Its an interesting premise. Eden at the height of his powers and in full health...but the Crisis isn't over the Canal but the entire British Empire and also he has to fix the monarchy and the situation in Europe as well.
Good luck with that...
- 2
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Good luck with that...
In a year’s time, we will have one of two updates: either Churchill, in the depths of depressive obscurity, takes a drunken walk off a short pier, lamenting the fact that his old friend has rendered him totally surplus to requirements – or @Le Jones gives us an expertly crafted account of Eden’s mystery month at Goldeneye, fifteen years early, ending with a homburg floating tragically off into the Caribbean Sea.
I'm certainly expecting some Churchill agnst. Whether or not he pulls through this one is...very uncertain to be honest. He's fucked up royally.
Fixed it for you.
Plenty of Churchill Angst I've no doubt, but I think you under-estimate his capacity to mentally re-write history and his ability to withstand periods of wilderness. Next time the Nazis do something aggressive and ridiculous then he will have an opportunity to bounce back, particularly should Eden fumble the response. And I fear he might if only due to the ongoing chaos in Whitehall and the greater-than-OTL need to keep the Dominions on side.
In any event as Eden does need to rehabilitate some of the previous 'Exigency Government' just to boost his majority the wilderness may not be that bad. He's not going back into government certainly, but leaving him to rot seems bad politics as well. A semi-attached, sort of rehabilitated Churchill who is very cautious of being in a precarious position but has some hope (false or not) of a future is surely more useful to Eden, and easier for Margesson to control, than a 'nothing to lose' loose cannon on the opposition benches. Any MPs he can carry with him would be a bonus.
- 1
He could always do what he did after Gallipoli and join the army again. Lieutenant colonels with trench experience should qualify for colonel/brigadier ratings in any future war with Germany.
I was trying to be subtle...for once.
There is that. I think if he survives the next few days/weeks, he'll be alright. May very well die a bit earlier than OTL though. Those days/weeks will be...mmm...indulgent.
You can see why no-one would expect that of you.
I'm not sure about that. All this seems a lot less stressful than being Prime Minister during WW2 which presumably is not going to happen as OTL, it'd be a complete waste of the AAR so far if it did. A bit more indulgence but massively less constant extreme stress, I think he comes out ahead health wise in that exchange.
Or of course he dies in a plane crash while on a clandestine mission to offer British support to Imperial Argentina who intend to join the Japan-Chile Defensive War of Croatian Independence, because this is a HOI4 AAR where that sort of thing happens.
- 2
Yes well...lesson learnt there!
I don't know...he seemed to indulge plenty in office too. Champagne and cigars and little else, unless he was eating in which case it was everything else. He drank a ridiculous amount but then again, he was eating a ridiculous amount as well, according to contemporaries. But it also seemed to be something of an act, or at least he made a big show of it.
Someone has to invent British Intelligence and run the spy networks after all. Not like they existed prior to 1936, no sir! At least TTL has a sort of excuse why the British system was gutted and non existent in HOI4 until Le Jones puts effort into establishing it.
Bazza MacKenzie would indeed be proud at his efforts in parking a tiger on the wall-to-wall! Let’s hope he doesn’t leave a kerbside quiche on the way out of the Palace!
Finally caught up! @Le Jones superb AAR so far, genuinely floored by the writing standard. they seem like real people, I know most of them are but . . . you know what I mean.
TBH I never really paid much attention to Eddy 8, was cuckholded by a damn yankee, lost all ability for rational thought, and gave up on his Royal duties for 'love'. Good thing history doesn't repeat itse . . .
oooooh, wait . . .
Has any of the recent nonsense with another colonial contributed at all to this? probably best not to ask yes?
I see its being discussed what WSC is currently up to. forgive me if I missed it, but I don't recall you confirming if he actually kept his seat. DLG yes, but Churchill?
Also, I'm not sure about Stanley as Chancellor, doesn't seem to be at that level in this time period. I understand why he got it, just think its another example that Eden is slightly struggling and not fully thinking through his decisions.
Looking forward to the next update, in your own time good Sir.
TBH I never really paid much attention to Eddy 8, was cuckholded by a damn yankee, lost all ability for rational thought, and gave up on his Royal duties for 'love'. Good thing history doesn't repeat itse . . .
oooooh, wait . . .
Has any of the recent nonsense with another colonial contributed at all to this? probably best not to ask yes?
I see its being discussed what WSC is currently up to. forgive me if I missed it, but I don't recall you confirming if he actually kept his seat. DLG yes, but Churchill?
Also, I'm not sure about Stanley as Chancellor, doesn't seem to be at that level in this time period. I understand why he got it, just think its another example that Eden is slightly struggling and not fully thinking through his decisions.
Looking forward to the next update, in your own time good Sir.
- 1
Churchill could well be having his revenge by writing the history of the crisis - from his point of view, of course. Beaverbrook would buy it, surely?
I don't think he's winning a nobel prize this time, folks...
- 1
Chapter 83, London, 22 February 1937
The agony would be protracted another day, adding to the sense of farce, drama, uncertainty. The unofficial announcement had gone out, Beaverbrook’s papers stealing a march on all others, but with a newly elected Government still organising itself, and having lost the leader who had taken it through a General Election, that Government had been overwhelmed. There was no Palace staff to speak of, the Cabinet was barely assembled and so they were on the back foot, delaying official confirmation of the newspaper stories until supper on the 21st, so that the more respectable morning papers (most of whom were either loyal to the Government or at least agnostic) would carry the news rather than the tawdrier evening papers. It also gave time for the Prime Minister, who was not exactly underemployed of late, to put the finishing touches to what had been a hastily assembled speech to the House. As the former King of England had spent the evening of the 20th and much of the 21st in so bad a condition that Dr Dawson had been summoned to pump his stomach, it was perhaps a good thing that the delay had occurred. As often happens in events such as these, the news seeped, slowly but irresistibly, through nation like an odious tide of recrimination and blame.
Eden, who had spent much of the morning ‘clearing the decks’, had arranged with Fitzroy, the Speaker, and Attlee for the Opposition that Parliament would have to be recalled; they had been prepared for this throughout the 20th so most of the newly elected MPs were already heading to town. This had not gone unnoticed, adding, in the absence of official information, to the tension and the sense that an event of some magnitude was on the way.
“Where is His Majesty?”
“Which one, Prime Minister?” Oliver Stanley looked as dreadful as Eden and, next to him, Kingsley Wood. The three of them were gathered in Eden’s office in the House of Commons.
Eden sighed. “The proper King. George.”
“Gathering for the meeting as requested. He’s travelling to St James’s Palace with Monckton to discuss everything Royal Household, and Halifax has also gathered up Halsey-Bircham and Peacock.”
Eden was running over his speech again and was struggling to keep focussed on it and Stanley. He looked up, wearily. “Who?”
“Sir Robert Halsey-Bircham is the Duke of York’s lawyer,” Kingsley Wood answered. “And Sir Edward Peacock is the Receiver-General of the Duchy of Lancaster. The money, essentially.”
Eden rolled his eyes. “Are these positions sinecures, or fully employed senior staff, or something in between?”
Kingsley Wood answered. “The last one, Prime Minister. Both have extensive private practices in law and finance.”
Eden sat back in his chair. “Right. Let’s go, then. After we’re done ask Hailsham to, ah, take tea with them, they may be candidates for the Household positions.”
“You’re worried about Walter?”
"He is, Oliver, ah, I’m told, close to breaking.”
“He’s not the only one,” Stanley said pointedly.
Eden waved a hand dismissively. “Now. Reith.”
“Reith,” Stanley replied with a yawn. “Have you decided?”
“I rather think, ah, that I will honour His Majesty’s…”
“…I’m sorry, which one?”
“The new one, Howard, I always, ah, mean the new one,” Eden said fussily as he led Stanley and Kingsley Wood out of the building. “I think that our former King should not give a speech. I will address the Commons, and then address the nation.”
Stanley sighed. “We also,” he said ominously, “have another problem. There are small crowds gathering around Westminster. Lots of banners and flags supporting King Edward.”
“And King George?”
“A few, Prime Minister, yes.”
====
Eden, Stanley and Kingsley Wood travelled the short distance to the meeting in thoughtful silence, each seemingly awed by the day’s events. Here and there, Eden noticed, there were protests, thankfully mainly of the eccentric British kind, but still enough to alarm the Prime Minister.
The Parliamentary trio arrived and were led, immediately, not to some glittering stateroom but a much quieter, more solemn area, although to Eden it looked more like the Cabinet Room than anything else. He had insisted on avoiding Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace and it had been Walter Monckton who had suggested St James’s, a neat suggestion as it would be used in any event for the proclamation address.
The new King’s equerry had come over with him from the household of the Duke of York. “Prime Minister,” he said apprehensively, “His Majesty wonders if he could have a few second of your time.”
“Of course,” Eden said equably. He was immediately ushered into a small annex.
“PPprrime Minister,” the King said, looking truly crestfallen. “So kind of you.”
“Your Majesty asked to see me,” Eden said, confused.
“It was about the Cabinet,” the King said, miserably. “Am I supposed to do anything?”
Eden smiled with relief, pleased that the question was a relatively easy one. “Ah, well, those not sworn into the Privy Council will need to be, but I rather think that the Whitehall machine takes care of everything,” he said, forcing himself to be cheerful.
“I gggg-dammit-gather that you’ve struggled to fill the ppposts.”
“More, Sir, that the recent Parliamentary, ah, convulsions have removed some of the natural figures for ministerial, ah, office. Stanley at the Exchequer was, you understand…”
“…a political move, Edward ttttells me. You wanted his support.”
Eden inclined his head, wary, as he always was, of Halifax’s influence upon the new King. He decided that a further discussion over Cabinet posts could wait. “Shall we proceed, Sir?”
“Yes, I’ll be there in a moment. You’re going with Strathcona for the War Office,” he looked down at what Eden recognised was his formal letter to the King on the Cabinet, “Sir Donald Somervell for AG and Home Secretary, rrrrather odd?”
“I have a plan to move someone into the Home Department, but ah, only when, his other duties allow.”
The King looked nonplussed but continued, “Lord Stanley for the Admiralty, rather a promotion isn’t it? Inskip for the Board of Education, hmmn.”
Eden was saved from having to reply by a knock at the door. They were led into the meeting room, and as Eden crossed the corridor and wearily took a seat he looked around. Monckton, Reith from the BBC, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and a brace of sombrely suited older men made up the numbers. A sharp double-knock signalled that they should rise, which they did, and the new King, escorted by Halifax, strode in (Margesson and Stanley exchanging worried glances at this). Somewhere the clock chimed the hour.
“Your Majesty,” they all said, more or less in unison.
King George VI visibly flinched. “It dddddoesn’t get easier with repetition,” he said, in a slightly singsong way that Eden suspected was a trick to curb the stammer. “Thank you, gentlemen, for agreeing to meet with us. I suppose that this awful and g-ghastly suspense is now over.”
“Your Majesty,” Walter Monckton began, serenely calm. “Shall we begin with His Royal Highness.”
“Excellent suggestion, Walter,” Halifax added, sounding like it was staged, which of course it was.
“Alright,” Eden said, in an attempt to take charge. “As far as I understand it, Mrs Simpson is, ah, near Cannes, in France,” he added unnecessarily. “After much debate in recent weeks I now understand that His Royal Highness’ lawyer, Mr Goddard, travelled to France and gave Mrs Simpson a thorough education on the constitutional options available. She, ah, relented, and thus His Royal Highness agreed to renounce his throne.”
Lang, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was a wonderfully biblical picture of disapproving cant. Halifax likewise looked disgusted. “I see,” the King said simply. “Er, thank you, Prime Minister, for correcting the narrative,” he offered a weak smile as Eden inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“His Royal Highness…oh jeepers, is he even a Royal Highness?” That was Stanley.
“We’ll come on to that,” Eden said soothingly.
“Where is he?” That was Reith, whose business here was the official wireless broadcasts. The whereabouts of the former King definitely wasn’t his business.
“He’s on the South Coast,” Monckton said. “Once we’ve agreed the settlement, he’ll go out to France to be reunited with Simpson.”
“Who is he travelling with?” Lang was also intrigued.
“At the moment that Metcalfe chap, Philip Sassoon, Channon and a couple of others. Dickie Mountbatten has offered to act as intermediary.”
Halifax shook his head, as did the King. “Out of the question.”
“I agggreee, Edward,” the King said, “mama is clear that Dickie is out, for now.”
Eden leaned forward. “Then, ah, my suggestion is Alfred Duff-Cooper. He was a rebel, loyal to your brother, but since losing his seat has been a useful interlocutor for me. He and his wife know France well, I, ah, recall.” The men looked around and all nodded.
“So Duffy is our conduit to His Royal Highness, and you, Walter, are supporting His Majesty. Now,” said Stanley, “what does the settlement look like?”
That was the question, and while everyone was confident on their part of what was essentially going to be a contract, no one had yet attempted to grasp the totality of it. All eyes, eventually, landed upon Eden. “Well, Ppp-Prime Minister,” the King said finally, “it appp-ppears we’re in your hands.”
Eden smiled shyly. “Perhaps we should start by helping Oliver here,” he smiled at Stanley’s discomfort, “and confirm his status. Is he an HRH, does he get a title, that, ah, sort of thing.”
“He should,” Reith said in his Scottish accent, “be a plain Mr Windsor.” Halifax, Monckton, the King and a few other all groaned at this suggestion. After thinking on the matter, Archbishop Lang nodded his agreement.
“While I in no way”, Monckton began, a little hotly, “want to be seen to reward His Royal Highness, there is an attractiveness to his remaining a Royal duke.”
“There is?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Sir Robert Halsey-Bircham, who had been the King’s legal advisor when he was Duke or York, said in a stern tone, “there is. If we make him plain Mr Edward…”
“…I suppose it would be Windsor,” the King said glumly.
“Thank you, Sir,” Halsey-Bircham said with a smile, “it would enable him to do rather a lot of things that we would prefer him not to.”
“Such as?” Reith frowned.
“Well, for one he could stand for Parliament,” Monckton said. “The restrictions upon membership of the House of Commons would be removed, if we contend that they can, and he would be allowed to campaign and to enjoy Parliamentary Privilege.”
“Good God,” Stanley said softly, earning a sharp look from the Archbishop. The King looked horrified.
“I, ah, agree,” Eden said, feeling that he had been silent for too long. “And similarly, if we offer him a courtesy title, which is probably the least that he should get as a senior peer and born as the son of a Duke, he would, ah, as Lord Edward Windsor, or Edward, Lord whatever of whatever, be allowed to sit and to speak in the House of Lords.”
“Unless we banned it,” Stanley added.
Monckton frowned. “It could be done, and I presume that you’ve consulted Hailsham?”
Eden nodded. “Dependent upon how we want to go with this, I offer two options. We keep the HRH and offer a Royal Dukedom in the settlement, which will envelop him in, ah, Royal protocol and prevent him from causing difficulty in Parliament.”
“Or?” The King looked concerned.
Eden took a breath as the trap was sprung. “We prepare what we’re, ah, theorising, would be a ‘Royal Establishment Bill’. It would, ah, review the Royal Marriages Act, the Regency Acts, codify an abdication, ah, process.” The lawyers, notably Monckton and Halsey-Bircham, all sat up at this.
A few heads sank into hands at this. “But the Crown is not a legal instrument,” Lang said, “it is a divine measure, ordained by God.”
Monckton merely looked through his spectacles at Lang, so Eden took up the point. “I ah, rather think that it can be both, my dear Archbishop,” he said with his most charming smile.
The King rested his head on his fists, tears clearly forming in his eyes. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it?”
Eden looked sympathetically at the King. He didn’t want this nightmare to ever happen again but had a measure of sympathy with the new Sovereign. “I, ah, fear that too much has happened,” he said simply.
“He ccc-cannot be an HRH, or that woman,” the King said quietly.
“Then Parliament will have to legislate, Sir,” Stanley muttered. “Barring any abdicatee, is that a word?”
“I rather think ye’ve made it one,” Reith said dourly.
“Barring any abdicator from membership of the Commons or the Lords so long as, what?”
“That they receive any income on the Civil List or via the Royal Family’s private financial arrangements,” Halsey-Bircham replied instantly. He turned to the King. “Your Majesty would retain a significant degree of control,” he advised his client.
“And I think that a courtesy title would ah, assist,” Eden said. “Lord Edward Windsor?”
“Oh no,” the King said immediately.
“What about Lord Belvedere?” That was Kingsley Wood, making a rare intervention.
To Eden it felt close, but perhaps rather too close, given the importance of that building in what had passed. “Lord Egham?”
“Sunningdale,” Halifax muttered.
“Yes, a small town, near Windsor, nice sounding name,” Monckton said, scribbling it down. “Your Majesty?” Halsey-Bircham and Kingsley Wood were nodding.
“Lord Sunningdale,” the King said slowly. “Yes, I think it wwwwwould work. Mama and Georgie would accept it, I think.”
Halsey-Bircham frowned. “Would he be a prince, though? As in, Prince Edward, Lord Sunningdale?”
“You’re worried,” Monckton said.
“It’s more, Walter, that it’s a confection. Artifice. He’s going to get called His Royal Highness everywhere he goes.”
“The Embassies and High Commissions have already asked for detailed guidance on how to address him, and frankly,” Kingsley Wood was speaking with confidence, “on how to well, deal with, him and with her.”
“That’s good, Howard,” Eden said lightly. “As your, ah, Prime Minister, I advise that we offer the courtesy title of Lord Suningdale, he remains, as the son of a King, a Prince, but is not a Royal Duke and is not therefore HRH.” He frowned. “Am I right?”
“More or less, absent a couple of trivialities,” Monckton said airily, earning a look of disapproval from Halifax and the King, to whom titles were important.
“And,” Eden picked up, “to confirm that we all agree, ah, that the Bill and settlement will remove entitlement to sit in the House of Lords, which he would otherwise be entitled to enjoy.”
“Now, the money,” Stanley said. “Sir Edward Peacock.”
Peacock, apparently a much-loved figure among the Royal Family, frowned as he looked at the balance sheet before him. “The challenges, as I see them, are threefold. Does Lord Sunningdale,” he said this effortlessly, “earn an income from the Civil List, secondly what to do with his share of private Royal property, the private homes and so forth, and thirdly, what stipend or annuity is paid to His Lordship after consideration of the first two factors.”
“And fourthly, what conditions we put on the agreement,” Stanley snapped.
Peacock gave the Chancellor the hardest of stares. “A matter, Chancellor, for the lawyers.” Monckton and the other lawyers nodded.
“I suggest,” Kingsley Wood offered, “that we do not provide for His Lordship out of the Civil List.”
“Not,” Eden said gently, not quite agreeing, “until the Establishment Bill has settled it once and for all. It’s, ah, easier to amend if we haven’t already promised him something,” he said with a reassuring smile.
No one seemed to know what to say. The King coughed. “Then I pppp-presume that we’ll have to look at the second and third ppppoints.”
There was a gentle chuckle. Eden now spoke. “What is His Lordship’s wealth?”
Peacock answered. “His Lordship has considerable assets, the shares in the Balmoral and Sandringham estates, the farms at Sandringham alone are valued at one hundred and four thousand pounds, of course he owns the homes on those estates, as well as his considerable personal wealth. I calculate His Lordship’s wealth at in excess of nine hundred thousand pounds.”
“Which will,” Stanley probed, “result in an annual income?”
Peacock nodded. “The challenge here is that much of this wealth is not convertible,” Peacock saw that Halifax looked baffled, “he cannot easily realise these assets. He’s not going to sell Balmoral…”
“…wouldn’t put it past him,” the young Duke of Beaufort, one of the so far silent suits but attending as one of the few remaining office holders from the Palace (he was the Master of the Horse), muttered, earning a wry smile from the King.
“Henwy, please,” Halifax said sternly to the younger man.
“I estimate that His Lordship could, if provision be made, realise fifty thousand a year.” Stanley was taking notes, as was Monckton. “Now, there are deductions. His share of the private pensions is approximately six thousand a year.”
“Why so high, Sir Edward?” That was Monckton.
“Because we saw a mass resignation of senior Palace staff in this short reign, most of them retirements of long serving senior staff. So, the pension contributions, which I had estimated,” he turned to the King, “when Your Majesty first asked me, to be four thousand a year, is actually significantly higher.”
Eden and Stanley were conferring. “Ah, forgive us, Your Majesty. I think that we could assist here.”
“Oh?” The King looked wary.
“Rather than the Civil list, we could, ah, buy him out.”
“Of what, Pppp-Prime Minister?”
“Balmoral and Sandringham. Buy him out, outright, give him his share of the capital, and then a much smaller annual stipend would be necessary by the family.”
Peacock frowned. “Who would buy it?”
Kingsley Wood was also frowning. “Either the Royal Family or the Government?”
“My, ah, suggestion, is that we make ah, provision for both residences to become official Royal residences. Starting, ah, with the purchase of Sandringham.”
“No,” the King snapped. “I can do it, can’t I, Sir Edward?”
“Yes Sir, so you and the Dukes of Gloucester and Kent, as well as the Princess Royal, could purchase His Lordship out of the family homes. The capital raised goes to His Lordship. Fine.”
“No it is not,” Eden said with surprising firmness. “Oliver?”
“I believe,” Stanley said earnestly, “that to sell to the Royal Family would be a blunder.”
“Why?” The King asked this innocently.
“Because, Sir, he knows that Your Majesty will pay anything to get those houses back into Royal hands.”
“What is the alternative?” Halifax was confused.
“We will, ah, compulsorily purchase the homes.”
“We can?”
“I believe so.”
Monckton frowned. “Which method are you using…”
“…it’ll either go in the Establishment Bill, or we can use,” Stanley looked at his notes, “something like the Local Authorities Act of 1933.”
“But only,” Monckton frowned, “if it is for the purpose of the local authority. Section one hundred and thir…”
“…which is why we favour placing it in the Establishment Bill,” Eden said calmly. “We will actually, ah, rather try to persuade him to part with the homes quietly, but if necessary it can be included in the draft Bill. At market value only.”
Peacock waited to see if there was further debate. “Now the stipend. His Lordship appears to have been aiming for around forty thousand a year.”
“Widiculous,” Halifax murmured.
Peacock nodded. “Quite. I propose ten thousand a year, after removal of the pensions.”
“So,” Kingsley Wood remarked, “it’s a flat ten ‘k’ regardless of the pension bill?”
“I think so,” Peacock added. “The pension bill is likely to change again moving forward. Are we agreed?”
“I will, ah, make sure that the people know the extent of His Lordship’s private wealth,” Eden said, trying to regain command. “If we are agreed, what are the conditions?”
“Non wesidential,” Halifax said with uncharacteristic force. “He is not to weturn to the Kingdom…”
“…or the Dominions?” Kingsley Wood was confused.
“Good point, ah, Howard. Perhaps we have a clause included that His Lordship…”
“…or that woman,” Reith muttered darkly.
“Or Her Ladyship,” that earned a groan from Halifax and the King, “does not enter a Dominion realm without the permission of the sitting Prime Minister of that Dominion and the assent of the Crown?” Everyone nodded.
“But do we need a cordon sanitaire?” Monckton was writing.
“What?”
“A period, Your Grace, of His Lordship being away for a while. A minimum period.”
“Ten years,” Halifax said, just as Kingsley Wood muttered ‘two’.
“Five,” Stanley said, “we’ll probably have had an election by then.”
“Five,” Eden said, “with a proviso that he may write, earlier, for, ah, permission, in the event of an event of family significance.” He looked away from the King, “such as a birth, wedding…”
“…death,” Archbishop Lang finished. “But he must not attend the Coronation.”
“We will, ah, specify, in the settlement, and ah, the Bill, that he is not to attend.” He turned to Halsey-Bircham and Monckton. “That’ll do it?”
Halsey-Bircham nodded and Monckton smiled. “Yes, I think so, Prime Minister,” he said.
“We also need,” Reith now spoke up, “to consider broadcasting rights.”
“This settlement would be conditional,” Halsey-Bircham said insistently, “upon His Lordship offering no interviews or wireless broadcasts.”
“Well,” Kingsley Wood said evenly, “we can do that here in Britain and the colonies, and hopefully the Dominions, but the second he gets to Europe…”
“…the agreement will still apply to him,” Halsey-Bircham insisted, Monckton nodding in agreement.
“If we’re candid, that’s the one he’ll happily break,” Stanley snapped.
“Oliver,” Eden said calmly. “We can but hope that he obeys.”
“What if he ddd-doesn’t?” The King looked concerned.
“Your Majesty?”
“Well, Chancellor, what if he ddddoen’t heed the provisions?”
“Then we can forfeit his right to the capital from Balmoral and Sandringham, Sir,” Stanley said immediately. Monckton, Kingsley Wood and Halsey-Bircham, not at all sure of the legality of that, winced.
“I wanted to ah, ask,” Eden said, looking at the King, “on the military patronage and rank. His Lordship is Colonel of a number of regiments.”
“Strip him of them,” Reith snapped, practically trilling the ‘r’ in ‘strip.
“No,” Monckton countered, “we make those conditional upon his acceptance.”
The King looked disappointed at Monckton. Halsey-Bircham frowned.
“Perhaps, we, ah, start to quietly look at where those military roles can be gently reassigned.”
“Thank you, Pppprime Minister,” the King said.
“A final point, if I may,” Reith said sombrely, “am I to take it that only the Prime Minister will be addressing the nation?”
Most of them nodded happily, but Lang banged the table. “I had rather hoped,” he said in a falsely sweet voice, “to add my own thoughts. Apparently,” he now trilled, saying ‘apparently’ beautifully, “I am to be censored.”
“It was, ah, necessary for us to insist that all pronouncements go through the Cabinet,” Eden offered. He frowned as he saw that the Archbishop lacked the sense to shut up. Time to spring another trap, he realised. “Perhaps, if Your Grace’s statements didn’t cause such alarm we would have been less sensitive.”
“How so?” The King was intrigued.
Eden, having gone this far, saw Stanley looking alarmed but decided to make his point. “Your Grace’s statement that ‘in manner and speech he’…”
“Me?” That was the King.
“Yes Sir,” Eden confirmed, “where was I. Ah, ‘is more quiet and reserved than his brother. And here I may add a parenthesis which may not be unhelpful. When his people listen to him they will note an occasional and momentary hesitation in his speech. But he has brought it into full control, and to those who hear it need cause no sort of embarrassment, for it causes none to him who speaks’. That’s all,” Eden said, looking up with a sad smile. No one bar Eden dared looked at the King, who was red with rage. Some sort of jaw exercise now took place and he managed to calm himself.
“I was,” Lang said very primly, “only trying to offer my support.” Halifax looked embarrassed, as did Reith.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Eden countered, “but perhaps, this should be seen as, ah, a Cabinet matter. Yes I think so.”
The meeting, like a storm in from the Atlantic, seemed to lose force and focus and was ‘blown out’. The clock chimed and Eden, aware that he was due in the House soon, shifted unhappily. The King, however, was ahead of him.
“There, has bbbb-been, much to discuss,” he said softly. “Time to brief the family, and you, Mr Eden?”
“Parliament, Sir.” His first address as Prime Minister would also be one of global and historical significance, and at that thought he tensed.
====
There was silence as Eden entered. Fitzroy, the Speaker, had been given the address which had only belatedly been approved by a barely functioning former King and then by the Prime Minister.
“Statement from His Majesty,” Fitzroy began. Attlee and Sinclair, who had charted very singular courses throughout this crisis, looked from Fitzroy to Eden for a hint of what was to come. “After long and anxious consideration, I have determined to renounce the Throne to which I succeeded on the death of My father, and I am now communicating this, my final and irrevocable decision.” Fitzroy paused, letting the full drama of the moment sink in; there was no braying, or cheering, or heckling, just silence punctuated by astonished gasps. “Realising as I do the gravity of this step, I can only hope that I shall have the understanding that I have tried to reconcile my public responsibilities with those personal arrangements that I would wish to make for my happiness. I now accept that the burden which constantly rests upon the shoulders of a Sovereign is so heavy that it can only be borne in circumstances different from those in which I now find myself. When one considers the public interest, I declare that I am conscious that I can no longer discharge this heavy task with efficiency or with satisfaction to myself or my peoples’.” He paused, the more theatrical moment over.
“His Majesty then attests the following declaration. ‘I have accordingly this morning executed an Instrument of Abdication in the terms following. I, Edward the Eighth, of Great Britain, Ireland, and the British Dominions beyond the Seas, King, Emperor of India, do hereby declare my irrevocable determination to renounce the Throne for myself and for my descendants, and my desire that effect should be given to this Instrument of Abdication immediately. In token whereof I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-first day of February, nineteen hundred and thirty-seven, in the presence of the witnesses whose signatures are subscribed. Signed, Edward R’.”
There was silence, still silence. “I deeply appreciate the spirit which has manifested itself on the streets during this period of crisis, and of the exertions made by those striving to balance those irreconcilable aspirations to which I have held for perhaps too long. I regret the tribulations placed upon Parliament and our constitutional arrangements. But my mind is made up. Moreover, further delay cannot but be most injurious to the peoples whom I have tried to serve as Prince of Wales and as King and whose future happiness and prosperity are the constant wish of my heart. I am deeply sensible of the consideration which they have always extended to me both before and after my accession to the Throne and which I know they will extend in full measure to my successor. I am most anxious that there should be no delay of any kind in giving effect to the Instrument which I have executed and that all necessary steps should be taken immediately to secure that my lawful successor, my brother, His Royal Highness the Duke of York, should ascend the Throne.”
The House was so silent that, James Maxton would later write, ‘ye could have heard a mouse sneeze’. There was a heavy pause, as if no one quite knew what to do next. Fitzroy rallied, and after a cough to wake them up from their reverie, muttered, “Order.” There was no need to say it, for the House was eerily silent. He seemed lost in the importance of the moment.
At that point Neville Chamberlain entered, to a mix of nervy ‘catcalls’, booing from the Labour benches and, here and there, a cheer from a supporter. Walking silently past Eden and his Cabinet, with great, ponderous solemnity he slowly made his way to the backbenches.
“Banquo’s bloody ghost,” one of the few remaining Conservative rebels shouted.
“Erm,” Fitzroy tried again. “Address from His Majesty King George the Sixth. ‘I have succeeded to the Throne in circumstances which are without precedent and at a moment of great personal distress. But I am resolved to do my duty and I am sustained by the knowledge that I am supported by the widespread goodwill and sympathy of all my subjects here and throughout the world. It will be my constant endeavour, with God's help, supported as I shall be by my dear wife, to uphold the honour of the Realm and to promote the happiness of my peoples’.” He coughed, glad to be done with it. “Prime Minister.”
Eden had read, several times, Baldwin’s speech of September ’36 in which he had factually set out the issues with the Simpson affair and earned enormous respect for the dignity with which he had closed his premiership. Eden, in reading and borrowing the tone of that address, was determined to begin his premiership with that dignity.
“Mr, ah, Speaker, I will firstly begin with an apology to my Cabinet colleagues as well as the Leaders of the Opposition and Liberal Parties.” That, for all the intention to start with dignity, was a barbed and tart mocking of Lloyd George and Sinclair’s until-recent claim to be the ‘Exigency Government’. It earned a few chuckles, particularly among the Labour benches, and Sinclair had the decency to look ashamed. Of Lloyd George there was no sight. “There could be no advanced warning of this event and the precise wording of the address was only received minutes ago.”
He coughed. “I beg to move that a humble address be presented to His Majesty to offer to His Majesty our loyal thanks for his gracious message; to express to His Majesty our devotion to his royal person and to Her Majesty the Queen, and to assure His Majesty of our conviction that his reign, under the blessing of Divine Providence, will safeguard the liberties of the country and promote the prosperity and contentment of his people." There was some cheering at this, and he was glad that he, Kingsley Wood and Stanley, with Hailsham and Halifax’s assent, had decided to merge the Abdication and Accession addresses so as to wheel Edward out of the picture and George onto it.
“This is the last of the formal occasions which attend the Accession of a Sovereign until his Coronation. His Majesty has sent us a gracious message in which he reminds us that the circumstances in which he has succeeded to the Throne are without precedent. It is customary on these occasions, and has been customary, to speak of the deceased King. In this case that is not our duty in these remarkable of times. The, ah, circumstances are simply without precedent. All, I think, that I have to say is focussed almost exclusively, ah, upon the new reign.”
He paused, the House wanting to know where he would focus his speech. “His Majesty speaks of a moment of great personal distress. I can assure the House that having attended, with ah, members of the Cabinet, much of the royal choreography over the last two days, that is no exaggeration and no mere formal phrase. In lieu of decades of preparation for the awesome burden of, ah, Kingship, His Majesty has had hours, days.” That was not true, abdication had been on the cards for weeks, if not months. But perhaps the inevitability of succession was something new.
“This place, today, is an, ah, arena, watched by the whole world. Let us conduct ourselves with that dignity which our new Sovereign, His Majesty King George the Sixth, is showing in this hour of his trial. For it is he, Mr Speaker, who must be uppermost in our thoughts and prayers, as he now carries with him the aspirations of all of us in these small islands.”
It was an unanticipated focus, inspired by words considered but never uttered by Baldwin, and deliberately crafted with that former Prime Minister in mind. Eden, not naturally as theatrical as Churchill or Lloyd George, nevertheless threw an arm to where, flanked by Lords Halifax and Zetland, the Earl of Bewdley, Baldwin himself, sat grim faced in the galleries above.
“Five months ago, we met in the most challenging of circumstances to agree our collective response to a crisis, of ah, unparalleled significance, to the very fabric of our constitutional arrangements. That response has been tested, sorely ah, tested, and it is with a determination to continue rather than a satisfaction of what has, ah, passed, that we meet here today. A determination that was first signalled in this House by His Lordship, the Earl of Bewdley and those of us who have stood alongside him.” It was naked posturing, designed to anoint Eden with Baldwin’s blessing, but the Commons was with him, just.
“Honourable members, whatever our feelings at the contents of the messages just, ah, rendered to us, let us fulfil, at least in this regard, the intent of he who made it necessary, to do this with speed and with dignity. Let no word be spoken today that the utterer of that word may, ah, come to regret in days to come, let no word be spoken that causes pain, and let us not forget today the revered and beloved figure of Queen Mary, what all this time has meant to her, and think again of His Majesty, King George, of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and of their young daughters, who now occupy places of constitutional significance. Think of them, when we, ah, speak, if speak we must, during this debate. We have, after all, in this island and our Empire and Commonwealth overseas, to see that we do our work to maintain the integrity of our democracy and of the Monarchy, which is now that, ah, vital link of our whole Empire and the guardian of our freedom. Let us look forward and remember our country and the trust reposed by our country in this, the House of Commons, and let us rally behind the new King.”
Eden sat down. Baldwin had said it all, all of it, months ago, and he was determined that he would not sound like Baldwin, or Chamberlain. He had won this role, was executing the business of the day in an orderly way, and there would be time later, as the enormous but now necessary Establishment Bill made its way through the House, to debate who would get what.
“Mr Clement Attlee,” Fitzroy said wearily.
Attlee had been jotting quietly in his notebook, at one point borrowing a pen from Arthur Greenwood when his pencil snapped during Chamberlain’s arrival. “This occasion does not, in my view, call for long and eloquent speeches. My words will be few and simple. We have all heard with profound concern the message from our former King. The Prime Minister in his address has honoured the memory of his predecessor but one, who but five months ago related to us the course of events that have led up to this momentous act. The King has decided that he can no longer continue on the Throne. The whole country will receive the news with a sense of one chapter closing.”
There was agreement. “As one door closes, another one opens. But as we transition, let’s not forget the issues that were considered and rejected by this House last year, and the cynicism with which some in our society, including some in this House, sought to exploit the constitutional ruptures caused by the former King’s actions.”
Fitzroy sat up. Open discussion of the Monarch, particularly criticism, was rarely allowed to run in the Commons. But open criticism of a former King was unprecedented and Fitzroy leaned forward to consult with his civil servants. Eden heard out the remainder of Attlee’s speech, as well as that of a Liberal member (Sinclair declining to speak), before slipping away, to avoid the more rowdy and ill-judged speeches that he knew would follow.
He was whisked away, to his office in the Commons where a final note on the financial element of the settlement, from Monkton, awaited him. He wrote a quick acknowledgment to go this evening, checked that all was well, and made his way back to Downing Street.
====
Sir John Reith stood, dourly, at the door like a particularly unwelcoming porter. “You’re four minutes late,” he said sullenly.
“And good afternoon to you, Sir John,” Eden said tersely, trotting past the Director-General to the Cabinet room. Taking his place in the Prime Minister’s chair, Eden was handed a crisply typed piece of paper. Skim reading it, he could see that it was the script for the evening news announcing that King Edward had abdicated and the accession of the Duke of York. There was no time to think about this evening of ‘firsts’, of an abdication, new Prime Minister, new Parliament, new form of communicating: the young BBC producer was counting him down and finally, after ‘one’, pointed energetically at Eden. He closed his eyes and addressed the nation.
"Good evening, this is the Prime Minister, I am speaking to you all, tonight, at home and in our possessions and Dominions overseas, on the wireless, from the Cabinet Room in Downing Street.” It was oddly heady stuff, summoning a sense of national crisis, and he imagined the shock that the listeners would be experiencing; two minutes ago, they heard that the King was leaving, now the Prime Minister was speaking to them from the inner sanctum of Whitehall.
“I want to speak to you, ah, tonight, about the grave situation in which we find ourselves and of the actions that have taken place in London today. Let me, ah, say at once that the uncertainty experienced by all of us at this time, although it undoubtedly exists, should not be exaggerated. We have made preparations and order remains.”
He paused, remembering not to rush the delivery. "Let me first, ah, describe to you the system under which we have seen one King choose to depart us,” the barb was intentional, “and by which another has so loyally risen to the, ah, occasion. With a General Election recently concluded it was clear that His Majesty King Edward could not enjoy both his position, as Sovereign of these islands and his realms overseas, and the arrangements for his personal happiness which had chosen, above all other considerations, to realise. You have heard the debates that have wrenched these, ah, lands apart, and it was clear that he was not in step with his people or Parliament. And, ah, earlier yesterday he discharged his last duty as King and Emperor, and now that he had been succeeded by his brother, the Duke of York, our thoughts, as his were, must be to declare our allegiance to him. This he has done, and this I do now, as I have done earlier.”
“In seeing a figure so well-known and beloved to us dashed upon the rocks of this calamity,” Eden said, frowning as he read, but deciding that the Cabinet and Palace had been right to come up with this phrase, “we should remember that this is, ah, a tale of a man who failed to reconcile that happiness that he so evidently sought with the heavy duty and responsibility of the role to which he was born. He has, rightly, now elected to quit his, ah country, altogether, and will be a spectator of our progress from his new life overseas. He leaves this country, ah this evening, to be reunited with she whom is most important to him. He has made this decision of his volition, encouraged, no doubt, by the calibre that our new Sovereign, King George the Sixth, who is supported by a loving wife and a strong family home, will be able to shine further, without interruption or injury to the life and progress of the empire.”
“I conclude by accepting that there have been marked constitutional differences between the former King and his Parliament, and that I was the third Prime Minister to serve him in a year. Every incumbent of this office has always treated the Monarch and the institution with full, ah, consideration. And yet it has ultimately, ah, proved impossible to satisfy his every desire while maintaining the dignity of the Crown.”
“I ask you all, whatever your conviction, to come together to think of His Majesty King George, his wife Queen Elizabeth, and the Royal Family at this time. We all, ah, now, have a new King and we wish him happiness and prosperity. Our new Sovereign, King George the Sixth, a man who has served his country in times of war and peace, sets out on his new, optimistic reign, with our hopes, and our unswerving, ah, devotion.” He paused. “God save the King.”
The BBC man gave a quick nod of stern satisfaction. Oliver Stanley had followed him from the Commons and had been waiting at the doorway. “Well done, Anthony,” he said quite simply.
“And now we await the reaction,” Eden said, glumly. “I can’t believe that King Edward wanted to address the nation himself.”
“Unthinkable,” Stanley agreed.
“How is it, in the House?”
“Margesson has just sent a note via one of his boys. The abdication and accession bill will sail through tomorrow, Maxton and Gallacher are all for chopping everyone’s head off, but it’s very subdued.”
“So that’s that, then,” Eden said, taking a tumbler of whisky from Stanley and smiling his thanks.”
“No, Anthony,” Stanley said sadly, “it’s just beginning.”
====
GAME NOTES
Well chaps and chapesses, we’re finally done with a Part Two that began sometime in lockdown. I apologise for this mammoth update, but I wanted to wrap up most of the immediate fallout of King Edward VIII’s reign before we plunge into Part Three in a few days’ time.
Dealing with this chronologically, the intro was just a bit of scene setting: there were protests throughout the OTL crisis but here, in this TL, I surmise that the British are ‘protested out’: there was a wave of demonstrations after Lloyd George took over and prorogued Parliament, and I think that King would have, at this stage, enjoyed much less support than OTL. Support for him, now, is limited and probably more than a bit eccentric and while it would undoubtedly take place, it isn’t really a threat to anyone. The feeling of the British, at this stage, is probably one of utter exhaustion.
I picked St James’s as the meeting place for the meeting as it is, as close as we can get, ‘neutral ground’. Yes it’s a royal palace but it would not attract attention in the way that Westminster, Buckingham or Windsor Castle probably would, and is also IMO an overlooked gem of the Royal estate. It is also, traditionally, where the accession council meets and the new sovereign’s first speech is delivered, so has a key place in the constitution. I accept that I have taken a dramatic licence by adding together what, in reality, were at least four (probably more) meetings over a couple of days between the staffs of the Palace and the Duke of York, Baldwin’s Cabinet (or selected members of them) and a couple of other random people (Reith and Lang in particular) for one giant meeting. For AAR convenience and with the Palaces on their knees, I’ve plumped for a very functional, almost business-like meeting with King George VI and those advising him thrashing out the key points. Part of me recoiled from this, which initially stemmed from my desire to just be done with the royal nonsense, but on reflection I can see an increasingly exasperated Eden and Stanley throwing everyone together to be done with the ex-King. The personalities are largely all known, particularly Eden, Stanley, Monckton, Halifax, Kingsley Wood, Reith, Lang (who really did make a broadcast highlighting the stammer OTL) and King George VI. I have added Beaufort as a ‘last man standing’ type figure, his role as Master of the Horse was neither important or onerous but he may rise in a rudderless and leaderless Palace bureaucracy. The other new characters, the lawyer Halsey-Bircham and the financier Peacock perform the duties they did OTL, namely getting King George VI through the immediate chaos of the Abdication.
In OTL the legal machinations were largely conducted in Parliament (and Dominion Parliaments) and via a rather messy and unloved settlement. Given the events of this TL, some form of controlling Act of Parliament is, I contend, nigh on unavoidable; I suggest that the ever charming Eden has at least offered King George some say in its content. The legal observations about HRH v Royal Duke v courtesy title are largely correct (as we have seen recently with the Duke of Sussex), and short of legislation you would have to make Edward an HRH and a Royal Duke to stop him from speaking in the Lords (and this was a real fear in OTL 1937 – it’s largely what won him the Dukedom of Windsor). There is not a chance in Hell that the Royal Family will let him get this in our TL, so it will have to be legislated for. This will be a mammoth Act; OTL there were some minor changes (largely the Regency Act of 1937) but this one will be epic, not quite joining/leaving the EU epic but it will be significant, dealing a great deal of the random bits of UK law that have been oft mentioned in this AAR. This in addition to a personal settlement for Edward, who will need something bespoke and specific (and which the legislation will merely recognise when it is passed). It will include everything from his title to the limitations on media access etc to his financial award. I plumped for Sunningdale as it sounds rather 1930s, it is nearish Windsor, and I think it has a faux dignity that the House of Windsor (itself a made up title with faux dignity) could stomach. If this part of the update seems overblown, I promise the OTL saga over money went on for months.
And then the money. A lot of the commentatAARs have rightly pointed out that the King owns the houses (but not all of the estates) of Balmoral and Sandringham and OTL he made George VI suffer, entering into a protracted negotiation to get his money (all £300k of it, way above what they were worth) and a stipend. I have been much, much meaner than OTL, suggesting that Eden and Stanley coerce Edward into selling the private houses to the Government (with the threat of the Establishment Act or compulsory purchases if he refuses). I have also made his grant tougher, and with more stringent conditions, and you can sense that Eden and the Establishment (sounds like an Eton band) are practically willing our former King to screw up.
I couldn’t decide on whether or not to show Parliament but I think, on balance, that it’s the best way of dealing with the formalities of Abdication and Accession while also showing some of our personalities. Chamberlain, as he did in OTL 1940, still looms large over proceedings and he remains an issue to be dealt with by the new Cabinet (I have, after much reflection, decided that he is on the backbenches – I doubt he would want to serve Eden, and I doubt that Eden would want him) whenever it gets the time. Eden’s address to the Abdication / Accession debate (in OTL these were separate, I have merged them for convenience) is an Eden-ified version of the bits of Baldwin’s that I didn’t use in the Baldwin resignation chapter.
Would Eden address the nation? After much consideration I think that he is the only choice. Here of course, is a major POD – one of the few things that everyone remembers about Edward VIII is that rather petulant speech (“as IIIIII would wish to do” etc) that he made to the nation as he left the UK to reunite with Wallis. In OTL Reith, whom I loathe, had a nightmare situation as everyone had a view on a) whether a wireless address would be made and; b) who would make the thing. In the end Edward VIII, supported in part by Churchill, made a heavily scripted address that was just about palatable to all; the first drafts, in which Edward proposed to talk about being ‘yanked from the throne’, would have been hugely damaging had the Cabinet and Royal Family allowed them and so the Cabinet, as well as Churchill, made a number of rewrites. In this TL, with Lang (as he did OTL) clamouring to make nasty little comments (he really is a vile man), Edward desperate to speak, George VI desperate to avoid speaking, I think that in the end it has to be Eden. Eden’s speech is a mix of his 1940 Home Guard speech (it is pure Eden, so the introduction was altered slightly to reflect these circumstances) with a bit of the OTL address (given that some of the Cabinet members from OTL are still in power here) to give a reasonable first address to the nation, if not a perfect one.
And so we’re largely done, at least with the Wallis and Edward saga, the next Part of the AAR will cover the period between the more-or-less resolution of the Abdication Crisis and the outbreak of War.
Eden has, I think, a much harder time than Chamberlain (who became OTL PM in early '37). India (the focus of a good few updates coming up) is in chaos, the Dominions and the French are hugely distrusting of London at this point, the Cabinet is inexperienced, and Chamberlain is still capable of causing trouble. But...
That is balanced by your excellent points above. It all depends on how Eden prioritises work going through 1937.
I have agonised over Churchill, but have sketched out a very basic update in which he'll feature, probably April / May 1937 ish.
That's a fair point @DensleyBlair , and I think it's a very domestic Government, as even the overseas challenges (Palestine - although that's calming down, India, Dominion relations) are still intrinsically 'British' ones. The switch to foreign affairs could be messy.
So, yes @TheButterflyComposer - that's basically it. My own 'take' on this is that King George has spent a lifetime being told that he is there to support his brother and that he must not, under any circumstances, think about 'kinging'. His duties, such as they were, focussed on some military patronage, leading on industrial visits etc, and stepping in on low level occasions. So basically as the Duke of York his role was to sit on a horse at 'trooping the colour', hand out the odd award, visit a factory now and then and support his brother. And the evidence is that while he did this well, he found it a trial - he hated public speaking (for obvious reasons) and the thought of even greater duties filled him with horror.
There is also the change that the abdication made to the line of succession. Princess Elizabeth is now the next monarch, bar KGVI and Queen Elizabeth getting squiffy and having (unlikely) a son. King George hated this; everyone, until 1936/37, thought that Princess Elizabeth would live a comfortable, relaxed life as a lesser royal, probably marrying some English (or, actually, Scottish) aristocrat and indulging in her passion of rearing horses in some countryside idyll. She was not supposed to be the Heir Presumptive / Apparent and her father hated the loss of opportunity for normality (well, what passes for normality on the outer rings of the House of Windsor).
It's a fair point @Historywhiz and was the one thing (other than media exposure) that really worried the Royal Family.
I seriously considered this, but ultimately decided that it would have to be done via legislation - just too much has happened to quietly deal with all of this behind the scenes; there are new Tory MPs who have been elected on Chamberlain's promise to manage the Crown.
Some puncey eel-gargling Pommy Nigel with brown shoes and a broomstick up his arse? He wouldn’t be welcome, mate! We’d deserve him even less than he’d deserve us. He wouldn’t last long.
It would be an education for him. Time in the colonies and Dominions was thought to make a man out of people!
Me too - I don't mind Kingsley Wood and am starting to enjoy writing him more and more, but 'modernisation' is always a nonsense.
KGVI is going to be an interesting King in this TL - he has a lot of domestic (both Palace and the nation) mess to clear up, and is reliant on Eden in this TL much more than he was on Baldwin / Chamberlain OTL.
This is a fair charge, from my reading of him. I cannot work out whether he was a true believer or was coerced by Neville. Probably a bit of both. He did support Chamberlain in rather brutally clamping down on anyone who dared to dissent.
Again a fair observation - Eden has a lot to do in 1937, and that's before the OTL stuff.
I sincerely hope not!
As I've said above, Churchill is an interesting one - PM in this TL is utterly out of the question, and I concur with @El Pip that the best case for him is probably as a semi-detached elder statesman type (which is also what I think will happen to Attlee, as we'll see).
This will happen, as you say I need to reconcile reality, this TL and the game, but it won't be Churchill.
Kerbside quiche is now banked in my personal dictionary of useful things to say/write at people.
Oh wow! Thank you, that's very kind of you.
So oddly enough no, the AAR was borne out of my frustration with my oft-threatened WW1 AAR (I just couldn't get into it) and, oddly enough, the prorogation case at the Supreme Court. I did nick the title solution (Prince Edward, Lord Sunningdale) from the Sussex settlement, though.
Well spotted @caffran - the honest answer is that I didn't know if he keeps his seat. However, your question prompted the analysis that...
I think that he wins in Epping, albeit with a tiny majority. Why do I say this? His majority as a Tory in 1935 was huge, over 15,000, and he had a large personal following in the constituency where the party team there supported him through some pretty rebellious and frankly odd moments. I think that the Chamberlain Conservatives put a young prospective candidate, perhaps with some local support, to challenge Churchill, but that Churchill still carries the seat, just. There is a desire, if not necessarily a need, to bring the rebels back under the whip, but Churchill, as a senior rebel, will need special handling.
He's not at that level, at least not yet. I think he got the job to avoid it going to a Chamberlainite, and because his supporters were useful should an Eden challenge against Chamberlain be required (which it wasn't, as the 'men in grey suits' did it for him).
I have to agree - being a naughty Tory is one thing, KGVI held his nose and swallowed his privately held distaste for Churchill in OTL 1940. Here, being an outright rebel brings him into overt conflict with everyone who matters. The polite fiction that existed in OTL just won't work here.
Last edited:
- 3
- 1
And the Royal Dr didn't ease his suffering? Someone isn't getting a knighthood...
Oh, shut up Stanley!
Ah, the Whoremaster General. Gets him out of England too, which I'm sure many MPs would appreciate.
Oh nooooooo...
Indeed.
Also shut up Stanley.
Needs must.
Yeah...we need to neaten this constitution up a bunch. This isn't victorian times anymore. Another problem prince would ruin the establishment for good.
...yes, I think so?
Yes I think this is for the best. There are ways of doing this by stealth but given the battering Parliament has taken, it needs to reassert control more publicly and legally than that.
You know what you can do, Lang.
It wasn't actually as bad as it was. By 1937, he was fairly alright at speaking and by 1939, he had a mild stutter but was otherwise quite eloquent.
Not these days.
Yes, I think so.
I can see him doing something in naval intelligence
My dear sir, one is forgivable, but killing two monarchs in a row rather precludes any future garden party invitations…
There aren't going to be any garden parties if half the properties belong to some other guy in America, and 80% of the staff are still gone. If we can kill monarchs who are old for the benefit of announcement prestige, we can kill an already abdicated drunkard to smooth out some property disputes.
- 2
Yes. If you 'ease the suffering' of Edward VIII then, to quote Stalin, "No man, no problem'. Too bloody-minded for any of the government to suggest, no intelligence agents to do it for you and most of the Palace staff gone... so that knocks that into a hat. It could have been as great a source of speculation as the death of Prince Albert Victor, as great a State Secret as the death of George V and as much a benefit as the death of Henry VI.
Ah, well... Eddie lives on, a poor befuddled swamp monster trailing slime wherever he lurches. If he's lucky, he'll be an oblivious drunk for the rest of his life, and if he's neither smart nor lucky he'll try to make a comeback into the family, if not the throne. How spectacularly could that go wrong, after all?
I can't help thinking that Edward's only hope was to take a 'burn it all down' approach and give unsanctioned interviews to the newspapers and BBC, as often as he physically could. The moment he deferred to people telling him he couldn't, he was lost. He might still have had to go even after a one-man PR blitz, but I think his chances of winning through would have been decent. Everyone loves a lover... but doing something for himself seems to have been foreign to his nature, which knocks out his going into Parliament.
The government does have the whip hand and Eden is willing and able to use it. Should he continue as he has begun, he may be a truly great PM. The terms are harsh but understandable (by everyone but David/Edward): banishment, poverty, social ostracization (does that mean sticking your head in the sand at parties? I've always wondered), ignominy and in general a long, long spell of sitting in the corner with a dunce cap while everyone else goes out to play.
Eden being who your character is, and George VI being who your character is, I suspect there will be a private meeting at some point, where-in the monarch politely but firmly lets the PM know that a certain deference has been lacking, and that royal agreement will not be taken as granted. It won't have the same savor if Halifax or the Queen Mother delivers it... I just really do think that George is going to take up the reins and check the horses at some point, and I look forward to it.
Some of the less-elderly Palace staff might be willing to return, and in a bad economy there should be little trouble finding qualified people for the other posts. It will take time and result in some, um, change in tone, but it will be done. The new people may be younger and more protective of the Palace and less agreeable toward the government than the old, so on the whole this could - could - be a benefit for the Palace.
I appreciated your including 'The Inevitable' Beaufort, if only because I've played a lot of Kingmaker and, it seems, sooner or later a Beaufort is inevitably going to take the throne.
Ah, well... Eddie lives on, a poor befuddled swamp monster trailing slime wherever he lurches. If he's lucky, he'll be an oblivious drunk for the rest of his life, and if he's neither smart nor lucky he'll try to make a comeback into the family, if not the throne. How spectacularly could that go wrong, after all?
I can't help thinking that Edward's only hope was to take a 'burn it all down' approach and give unsanctioned interviews to the newspapers and BBC, as often as he physically could. The moment he deferred to people telling him he couldn't, he was lost. He might still have had to go even after a one-man PR blitz, but I think his chances of winning through would have been decent. Everyone loves a lover... but doing something for himself seems to have been foreign to his nature, which knocks out his going into Parliament.
The government does have the whip hand and Eden is willing and able to use it. Should he continue as he has begun, he may be a truly great PM. The terms are harsh but understandable (by everyone but David/Edward): banishment, poverty, social ostracization (does that mean sticking your head in the sand at parties? I've always wondered), ignominy and in general a long, long spell of sitting in the corner with a dunce cap while everyone else goes out to play.
Eden being who your character is, and George VI being who your character is, I suspect there will be a private meeting at some point, where-in the monarch politely but firmly lets the PM know that a certain deference has been lacking, and that royal agreement will not be taken as granted. It won't have the same savor if Halifax or the Queen Mother delivers it... I just really do think that George is going to take up the reins and check the horses at some point, and I look forward to it.
Some of the less-elderly Palace staff might be willing to return, and in a bad economy there should be little trouble finding qualified people for the other posts. It will take time and result in some, um, change in tone, but it will be done. The new people may be younger and more protective of the Palace and less agreeable toward the government than the old, so on the whole this could - could - be a benefit for the Palace.
I appreciated your including 'The Inevitable' Beaufort, if only because I've played a lot of Kingmaker and, it seems, sooner or later a Beaufort is inevitably going to take the throne.
Last edited:
- 1
- 1
Well I have through what I have missed in the last many months. What a morose morass of malignant morals.
The entire doomed affair ended in the only way it could - badly for all concerned. Worse for some, of course, but not well for any. It is also a wonderful moment to look back at two men whose power has been cut off at similar moments: Chamberlain and the former King. Because there is a curious mirror-symmetry between them in some ways. Apart from anything else, one's departure is likely to be rather more final than the other, but in others way too in which there characters meshed or (more commonly) did not. I believe one of my last comments here was that old bit of Parliamentary wisdom about he who wieldeth the knife wears not the crown. Seems it was so for Chamberlain.
The other thing my catch-up over the course of one evening allowed me to "enjoy" was the degredation of Lloyd George. I really have no other word for it - the slow decline of the Welshman. To borrow a phrase from a favourite author of mine: he was like a chicken that has brought its own pot and vegetables to the cookfire. Churchill is more interesting here - I wouldn't put it past Winston to claim, later on, that the only reason he joined DLG was to abandon it in such a way as to guarantee Edward VIII had no choice but to abdicate.
And now the real work begins. It has been an amusing diversion, high drama and low skullduggery, but now the business of government must resume; and the world has not been idle. When we opened in 1936 things were a bit grim, but now the barometer is truly starting to drop. The ship of state is being followed by a gale into the channel and the wreckers of Cornwall are hopeful for the sea's bounty, and if perchance their tender administrations are avoided their is always the reefs of Eddystone awaiting the unwary (or improperly controlled) vessel.
The entire doomed affair ended in the only way it could - badly for all concerned. Worse for some, of course, but not well for any. It is also a wonderful moment to look back at two men whose power has been cut off at similar moments: Chamberlain and the former King. Because there is a curious mirror-symmetry between them in some ways. Apart from anything else, one's departure is likely to be rather more final than the other, but in others way too in which there characters meshed or (more commonly) did not. I believe one of my last comments here was that old bit of Parliamentary wisdom about he who wieldeth the knife wears not the crown. Seems it was so for Chamberlain.
The other thing my catch-up over the course of one evening allowed me to "enjoy" was the degredation of Lloyd George. I really have no other word for it - the slow decline of the Welshman. To borrow a phrase from a favourite author of mine: he was like a chicken that has brought its own pot and vegetables to the cookfire. Churchill is more interesting here - I wouldn't put it past Winston to claim, later on, that the only reason he joined DLG was to abandon it in such a way as to guarantee Edward VIII had no choice but to abdicate.
And now the real work begins. It has been an amusing diversion, high drama and low skullduggery, but now the business of government must resume; and the world has not been idle. When we opened in 1936 things were a bit grim, but now the barometer is truly starting to drop. The ship of state is being followed by a gale into the channel and the wreckers of Cornwall are hopeful for the sea's bounty, and if perchance their tender administrations are avoided their is always the reefs of Eddystone awaiting the unwary (or improperly controlled) vessel.
- 1
- 1
I didn't say they had to kill him...given the way he treated himself and his body however, a spot of unfortunate brain fever leading to irrevocable brain damage would surely not have been so remarkable. Keep him in a private villa somewhere in the Duchy of Cornwall, in a lovely coat that gave him hugs.
- 1