Chapter 82, Whitehall, 20 February 1937
The ‘great matter’ was known by a select few, discussed by even fewer, and always,
always, in hushed, almost despondent tones. After months of political chaos, the appointment of a new Prime Minister and a majority Conservative Government (talk of a National Government was, of course, still proceeding in the newspapers while Clement Attlee did his duty and took an age to arrange an emergency Labour Party Conference) had been intended to instill that rarest of commodities, stability. And now the civil service, still regrouping from the resignations, sackings and failures that engulfed Whitehall in 1936, faced the prospect of an equally turbulent 1937 with trepidation.
The lights were on late into the night in a select few London addresses, a sure sign for canny reporters that ‘something was up’. The lights in Number 10 Downing Street burned as bright as any others. Anthony Eden, finally notified late in the night, had wasted no time; he immediately requested (an early characteristic of his Cabinet was its politeness) that his Chancellor of the Exchequer, Chief Whip, Lord Chancellor and Foreign Secretary attend him in Dining Street at their earliest convenience.
“Abdication?” Oliver Stanley was evidently taken aback. He had asked the same question three times. He sipped on his single malt (Eden had so far always been the model of generosity) as if to fortify himself.
“Yeees,” Eden said testily. “The question before us is how we respond.”
“When is it in the papers?” That was Margesson, snappily focussed.
“We are told,” Eden said grandly, almost regally, “tomorrow morning, unless we intervene soon. The decision has been leaked by the Palace in time for the Beaverbrook press to run it tomorrow.”
“Today, you mean,” Kingsley Wood said gently, nodding to the clock. Eden smiled tiredly in acknowledgement.
“Why has he done this?” Stanley was clearly moving on to the next psychological stage of his response to the situation.
“Perhaps because,” Kingsley Wood said with a frown, “you denied his request to address the nation on the BBC.”
“
We didn’t,” Eden corrected, “that was a Chamberlain policy.”
“Which
we,” Margesson said, supporting Kingsley Wood, “have inherited without changing.”
“We have had rather a lot on,” Stanley said, sounding wounded.
Eden sighed. “I have, here, a transcript of an intercepted conversation between His Majesty and Mrs Simpson…”
“…how the he…” Stanley began.
“…not important,” Margesson snapped.
“For all his outrage at Neville’s antics,” Eden said in a professorial tone, “it would appear that Lloyd George maintained the monitoring of His Majesty’s telephone calls. I have,” Eden said quickly, “cancelled all others.”
“Surely he would have known,” Stanley said, “the newspapers have been full of lurid tales of what Neville’s chaps were up to.”
Eden raised a hand. “Without recounting the more salacious stuff, although there is a lot here about ‘dozies’,” that provoked a laugh, “the King and Mrs Simpson essentially gave up on a plan to make more broadcasts. It would appear that it is she who has realised that the game is, ah, ‘up’.”
“There’s more,” Margesson said, guessing.
“Ah, yes. His Majesty appears to have persuaded Mrs Simpson that he will be able to maintain some position as a senior Royal, and that they will both be HRH.”
“Good God,” Kingsley Wood said in shock.
“The point,” Margesson said, “is that he is going.”
“So,” Eden said, taking command. “What do we need to do?”
“Most of it,” Hailsham, the Lord Chancellor, said, sounding tired but superior, very much a senior lawyer advising an obtuse client, “will be done by the Palace.”
Stanley, exasperated, banged the table out of frustration. “
What Palace staff?”
Eden, sadly nodded. “Most of them have resigned, and the Queen and York’s staffs are small by comparison to the Sovereign’s team.”
“It’s us, then,” Margesson said firmly. “We need to take care of this.”
Eden, amused / bemused at Stanley’s explosion and Margesson’s blunt reality, tried to rise above the fray. “What do we need to do, Lord Chancellor?”
“We are, of course, slightly in terra incognita, but there will firstly be some form of declaration.”
“Declaration?”
“An instrument,” Hailsham answered as he prepared his thoughts, “probably an instrument of abdication.”
Margesson offered a wholly insincere smile. “Good.”
Stanley nodded. “And then the Privy Council?”
“More properly the Accession Council. Meets in the Entrée Room of St James’s Palace.” Hailsham, who had been extracted from a judicial dinner to attend this gathering, was tired and had taken a while to ‘warm up’.
“Such ceremony,” Eden said in wonder.
Margesson was unimpressed. “Victorian falderal.”
“This element of it is ancient, Chief Whip,” Hailsham explained. “It long predates Parliament. You can even draw an ancestry from the Witan, the Anglo-Saxon feudal assembly.” He didn’t sound proud of his knowledge of this connection, or its pedigree, but nor was he critical. The matter-of-factness was intriguing.
“What,” Stanley said, tired and wanting to crawl back to his apartment next door, “do we do about the Duke or Yo- I mean, His Majesty King Albert, er…”
“…that rather proves the point,” Eden said gently with a warm smile, “that we need to, ah, engage with our next King,” this was smoothly done, swerving around the confusion over what to call the King’s brother, “and swiftly. Has he even been told?”
No one knew, so, sighing, Eden jotted a note. “Oliver, perhaps you could wake Halifax and bring him up to speed. He has been a trusted friend of the Yorks, perhaps he should be our liaison to them tomorrow, ah, today.” Eden looked at Margesson, who confirmed his agreement with a nod. “I know that he needs to get, ah, to grips with his department, but for now…”
“…given the state of the Palace,” Margesson said quickly. “But we need him focussed on India.”
“But Prince Albert will need him,” Kinsley Wood said. “I hope he’s picked his name.”
“His what?” Stanley was trying, and failing, to keep up.
“His Regnal Name,” Hailsham answered, as Stanley had feared he would.
Kingsley Wood smiled. “I doubt he will want to be King Albert?”
“Mention it to Halifax,” Eden snapped, now, also, tired. “Get the poor man ready for what’s on its way. I will need an audience with him, I, ah, suppose.”
“When?” That was Kingsley Wood again, trying help.
“That depends on when King Edward signs whatever legal confection we think necessary,” Eden said wearily.
“I have a suggestion,” Margesson said quickly. “Use Monckton.” Hailsham and Stanley nodded. “He works with Halifax on delivering the abdication and the succession.”
“He’s friends with Edward, isn’t he?” That was Stanley.
“Yes,” Eden was peevish. “Get them to deliver the King?”
“Both of them,” Margesson said slyly.
Hailsham and Margesson exchanged looks that were clearly loaded with meaning, for Hailsham nodded and cleared his throat, like a parish councillor presiding over a local planning meeting. “Prime Minister, this does make the National Government ploy redundant.”
“Entirely,” Margesson said for Eden, with a hint of relish.
“Thank God,” Stanley said with obvious relief.
“Then we should declare it,” Hailsham said simply.
“Not yet,” Margesson countered. “We could continue to use the threat of it…”
Eden rolled his eyes. “Ah, you can’t be serious? Not at this time?”
“No better time,” Margesson said slyly, “our new King can start as
we mean for him to go on. I doubt his brother has properly explained it to him.”
Oliver Stanley was tired, intoxicated and grumpy. He was also, now, incensed. “The poor man has just had a truly horrible position dumped upon him and you want to use this as an opportunity to mutilate the monarchy.” Hailsham smiled as he would in court with a young advocate, slightly amused by Stanley’s alliteration.
“Better us than Labour. If we had gone with Cripps we would be talking about swinging cuts. Now, we’re merely modernising the monarchy,” Kingsley Wood said, softly, “bringing it from rather Victorian traditions to something more relevant in our new age.”
“But what does that
mean, Howard?”
“I, er, well.”
Stanley and Margesson had both spoken, and passionately, and Kingsley Wood appeared to be content with his outburst. Hailsham, looking ashamed, pushed himself back from the table and leaned back, signalling disengagement. All eyes fell upon Eden.
“Ah, gentlemen, my first duty is to ensure that the succession occurs as painlessly as possible for our new Sovereign,” he said in an evasive way. “We will also need to deal with the departing King’s settlement. Or is that a matter for the Palace?”
Margesson leaned forward suddenly. “Prime Minister,” he said with force, “we do it. We are, as we’ve just heard, essentially the Palace staff. This is important to the Party.”
“And the reputation of the British Monarchy,” Eden said with steel, “is important to the British Empire and Commonwealth.”
“What’s left of it,” Margesson snapped.
====
Edward Frederick Lindley Wood, 3rd Viscount Halifax, was a not man to be roused early from his bed or to be kept from it upon the conclusion of a successful day of being something of an eminence grise. Sometimes a convivial dinner or supper, perhaps even some choral worship, might necessitate a later retirement than was ideal. And, also, sometimes to ride to hounds it was necessary to rouse oneself early, fortified by cook’s best black pudding and a pot of strong tea.
But none of those circumstances had been met, and nor, candidly, could Halifax continue to be described as an eminence grise. He was the Secretary of State for India, exercising political control over a young and weak Viceroy and a subcontinent of many millions. Halifax, if he was candid, had not enjoyed his first few days ‘at’ India and had been hoping for something more suited to his gentlemanly virtues. Nor (and here he had been more forthcoming) was he enthused by his ongoing role of interlocutor between the Government and the Duke of York; he counted Prince Albert as a personal friend and was increasingly concerned, as the Party machinery tightened its grip around Eden, that he would be forced to make a choice between Whitehall and the Duke. His stomach clenched as he considered further political disharmony.
“Ah, Edddddddward,” the Duke of York greeted him as he welcomed Halifax to his rather modest residence in Piccadilly. “T-thankyou for forewarning me,” he said weakly, almost in a whisper. Behind the expensive scents Halifax thought he could smell vomit.
“My pwivilege and duty, Sir,” Halifax said stiffly. “I appweciate that it’s late, but we must make certain plans.”
“He hasn’t told me,” the Duke said, talking obliquely over Halifax, who slightly huffily and tiredly (it was well past midnight) allowed the Duke to steer the conversation. “Nnnnnnnot a thought to Elizabeth or I.”
“It was much the same, I understand, with Her Majesty Queen Mary.”
“Mama,” the Duke said sadly. “She is on her way over to s-s-s-s-upport Elizabeth and I. And then there are the girls. Poor Lilibet,” the Duke’s eyes were filling, he was close to tears. “I’d always hoped, perhaps against all reason, that David would have a child, and then Lilibet and I would be spared it all.”
“I fear that for both of you, Sir, pwepawation must be made.” Halifax, despite his deep irritation with his own discomfort, felt a twinge of sympathy. He firmly believed that this was divine intervention; the Almighty was ensuring that this holiest of duties was passing from a sinful and immoral man, corrupted by pleasures of the flesh, to one of his noblest and most respectable of servants. But the enormity of that duty was obvious to Halifax and he was human enough to feel sympathy.
“W-when?”
“I am told imminently. We must pwepare you for an audience this morning. Archbishop Lang will also…”
“…deal with him, please,” the Duke pleaded. “I wwwwwwill have enough to tackle with David, and Eden.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment looked unsteady, Halifax instinctively starting forward to catch him (and for some unfathomable reason Halifax suddenly thought of Wolfe at Quebec). “It’s alallallright, Edward. Where are we going? Belvedere?”
“I fear so, Sir.”
“C’mon then,” the Duke said simply.
====
Belvedere looked, to the officials descending upon it, like the headquarters of a defeated army, or a colony about to fall to a native rebellion. A stream of cars and vans were coming and going, servants unloading seemingly random boxes, travelling cases, books, clothing.
“He’s clearing out the palaces,” Eden said to no one in particular. He bowed to the Duke of York, and nodded to Halifax. Both politicians were ushered to an anteroom by a flustered valet while the Duke of York was escorted upstairs, evidently for an audience with his brother. Eden and Halifax exchanged looks but said little, both anticipating a long wait. To Eden’s surprise, they were waiting for a mere four minutes.
“Prime Minister,” the valet said flatly, “His Majesty will see you now. He has asked if you agree for His Royal Highness the Duke of York to be present.” Eden acquiesced with a nod and a weak smile. “And His Royal Highness has requested that Viscount Halifax is present to support him at this time.” Eden looked sharply at Halifax, who looked irritated with the whole sorry saga. He had the grace to look sheepish at York’s suggestion, so Eden tiredly relented; it would not do to upset the new King before he had even ascended the throne. “If that is what His Royal Highness wishes,” Eden said in an agreeable tone. Very quietly, Halifax groaned.
They were led upstairs, to where the King sat with his elbows on a desk and his head in hands. Above him the Duke of York stood, almost protectively, but looking terrified.
“Your Majesty,” Eden said, bowing to the almost prone figure of the King. “Your Royal Highness,” he said with another bow. Halifax, wordlessly, copied Eden.
The King did not respond so the Duke, looking uncertain, coughed and then found his voice. “Prime Minister,” he said, again more in whisper than anything ‘full throated’. “My family is grateful for you joining us this eve- morning.”
“Sir,” Eden said quickly. “I have, prepared by His Majesty’s Government, an Instrument of Abdication. His Majesty’s household has seen and approved it, as have those Privy Councillors that I was able to consult with at this ungod- at this early hour.” Eden realised that his own weariness was effecting him; he was losing his sharpness of wits.
The Duke offered the ghost of a smile, his face relaxing and the sharp lines on his face softening somewhat. He still looked dreadful. He looked at Halifax. “You’re happy with this?”
“I am, Sir,” Halifax said in a rather leaden tone.
“W-w-w-well, bbbbbbbbbrother?” For the first time, the King stirred. If the Duke of York looked anxious, exhausted, then His Majesty the King looked positively unwell. While the Duke’s eyes were best described as tired, or rheumy, the King’s were bloodshot and wild. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and his odour was a heady mix of sweat, alcohol and tobacco. His normally carefully slicked hair was wildly askew. Eden sensed Halifax’s disapproval as they walked towards their soon to be former King.
“Eden,” the King croaked. His breath was rank. “C’mon then.” He took the single sheet of paper that Eden proffered and fumbled for a pen. “The money?”
That was a delicate matter, a balance between Downing Street and Buckingham Palace hadn’t been remotely struck yet, beyond a desire to pay the blackguard off as swiftly and cheaply as possible. Eden looked to the Duke, the Duke looked to Eden, Halifax closed his eyes to avoid looking at anybody.
The hesitation wasn’t lost on the King. “The little housewife getting pennypinchy is she?” This remark, thrown with scorn at the Duke, made him colour.
“Sir,” Eden said calmly in an attempt to soothe tempers, “you will get an income commensurate with, ah, your title and status. But you have to see, yes see, that there is no…”
“…pwecedent,” Halifax murmured.
“Yes, precedent for a former King remaining alive after his reign. We are, ah, rather making this up, all of us,” he added quickly, “as we go along.” The Duke was too angry to speak but nodded fiercely.
“And my title? I want to be HRH, and Wallis. And a Dukedom, something with pedigree. Albany, Clarence, Cambridge.”
The Duke was about to speak but Eden rather frantically cut across the Royal brothers. “That is a matter for the Cabinet,” he said hurriedly, lying (he suspected) but guessing that the King wouldn’t see through the lie. “You will get a title commensurate with your status.” In his panic the effortless charm and style was gone, making him seem much more direct, almost bullying. In truth Eden was overwhelmed, but Halifax’s nod told him he was correct.
“You just need to leave it, David,” the Duke snapped. His anger was suppressing the speech impediment, Eden noticed.
“And Wallis to be an HRH,” the King said, pressing his points with a rare clarity.
“That will need careful consideration,” Eden said, making up for his earlier brusqueness. “It is a matter for the Cabinet, ah, properly liaising with the Crown,” he coughed, “but I am, ah, worried that this would give greater, er, succour, to those who are already looking at this crisis as an opportunity to threaten the monarchy.” It was a speech, but Eden was determined to press his point and therefore had embellished Margesson’s position.
“It’s an impossible pwoposal,” Halifax said, strengthening Eden’s hand with his unexpected support. “What a suggestion”.
The Duke of York looked heavenward. “Dddddavid,” he said, his voice one of anguish. “It’s enough that I have to p-p-p-p-p-dammit pay you off, I will do what I c-cccan. But you have to agree…”
“…I’m still King.”
“The alternative,” Eden interrupted, “would be a Parliamentary debate in which Your Majesty would be declared unfit to rule.” He was making this up, of course, but it felt not too far from the likely Parliamentary response. “And you can imagine how hard a generous settlement will be in the aftermath of
that.”
“What debate,” the King said, ignoring the financial bits, “a regency?”
“No, more that we would remove you and hand the throne to His Royal Highness.” Eden was not a passionate man but the King’s stubbornness had struck a nerve. “You should know that every party leader is with me, you have already tried to command Parliament, and, ah, failed to control it. Leave now, and you will be provided for. Do not, and the Parliament which I command will undoubtedly, ah, make it rather difficult for you.” The Duke of York and Halifax nodded.
The King petulantly took an age to prepare his pen, then without looking again at the wording of the instrument, signed it with a flourish. He grabbed a hitherto undisturbed tumbler of whisky and drank deep.
“God Save the King,” Eden, feeling that he should say something, tried to say this with due formality. He turned and bowed to King George VI. “Your Majesty.” He took, and kissed, the King’s hand, not sure if this was the correct thing to do but feeling that something was warranted.
“Oh please no,” the new King said.
“Your Majesty,” Halifax said as he kissed his Sovereign’s hand.
“Prime Minister, Edward,” the new King said as he sagged to a chair. “What now?”
“We sleep,” Eden said with feeling, “and then we convene your council. My people are working with Buckingham Palace to establish, what, ah, elements of the succession we dispense with.”
“Lying in state, the vigil and so on,” Halifax offered in explanation. The new King had looked baffled and he wanted to assist.
“D-d-do we make a speech? And I hear that elements of your parliament want to review how we do things.”
“Elements of the
Government,” Eden corrected, “for in your, ah, name I lead the Government, which commands a majority in Parliament. I think, Sir, ah, that if we had had to follow through with Attlee then a National Government would see this is an opportunity to adjust certain constitutional matters. Now, we can deal fairly with some of the issues that this crisis has highlighted.”
“Christ,” the new King snapped tersely. Halifax coloured at the blasphemy.
“We can delay much of it, Sir,” Eden said in an affable tone. “And focus on the accession.”
“Do I addddddress my people?”
“Possibly, Sir,” Eden agreed, “perhaps to correct the terrible stories that Beaverbrook is no doubt preparing. And then there are Your Majesty’s brothers. My Government, ah, well,
Your Government, would like His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester to continue his visit to the Mediterranean.”
“What about Georgie?”
“We believe that His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent could be an asset in supporting Your Majesty.”
“Not to mention the Duchess,” Halifax added, referring to the popular Princess Marina.
Eden nodded. “We, ah, feel, that the Kents should be recalled from their Scottish trip today.”
The new King nodded. Everyone had forgotten that the Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, until a few minutes ago King Edward VIII, was still in the room and that they were in his private home. The sense of history, of occasion, had effortlessly swept them along with it. As if to concurrently remind them of his presence and perhaps to ‘mark his territory’, that former King suddenly and noisily vomited lavishly.
====
GAME NOTES
There is, clearly, a code or algorithm somewhere in HOI4 that means the appointment of someone or something other than ‘fallen Government’ as the UK leader in the woeful
[SWEAR WORD] UK Focus Tree makes Edward VIII abdicate – it has happened every time I have played the ARP scenario (three times now) and on one occasion more than once within the same game. While I am normally reluctant to honour the random
[SWEAR WORD] that comes with the abusive relationship that is a game of HOI4, this one (it actually happened on 6 Feb, but I needed to pad out the TL a bit) made sense. True to the line of succession ‘Bertie’, the Duke of York, is now King George VI, and his heir is Princess Elizabeth (the staying power of QE2 is incredible – it is very hard to butterfly her away).
In analysing what has happened and what this means, we must not, I submit, merely view this a ‘righting’ of the TL which will now lead to a more-or-less OTL WW2. A lot has happened in the UK through 1936, some of it (Parliamentary inactivity for example) a direct result of the actions of Edward VIII and his rogue PM, some of it (massive troop reinforcements for Palestine) are slightly more removed effects. The point is that while ‘the chessboard’ might at first blush look similar, it really isn’t as in this post and the next we conclude Part 2 of the AAR, that began with Edward deciding he was going to have the Crown and the girl, and ends with the girl off in exile and Edward a disgraced ex-King.
At home there is much to do; Parliament hasn’t been remotely active since September ’36 and now has a Conservative (slender) majority Government headed by Eden. The notional National Government, brought about to give King Edward the final push out of the door, has, weirdly, served its purpose without even being formed. If Attlee ever tried to join and Eden accepts him then the UK could be in for additional strife through 1937. And that is without the need to do rebuild the Whitehall machinery, deal with the collapse of the Security Service, agree a budget, vote through the next phase of rearmament positions etc. The Empire is also strained, the Dominions now looking increasingly to themselves; some (Eire, arguably South Africa) were always difficult Dominions, but Canada, Australia and New Zealand are also enraged by Edward’s antics. I concede the point made by DLG’s Dominions Secretary ages ago that in many disciplines the Commonwealth is rather hard to utterly eradicate, but I do think that the Dominions will look to themselves / other benefactors earlier than they did OTL.
We've met nearly all of the personalities bar Lord Hailsham, the Lord Chancellor. He was establishment through and through and his return to his old job (he was Baldwin's Lord Chancellor) is clearly a nod to continuity and that rarest of things for this TL, stability. Given the hollowing out of the Whitehall and Palace bureaucracies, I decided that he would probably be the one to guide Eden through the slightly unusual legal fabric of an abdication instead of a more routine succession (Halifax, who had a decent knowledge of the constitution, is also useful here). I have tried, as ever, to stick what I think that the characters could be expected to do. Where this TL differs from OTL is that the change of King will be much less 'slick' as it was OTL; that lack of experienced people in office means that mistakes, as we'll see in the next chapter, are made. It is also, as has been commented a lot, much more likely that the Government and the Royal Family will be tougher on Edward, and the OTL acrimony over titles (the 'HRH for Wallis' argument above is straight from OTL) and money will be nothing as compared to what we'll see shortly.
Well, anyhoo, Edward VIII has gone. With nothing like the slow build-up of OTL (although hopefully the last two chapters presaged it sufficiently), he is gone. In OTL the Royal Family (and, to a degree, Parliament) was engulfed in the myriad of settlements and measures that the Abdication triggered. Here, it will be much, much worse.
I had, in all honesty, forgotten Baldwin existed. It was only when I read the word ‘Worcestershire’ and suddenly thought: aha! Bewdley! that I remembered just what a long old ride this has been so far. In real terms it’s been no time at all since Baldwin left the picture, but more than anything this update put into perspective just how far we’ve come (fallen?). Gathering my breath for the next round…
That was kind of why I wanted put in a quick detour to see him; so much has happened since he last appeared.
It is precisely the sort of thing I would do, and it's demonstrably the easiest way of gutting the monarchy whilst keeping it around for its...benefits. Take their private wealth away and they're essentially poorly treated diplomats who aren't allowed to say no.
So this will be an ongoing dilemma going forward, whether to leave the Monarchy alone or do a bit of reforming.
Yes, I doubt that will happen here. Edward will get one...perhaps two...offers, the initial and perhaps one negation...but that will be all. He'll get a small stipend for himself, and perhaps a title. But I can easily see him having to chose between one or the other, and getting thrown put on his ear when he refuses to choose.
He sure as shit isn't getting the duchy of Windsor though. The Queen mother would hit the roof. It'll be something else, equally made up but far less royal aligned.
You're right, IMHO too much has happened. There is a very specific reason why he was given a Royal Duchy OTL, which will create a problem in the next chapter. But as for the money, he'll be treated much more harshly.
Ah, a reminder of a time, recent but also distant, where all the verities had not yet been flushed through the s-bend of this ATL Non-Abdication (so far) crisis.
'twas a much gentler world, in the before times.
Same here. And I hadn’t realised he lived all the way to 1945.
I didn't spot it until I focussed upon his retirement. He increasingly, as discussed, stayed out politics apart from an occasional sally to defend his reputation.
Eden may or may not be a fool, but the doesn't appear to be stupid. Seems to have some idea of how to work the margins, do the deals and get enough political power on-point to get things done.
It's the 'what' that concerns me, but at least he does seem to have a grip on 'how'. So, small progress - but, progress.
Anyone who wants to reduce the finances of the royal family may find the Queen Mother to be tough, wily and pragmatic - or at least some of the people around her will be. There's going to be small appetite for more upheaval after they get done heaving Edward out, so - perhaps the financial threat would be better used as a goad for the rest of the family to help push? I can't say that the QM would necessarily take her views public, but the royals have means to make their thoughts known - and Heaven knows that Eden just doesn't need the grief right now.
That's very true, and Parliamentary time is limited enough without a heap of constitutional bills going into the lists.
Edward is being surprisingly resilient in all this, I would have expected him to cave by now. If he'd shown this much strength of character earlier in his life he'd never have ended up in such a mess. As has been said the threat of Cripps is a good one, though I will disagree until the end of time that he was clever. If anything it is his relentless ignorance and stupidity that makes him so dangerous - a clever person would be cautious in the field but Cripps is arrogant and deluded enough to blunder into major reform despite having no idea what the final 'reformed' system would look like, little carrying or even understanding the consequences of his actions and concerned only with 'progress' as he defines it not if the end result will actually make lives better for the public.
Edward's resilience at this stage OTL (and this TL come to think of it) was a heady mix of alcohol, Wallis and his dwindling band of supporters. I will offer an explanation of what caused him to go when we get to the next update, but it is, essentially, that Mrs Simpson lost any appetite for further scheming.
On Cripps, he was very like Chamberlain - in some areas he was clever as a cornered rat is clever, namely in surviving and promoting himself at all costs. He was a politically sharper operator than is usually realised, but was hopelessly naiive on virtually everything else.
You are making me feel a degree of sympathy with Baldwin, which is impressive because as you say his 1930s incarnation did undo a lot of his earlier good work. Eden however is already starting to worry me somewhat, certainly he has the beginnings of a grip on things and at least is focusing on the main issue of finishing the job and getting the King off the throne, but there are the odd miss steps and hints of uncertainty. Hopefully this is just because of the uncertain times and will fade as he eases into the job.
I'm rather pleased with that view on Eden, because that's what I am aiming for. It's all too easy to portray him (or indeed any new PM) as a new saviour; he isn't, but he is reasonable and pragmatic. Like many a new Tory PM, he of course arrives at an odd time with some interesting internal and external pressures to deal with.
Just polishing my manifesto. So far I've got;
- On defence, a substantial Dreadnought building programme. We want eight and we won't wait
- A return to Empire Free Trade
- Electoral reform - No representation without taxation.
- War with France
That's sane compared to some of the nonsense I've heard this week.
So doubling the size of the nuclear deterrent, attempting a CANZUK free trade agreement, bringing back the poll tax, and renegotiating Brexit now that the Russo-Ukrainian War has demonstrated the impotence of Macron in the face of aggression?
It’s a bold manifesto for addressing changing, uncertain times while going back to the Tories roots. I’ll be curious to see how it plays with the electorate.
I also wondered which class of Dreadnaughts he was going to double. I actually thought he meant the second rate ship of the line launched in 1801, appealing to the left by launching a carbon neutral Royal Navy that relies on sail rather than fossil fuels.
No pledge to bring back hanging or national service, so it’ll probably die a death.
We have Liz Truss for that...
What is rhe tory parry going to do about all those immigrants, coming over here, bringing up their kids wrong and joining the tory front bench?
See above. Aunty Lizz (shudders) will turn them all into cheese.
Not quite a poll tax, more keeping the tax base the same but varying the electoral franchise. I grant you that denying the vote to anyone who is a net beneficiary of Treasury spending (unemployed, pensioners, non-Doms, Scotland, etc) may seem radical, but I feel sure the basic principle is soundly grounded in traditional thinking. The rest is indeed as you say and I admit I do have high hopes for it's success.
It does need some red meat for the base you are right. Capital punishment for people who wear brown shoes in the City? If nothing else I feel sure it would prevent another financial crisis as it was doubtless cads like that who were to blame, if a chap can't even dress himself properly how can he be trusted to do anything else right? Maybe bring back hunting with hounds, not of foxes obviously but cyclists. I feel the sight of a pack of hounds chasing down a lycra clad cyclist is a sight that would bring cheer to all, as well as help keep rural traditions alive and reduce traffic congestion.
A person who wears brown shoes in the City deserves deportation to Australia. There was a Crown Court Judge, HHJ Lyons, who used to call it out in his courtroom...
Wait minute, this isn't a leadership bid at all, it's...
*Removes mask*
An application to have a column in a newspaper!
It’s what we call a deferred bid for the premiership.
It did end up working once.
It certainly did...
