to come to see him the following morning; however, David spent most of the next few days huddled with his advisers and repeatedly stalled Bertie’s attempts to visit him at the Fort. This has always been interpreted as either cowardly or stubborn evasion on David’s part; however, it must be said that at the time the Duke was certainly not being kept in the dark about anything. He had been informed by his brother that he would marry Wallis or abdicate. The King’s weekend was consumed with important meetings, which were at the moment deciding his future. It is arguable, therefore, that Bertie was put off simply because David had no new news to tell him. David himself knew little of what was taking place within the government—the cabinet minutes outlining discussion on the issue were deliberately withheld from him. It seems reasonable to conclude, therefore, that in putting off his brother’s meeting, David was simply waiting until he had definitive news to report. There was little to be gained in another painful talk during which both brothers would be nervous and uneasy, with no issues yet settled. Throughout the weekend, however, the Duke and Duchess of York waited at Royal Lodge, Windsor, hoping for word from David. The Duchess was confined to her bed with the flu, and her illness further worried her already nervous husband. Several times that weekend, though, the Duke secretly returned to London to meet privately with the prime minister at No. 10 Downing Street. Both men were almost positive by this time that the King would abdicate, and thus their talks centered on the Duke’s eventual accession to the throne.5
The Duke of York arrived at Fort Belvedere at seven that Monday evening. “The awful and ghastly suspense of waiting was over,” Bertie later wrote. “I found him pacing up and down the room, and he told me his decision that he would go.”6
