Chapter 40, Downing Street, 13 August 1936
The storm had finally broken upon a stunned nation. With the previous day’s exclusives in the
Express and the
Daily Mail their competitor newspapers, many of whom had pre-prepared stories on the King and Mrs Simpson ready to publish (just in case, as has happened, a competitor paper ‘broke cover’ and published the news), had responded dramatically, and the story or a variation of it was on the front page of every newspaper in Britain. Those ‘ready-made’ stories did not have to be particularly accurate (although many were, and more than they realised) but just had to grab the public’s attention. At this, Baldwin had rued from his sickbed, they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.
The King, clearly taking advice (for once) had secluded himself somewhere and it was a matter of common knowledge that the leader of His Majety’s Government had not the first idea where His Majesty actually was. Baldwin himself was, according to the
Mail, on holiday in the West Country while the Baldwin-hating
Express had gone further, portraying the Prime Minister as a hapless dilettante sunning himself in Southern France (coincidentally not too far from one Mrs Wallis Simpson). The
Evening Standard was ‘certain’ that the Prime Minister was at Chequers while
The Times loyally and coolly reminded its readers that the Prime Minister was resolutely in Downing Street controlling events.
They entered quietly, walking through the dusty Georgian building and noticing, immediately, the school-during-holiday feeling to the place. Entering the Cabinet Room, they took their seats without any reverence. The senior of the figures went to sit at the Prime Minister’s seat, but after allowing his hand to stroke the top of the chair’s back for a moment, pulled back from temptation and took his usual position.
The most junior of the men, although not, by any means, a ‘dogsbody’, nevertheless alone opened his notebook and prepared, in true Civil Service fashion, to take the minutes.
“So, gentlemen,” he began, in an attempt at equality. If any of the others was expecting a ‘Sir’ he didn’t show it, “the Committee for Reform of the Chiltern Hundreds is now in session,” he said flatly. “Chaired by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain MP. Also in attendance are Sir William Fisher, Permanent Secretary to the Treasury, Mr David Margesson, Chief Whip of the Conservative Party, Mr Geoffrey Dawson, Chief Editor of
The Times newspaper, Sir George Joseph Ball, er,” there was a pause to consider how best to discuss him, “of Conservative Central Office, and the Secretary, Sir Horace Wilson, Chief Industrial Advisor. Absentees…”
Fisher’s patience snapped. “Oh Lordy, Horace, let’s be at it.”
All eyes turned to Chamberlain, who stroked his moustache, saw that neither Fisher or Wilson had any intent to speak, sighed and realised that it was for him to begin. “Alright, we all know the tawdry business that we are engaged upon. The Prime Minister,” he managed to convey the right level of reverence, “has been taken to Chequers to recuperate. It is fair to say,” he said with a self-conscious smile, “that the newspaper reports, not, Geoffrey, from you,” he said with a smile at Dawson, “have done for him. Hankey, I understand, has gone with him.” Fisher and Wilson nodded. “Yeeeees. With the Prime Minister at rest,” he raised his eyebrows as if disbelieving that Baldwin could rest at such a time, “it has fallen to me to exercise those duties which must be done. And that is clearly the matter of His Majesty’s marriage. Sir Warren?” He saw that Fisher wanted to interject.
Fisher was tetchy, eager to move things along. “Thank you, Chancellor. I merely wished to say that this meeting is something that Horace and I have long advocated for. We have, I fear, been running several parallel groups, without combining them in order to exchange information.”
“Just so, just so,” Chamberlain said soothingly. He frowned. “I think, Sir Warren, if someone summarises the current situation with regard to His Majesty, then all of the interested parties in this Committee could further elaborate.”
It took a while, as Dawson wasn’t really interested and Margesson was shrewdly looking at the floor, but eventually all eyes turned to Wilson.
“Yes, well,” he said clearing his throat. “His Majesty has openly declared his intention to marry Mrs Simpson. I attended the Court hearing for the Decree Nisi and it was granted, although not without some pretty unnecessary posturing by the local judge.
“The King’s Proctor?” That was Margesson.
Wilson shook his head. “The Judge’s recommendation, which I have obtained…”
“…how?” That was Dawson, appalled. Opposite him Joseph Ball offered a knowing wink.
“I think you have your answer there, Geoffrey,” Wilson said, eager to move on. “The Judge’s recommendation was that there was no need to engage with the King’s Proctor. Mrs Simpson’s claim that her husband was caught in…”
“…yes yes,” Chamberlain said with a dismissive wave. He was a prim man and didn’t enjoy salacious details. Fisher, sitting protectively to his right, looked disappointed to have missed out (again) on the spicier elements of the tale.
Wilson gingerly resumed his tale. “Er, sorry, Chancellor. The story has been accepted without challenge. We have to concede that the King has managed this element well; his supporters, particularly Mountbatten, have fended off all attempts to disturb the divorce and we are now on course for a Decree Absolute early next year.”
Chamberlain was taking notes. “And Mrs Simpson herself?”
Fisher coughed and had the floor. “It would appear that that silly woman will not listen to reason. She has refused to consider, from what Joseph here has gleaned and from what Goddard the solicitor tells me, the prospect of being a mistress. She is, at least, in the Mediterranean on the boat with Lady Yule.”
“Not her society friends?” That was Dawson.
“No, Geoffrey, the King’s strategy appears to have been to make sure that they publicly take part in the Season and spread the news of Mr Simpson’s naughtiness,” Fisher said tartly. “The fact that the King has performed well in a number of engagements, and sans Mrs Simpson, is reinforcing this position.”
“What’s left of the Season,” Margesson muttered.
“So, Mrs Simpson is out of the country,” Chamberlain said, collecting his thoughts. “It seems you have succeeded,” he said with a sniff to Fisher.
Fisher shrugged. “Perhaps we made a tactical blunder, there,” he said with no hint of culpability. “Had she stayed, I now believe, nay emphatically assess, that she would have found the pressure from the public and newspapers too much for her soft American heart to bear, poor lamb.” He said the last two words with an almost convincing sincerity. “But as she rules the roost, she could have sniped at our long-suffering Monarch to either elope with her or persuade her to stay behind closed doors.”
Chamberlain frowned at Fisher’s levity. “When do we anticipate her return?”
Ball spoke up. “Her conversations with HM suggest not for a good few months. He saw Dawson looking appalled. “Geoffrey?”
“How do you
know that?” He asked this very simply.
“We have our sources.”
Dawson wasn’t letting go. “Who is ‘we’?”
“Why, my dear Geoffrey,” Fisher said in a sally to spare Ball from revealing the extent of both his private efforts and his connections with the security services. “We are we.”
Chamberlain allowed this conversation to resolve itself, as if his lack of spoken involvement absolved him of any connection with Ball and his murky world. He looked at Ball for a moment, seeing his fat fingers and suit that was just too loud, with pinstripes too thick and a rather undignified sheen to the fabric. He looked from Ball to Dawson, who looked astonished. “Geoffrey,” he said rather weakly, “what is the Fleet Street portrayal of this?”
“Utterly unusual,” Dawson, ironically given his occupation, was saying little. “The Beaverbrook and Rothermere papers are sticking with the Royal narrative…”
Chamberlain looked lost. “That is something that I am afraid I do not understand. I do not see how the King and Mrs Simpson can be innocent parties on one hand, and, well…”
“…star-crossed lovers on the other,” Fisher said with a chuckle.
Chamberlain looked angrily at his senior Civil Servant. “Thank you. But how can this be? Surely if they’d waited a couple of years to be cleanly distanced from any possibility of adultery…”
“…he can’t wait,” Fisher said softly, Ball and Dawson nodding. “He wants Mrs Simpson, he believes that he is destined, written in the…”
“Please,” Chamberlain reproached.
“To marry her. He cannot continue, he says, to perform his duties without her.”
“And semi-official mistress is out?” That was Margesson.
“Oh goodness yes!” Fisher’s incredulous reply was mocking. “She all but equated it with prostitution when I broached it with her on the blasted heath.”
“And,” Dawson offered, still affronted, “you’ve probably missed the bus, Neville, on that possibility. The story has moved on, from adultery in the past to marriage in the future.”
“The near future,” Wilson said quickly.
Chamberlain closed his eyes. “So, the King and Mrs Simpson intend to marry and all other options are jettisoned,” he said, summarising, “the press is focussing…”
“…the Royal supporting press,” Dawson interrupted. “I’ve done as you asked, I’ve kept
The Times largely silent on the matter of him pressing ahead with marriage.”
“Yes thank you Geoffrey,” Chamberlain said, sounding far from grateful, “the press is focussing on whether or not they’ll marry, not who was unfaithful to whom and when, and Mrs Simpson is holed up in a yacht until she can return to complete legal proceedings that, we are confident, will continue as envisaged and without impediment. Meanwhile the King has performed his regal duties surprisingly well and his supporters, and
hers, are managing the narrative in polite society. The King has completed a round of engagements and has vanished. Anything else on that element?”
“And to think that was the easy part,” Ball quipped, earning a look of disapproval from Chamberlain and a chuckle from Fisher.
“Perhaps, Chancellor,” Wilson said carefully, “we should now look at the Parliamentary situation.”
“Yes, Sir Horace,” Chamberlain said shortly. “Well?”
“Well,” Margesson said in a confident voice, “I have numbers. But I’d appreciate an idea of what the PM intends to do.”
Chamberlain didn’t want to broach that, but realised he should. “Let me first say that the Prime Minister is certain that the King must either back down or accept the Cabinet’s position.”
“Back down?” Dawson was intrigued.
Wilson spoke up. “Either he gives up the throne,” Dawson was aghast, “he parts ways with Mrs Simpson, or she accepts that marriage is out of the question.”
“The King’s proposal is a morganatic…”
“…that has been ruled out, on receipt of legal advice,” Chamberlain said carefully, “as unacceptable and unconstitutional.”
“Hence,” Ball said lightly, “the impasse.”
“Yes there is that,” Fisher offered.
Wilson waited for silence and continued. “If the King won’t adopt a course of action palatable to the Cabinet…”
“…then the Government would have to resign,” Margesson finished for him. He sighed. “On that basis, you’re going to lose around forty Conservatives, more if the rebels get a few Cabinet members, and then the majority of the Liberals, and probably a slack handful of Labour and God knows what else.”
Chamberlain, who had been listening rapt to the Chief Whip, suspiciously double-checked his scribblings, realised that he had not misheard Margesson, and then smiled contentedly. “Well that does not a Government make,” he said confidently.
“It does if the King ask them to try, my dear Chancellor,” Fisher said bluntly. “Do you know, Captain Margesson, what the Labour gathering will decide?”
“Irrelevant,” Dawson said with a shake of the head. “Even with Attlee the rebels can’t command the House.” Margesson nodded, as did Wilson.
"Attlee will stick to his agreement with Baldwin," Wilson said, simply.
“So the trouble seems to come from the chaos of a Government resignation and the attempt to form something from less than a hundred odds and sods in the ruins,” Margesson said as he glared at Chamberlain.
“Undesirable but not disastrous,” was Chamberlain’s quiet reply.
Ball smiled almost naughtily. “Will Baldwin step down?”
Chamberlain scowled and the Civil Servants looked at their shoes. Margesson, seeing the conversation stall, turned to Ball. “Almost certainly, given his recent absences and illnesses. If Parliament wasn’t in recess…”
“…do we recall Parliament?” That was Wilson.
“We might need to,” Margesson accepted, and Dawson seemed to support this. “But not until we have something to debate.”
“I think that you do,” Dawson responded.
Chamberlain coughed politely. “No. Not Parliament, not yet. The PM isn’t up to it and if Eden and I are expected to share his duties it would only encourage more rebellions.”
“So how do we get our points across?” Ball was clearly eager for action.
Chamberlain inclined his head, pleased at the question. “Geoffrey?”
Dawson rolled his eyes. “We would need a continuing campaign, lots of the more lurid allegations against Simpson, if that is what you want, lots of constitutional experts wading in, Lang and Reith using their means.”
“It might be an idea to have someone from the BBC here, next time, and from Lambeth Palace,” Wilson suggested.
“They chitter-chatter about everything,” Ball said with acidic scorn.
“Who, my dear Sir Joseph?” Fisher was icily polite.
“Both of ‘em,” Ball said, jabbing a podgy finger.
“The BBC will be told what to do,” Chamberlain said with certainty. “As for the Church…”
“…I’ll deal with Lang,” Dawson, a close friend of the Archbishop, offered.
For Fisher that offer was telling, as it drew the newspaperman further into their group; so far he had been the outsider, offering advice (and the support of his influential paper) but not much else. Now he was running errands for Chamberlain and Fisher. “You mentioned, Geoffrey, a campaign?”
Dawson huffed. “But, I ask you, do you know
what you want? Is it that the King backs down and sends Mrs Simpson away? Do you want him to step down?”
Chamberlain was exasperated. “We’ve told you what the possible outcomes…”
“…yes, thank you Neville, when I was at Magdalen I was always making silly errors,” he said waspishly, slapping Chamberlain down in a way that none of the others could. “But what is it that you
want? The King is out there,” he waved towards the windows, “telling all that he wants to be King and to marry that woman. It’s a clear enough narrative, and one that others will seize on. The Beaver can concoct hundreds of articles around the simple premise that the King should be allowed to marry who in the blazes he wants to.” There was a pause, no one quite sure if the storm had run its course. Dawson, oblivious, cleaned his spectacles.
“D’you know,” Fisher, probably the only other one who could come close to criticising Chamberlain, said very carefully. “I fear that dear Geoffrey has a point. What is it, gentlemen, are we talking about here? Are we content,” he looked around the room, leading them, making them think, “with the King remaining on the throne? If we are, then we must make every effort to stop any further breach with the Prime Minister. Neither Baldwin or King Edward can survive, I would offer, although I am not lawyer, just a humble backroom boy, the resignation of the Government.”
“We’re already there, though!” Ball shook his jowly head.
Chamberlain fingers were steepled as he prepared for more debate. But he didn’t look irritated.
“If I may,” Wilson said tentatively, “I fear that Joseph is right. Baldwin has all but told the King that he and the Cabinet will resign if he doesn’t back down over the morganatic marriage suggestion. So he must give up Mrs Simpson…”
“…which we’ve all agreed he won’t,” Margesson offered.
“Which we’re all agreed is unlikely,” Wilson paraphrased. “Should we, the Government and its supporters, now not focus upon the public being slowly educated as to…”
“…the untenability of his position,” Fisher finished with a flourish.
“It is a straightforward narrative,” Dawson offered, “she isn’t fit, the Church can’t wear it, the Dominions will hate it, so he has to go.” Ball and Margesson nodded their agreement.
Chamberlain stroked his moustache. “So we are proposing, are we not, that we advise the Prime Minister, formally,” he turned to Fisher, “that means both of us, and probably Horace, that we inform him that the only options are the relinquishing, entirely?”
“Entirely,” Dawson said emphatically. “We can’t condone a mistress if we want Reith and Lang to come out in favour.”
“Entirely,” Chamberlain continued, “of Mrs Simpson. If that is not palatable then His Majesty will have to abdicate. How would that be done?”
Wilson spoke up, as Chamberlain thought he would. “I’ve spoken with the lawyers, and we’re agreed that it would need statutory authority?”
“Can’t he just resign?” That was Ball, with a chuckle, earning a waspish look from both Chamberlain and Fisher.
Wilson, with forced patience, continued. “It would take an instrument of abdication to give effect to anything that His Majesty signs, and that would probably be some form of renunciation for him and his descendants.”
Dawson was appalled, again. It was a natural posture for him. Ball was bored of legal discussion and Margesson was taking notes and had a question. “And if he doesn’t abdicate?”
Chamberlain and Fisher looked to Wilson. “Then, Chief Whip, surely we are back to the possibility of the Prime Minister and his Cabinet resigning.”
“Could that form part of your campaign, Geoffrey?” That was Chamberlain, intrigued.
Dawson nodded slowly. “It was not too complex, then yes, we’d do it cleverly, suggesting that the King should ‘do his duty’ and avoid the chaos of a,” he paused, unsure, “minority government?”
Margesson nodded. “Which would crumble as soon as I can whip up the votes to support a vote of no confidence.”
Chamberlain didn’t want to think of minority governments; being in power suited him and the idea of watching a doomed administration flailing around appalled him; the only solace was that it would purge the Conservative Party, it would deliver, to him, a party stripped of troublesome elements and ready to pick up the pieces with sober, efficient leadership, his leadership. An idea was forming, one that would take all of Chamberlain's guile and planning.
"And then there's the prospect of an election," Margesson was saying in his quietly inspiring way. "We can be ready in a few weeks for hustings."
"That soon?" Fisher was fascinated, impressed.
"I presume that you'd want to strangle the baby at birth," Margesson said, earning a respectful look from Ball.
"No," Chamberlain said. "The timing of the election must be done to utterly crush the minority coalition, or bloc..."
"...or rabble," Ball said.
"Yes yes. If they have the temerity to form an administration, I want them tortured. I want them twisting on the scaffold," Chamberlain said with intensity, "I want them to have the most painful few months..."
"...months?" Margesson was surprised.
"Months," Chamberlain confirmed, "imaginable. And then no one will question my, er our authority ever again."
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
GAME NOTES
Righty ho, an important update (that Hitler chap last chapter was just fluff).
We’ve seen, for months, group of differing, well, groups trying to dominate the management of the crisis. We’ve seen the collection of senior bureaucrats led by Fisher, we’ve seen the triumvirate of Baldwin, Eden and Chamberlain, we’ve seen the Chamberlain and Ball combination.
This update brings the key people together (although someone from what’s left of the Palace staff, the BBC and Church of England, as was commented on, would bolster its firepower). I have cheekily (but not unreasonably) suggested that the meeting be covered in bureaucratic protection by being the group meeting under the guise of a dormant Whitehall Committee. This is a well-known tactic and in this instance I have gone for the Chiltern Hundreds. If this sounds like a mad group of fox hunters, or a motorway services, please bear with me. “Taking the Chiltern Hundreds" refers to the legal fiction used to resign from the House of Commons, there being, conventionally, no way to resign one’s seat the mechanism sees our errant member being appointed to an "office of profit under the Crown", appointment to which requires MPs to vacate their seats. The ancient office of Crown Steward for the Chiltern Hundreds by 1936 is a title only (i.e. it has no executive function) but does require the member to leave the Commons. There are other Crown appointments (which, of course requires the use of our Royal Prerogative) but the Chiltern Hundreds are the most famous. The Committee, of course, will not discuss it at all (unless an errant MP is shoved aside by its use).
Most of the attendees are known to us by now, Fisher and Chamberlain continue to work like an old married couple, Wilson is the diligent aide, Margesson is impressively sinister and Ball is an interloper, and a thuggish one at that. Geoffrey Dawson is the new man, brought into the fold and by the end of this update increasingly seen as ‘one of us’; he was a phenomenally well connected man, good friends with Fisher, Baldwin (and Halifax, whom I have deliberately omitted here – his work with the Duke of York is clearly ‘ring fenced’ away from the chaos of the Simpson matter) who did wield his power in support of Government aims.
The Times was far and away the paper that stuck closely to Government policies in its editorials and comments in the build up to WW2 and much / most of that is to due to the role of its editor. I’ve actually based his character: tetchy, slightly grumpy, appalled at the sneaky methods of Ball, on Percy Hobart (I looked at his picture and couldn’t get the resemblance out of my head). He brings, with his writer’s keen eye, a clear sense of what should be done and is critical to sharpening the Government’s policy. The Government (rapidly becoming a loose term, but basically the Baldwin Cabinet and its chums) hasn’t yet faced the decision point; they’ve hedged until now, trying a bit of everything to defuse the crisis. Now, needing a narrative to counteract the Edward-leaning press, they’ve (finally?) realised that it’s the King or them. Bolstered by Margesson’s arithmetic (which I agree with, conceding that he perhaps inflates the size of the rebellion a bit) this powerful group will now use this narrative.
Chamberlain’s scheming at the end of the Chapter is, you may feel, a step too far in vilifying he who has been dammed forever but I am convinced that the sly, sharp Chamberlain would indeed want to torture any rebellion arrogant enough to try and form a loyalist administration; it would give him time to cement his grip on the Conservative Party. He was also an extremely vindictive man and the notion of torturing former Cabinet colleagues (Duff-Cooper comes to mind) would appeal to him.
The Netherlands? What's a Netherlands?
That's a very astute point,
@TheButterflyComposer - I tried to work out who the fifth member was and couldn't (Russia? Unlikely. Poland and the Czechs would be seen as a provocation. Turkey and Greece too peripheral. Spain - doesn't really exist. Sweden - an irrelevance. It had to be Belgium, The Netherlands or maybe someone utterly random - Yugoslavia?
Ok, Field Gun running aside portraying Hitler is a task more difficult than any I have attempted in writing, or perhaps more accurately portaying him seriously. As an object of caricature is easy enough - especially post-Der Untergang - though somewhat ironically perhaps that film had one of the most seriously (and I believe one of the most terrifying) portrayals of Hitler ever. Here definitely a more serious portrayal, and I am sold on it. It is not overdone, which I think is always a great danger. Though ... danger is all around that conversation, it lurks in the pauses and watches from the waits in translation.
Thank you for this - to focus on Vansittart's Olympic experience and not include Hitler seemed like a wasted opportunity, but in electing to mention the monster - well, it's hard to be balanced.
They haven't been that on the ball with updating the class yet but this year almost certainly will see a huge jump in numbers.
I will say as a layperson I found reading the judgements for the Article 50 cases massively more helpful in explaining everything than innumerable articles of journalism.
It's fairly easy to make visual. It's a triangle deal. You want max Brexit? You can have one of the other two things. Or if not max Brexit, both, but you must have max Brexit at this point for poltcial reasons. So...
Good luck to EU law lecturers and students!
I'm deliberately not mentioning BREXIT as 1) I want to preserve this little group and 2) There are weird parallels to this story.
I always found it odd how Sink the Bismarck! basically switched around Lutjens' and Lindemann's personalities. The naval battle scenes are pretty great though!
One of the better naval films - and still holds up remarkably well
I agree, actually.
In which we serve was on BBC2 yesterday. God knows how that'll inspire me...
Ah, a showpiece of canny diplomatic needling from good old Van! Plenty packed in there,
@Le Jones. The Germans come across ‘well’ (as in, I believe in them) – preening, often ridiculous and just as often bored. But then those like Lutjens who just seem to want to get on with it are equally tired of these parades, one senses. You can’t divide the two sides easily, by any means.
A good point mon brave, not sure (given the domestic chaos) how much we'll see (there's a ton of stuff looming in '37, but that feels like a long way off) of it though.
What a fun update (well as fun as anything with Corporal Schicklgruber can be). Lots going on. The race was a great choice.
Thanks - I wanted to show something, well, unexpected.
I certainly agree there are shades to his opinions, but overall he could certainly draw a sharp distinction between negotiations with Germany where concessions are made as part of a deal and appeasement. If nothing else in a deal Germany would be expected to give up something tangible and not just make bland promises that could be broken without (immediate) consequence. Such a deal was probably impossible on the German side and maybe even from the British side, even limiting things to merely economic sanctions was risky - if the Reich starts going bankrupt then the Nazis are surely going to lash out and suddenly you are hurtling into the war everyone is desperately trying to avoid.
As ever a sage and thoughtful post. Britain will need to go through the mental breakdown of the Royal crisis first before really having the horsepower to deal with Germany. When she does, it will be a (potentially) very different Britain.
I wasn't aware of Field Gun before today, but when I saw it I wasn't too surprised. It strikes me as falling in the same category as the Marines Silent Drill Team, or the Indo-Pakistani border closing ceremonies -- an impressive display of skill and "military theater" down to the present day even while it hearkens back to the practical demands of a much earlier time.
That is precisely what it is - it's a great salute to tradition. It does have a tone of camaraderie, of controlled competitiveness, with your other examples perhaps lack though.
