17 Carnations: The Windsors, The Nazis and The Cover-Up

by Andrew Morton

  More officially, the Prince of Wales’s cousin and friend Otto Christian von Bismarck was chargé d’affaires at the German embassy in London from 1928 until 1936. He later went on to Rome, where he was deputy to the ambassador. His place was taken by Prince Ludwig von Hessen-Darmstadt—known by his family as Prince Lu and a great-grandson of Queen Victoria—who was appointed honorary cultural attaché at the embassy.

  The prince, who was a good friend and cousin of the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Kent, and the Mountbatten clan, was already working for the Büro Ribbentrop, the Nazi Party agency for foreign policy which shadowed and second-guessed the established diplomatic corps. According to von Ribbentrop’s biographer John Weitz: “The prince was told by the ambassador to stay as close as possible to Buckingham Palace and to report any rumours about the durability and future of the king.” Not just the king but his family, Prince Lu sending an assessment of the Prince of Wales’s brother the Duke of Kent back to Berlin. It was not entirely flattering: “Duke of Kent. Very German friendly. Clearly against France. Not especially clever but well-informed. Entirely for strengthening German-English ties. His wife is equally anti-French.”

  Among other members of the German high nobility who worked to further the Nazi cause were Prince Adolf Friedrich von Mecklenburg—a member of the German delegation that met foreign secretary Lord Halifax in London in June 1939—and Princess Marie Elisabeth zu Wied and her younger sister Princess Benigna Victoria, who accompanied von Ribbentrop, Hitler’s personal foreign emissary, on the now infamous “Swastika over Ulster” visit to Lord and Lady Londonderry at Mount Stewart in Northern Ireland in May 1936.

  As historian John Costello pithily observed: “Not since the balmy days before World War One had so many of the leading names in the Almanach de Gotha appeared together at the London dinner tables. The Duchess of Brunswick, the daughter of the exiled Kaiser, the Prince and Princess von Bismarck, and a slew of counts and barons sipped champagne with emissaries from Berlin. The Nazi leaders were quick to seize the initiative and exploit the fascination of London society for aristocratic Fascism.”

  The Prince of Wales—and his younger brother Prince George—were amenable and amiable recipients of Nazi hospitality and largesse, enjoying the dinners and the conversation at the German embassy and elsewhere. Edward’s brother the Duke of York was more cynical about the motivation behind this Nazi courtship. He would later tell Canadian premier Mackenzie King: “My own family relations in Germany have been used to spy and get particulars from other members of my family.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Courting the New King

  He was terrified of Alois, his violent, alcoholic father, who would regularly beat him and his gentle mother, Klara, when he arrived home, fists swinging, from the Biergarten. A troubled adolescent, Adolf Hitler found refuge from his father’s rages in the world of fantasy, dreaming of becoming a great artist. Later he would lose himself for a time in the make-believe constructed by Hollywood. Even as Führer he was fanatical about film, delaying meetings in order to watch new movies, which were usually procured by his propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels.

  Disney cartoons were his favourite; he endlessly watched the antics of Mickey Mouse and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which was based on a German fairy story. He was delighted when one Christmas Goebbels gave him a dozen Mickey Mouse films. As his henchman recorded: “He is very pleased and extremely happy for this treasure that will hopefully bring him much joy and relaxation.”

  Both men were quick to recognize the persuasive power of film, using the medium to promote nationalist pride and Nazi success. Hitler commissioned the brilliant female director Leni Riefenstahl to make the classic propaganda movie Triumph of the Will, which turned the 1934 Nazi Party rally in Nuremberg into a cinematic projection of the overwhelming strength and power of the reborn Fatherland. It later inspired Charlie Chaplin’s 1940 parody, The Great Dictator.

  Sometime in January 1936, when Hitler settled into his leather chair in his private cinema, he chose not to watch his normal diet of animated cartoons. For once he focused on a living person, Goebbels having provided him with film of the new king of England, Edward VIII, overseeing arrangements for his father’s funeral, which was due to be held at Westminster Abbey. On January 20, 1936, at his beloved Sandringham, the life of George V had, in the words of his physician Lord Dawson of Penn, drawn peacefully to a close. His continued ill health and the stresses of his jubilee year had been too much to bear.

  A new king, a new era, and a golden opportunity for Hitler to bring the new head of state firmly into his orbit. In the darkened screening room, the Führer carefully and intently watched the Pathé newsreel showing King Edward VIII, focused on the nervy mannerisms and uneasy demeanour of the new king, rather like a cat idly watching a mouse at play and lazily wondering how and when to pounce. As intriguing was the presence of Mrs. Wallis Simpson, in the background but noticeably present at this most intimate of moments. This rather plain American had mesmerized the king and, as he was aware, enthralled his Special Commissioner for Disarmament, Herr von Ribbentrop. He may have acknowledged to himself that she seemed to be able to hypnotize men in the way that he could transfix audiences with his mesmerizing rhetoric and penetrating gaze.

  After the short newsreel was finished, Hitler was left in no doubt that Edward VIII’s adoration for Mrs. Simpson outshone his sorrow at the death of his father. Given his own traumatic relationship with his father, it was something Hitler could relate to. Subsequently the Führer was shown another newsreel, this time of the king and Mrs. Simpson on a yachting holiday in the Mediterranean, presumably the infamous Nahlin cruise. Both were in bathing suits, the Führer commenting that the American’s figure was “not bad.”

  Here were a couple Hitler could do business with, the Führer ordering that the new king be treated like one of the family, coverage in the State-controlled German media suitably laudatory and sycophantic. Even though Edward had been on Hitler’s radar since he became chancellor in 1933—his attempt to broker a marriage and the invasion of German royals to London evidence of his policy—there was a significant step change when Edward became king.

  Once the king attracted the blazing blue-eyed scrutiny of the German leader, his life became inextricably if unintentionally entwined with Nazi ambitions. Whether they liked it or not, Edward and Wallis were the pivot for Anglo-German relations, the prince’s every political intervention and pronouncement, real and imagined, exciting jubilation, anger, and despair on both sides of the Channel. As serious doubts began to be raised at home about Edward’s fitness to reign, inside the Third Reich he was viewed as a friend and ally of the Nazi regime.

  Hitler himself oversaw an elaborate memorial service in Berlin for the late king, at which he sat alongside Crown Princess Cecilie and the Nazi hierarchy, which included Hermann Göring, Joseph Goebbels, and Heinrich Himmler. Encouraged by the Führer, the royal house of Hohenzollern was in direct contact with the British ambassador in Berlin, Sir Eric Phipps, requesting that the deposed Kaiser be represented at the funeral. As with his British Legion speech, the new king believed that the funeral was an occasion to extend the hand of friendship to former adversaries and welcomed the idea.

  He suggested that Crown Prince Wilhelm, at the time a keen supporter of Hitler, be invited to follow the coffin through the London streets. In what would become a familiar routine, his suggestions were rebuffed by the Foreign Office. They argued that, as the crown prince had been arraigned under the Treaty of Versailles for offences against “international morality,” a more acceptable representative of the German royal family would be the son of the crown prince, Prince Frederick of Prussia.

  Of greater political significance was Hitler’s decision to send his most ardent Nazi royal, Edward VIII’s cousin Carl Eduard, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, to London to represent Germany. The British-born and Eton-educated royal, who was stripped of his English titles during the war, was one of the first aristocrats to
join the Nazi Party, the town of Coburg, which was in his duchy, the first in Germany to elect a Nazi mayor.

  At the funeral, as he marched behind the coffin through the rain-swept streets of London, he proudly though incongruously wore his Nazi uniform, complete with what looked like an outsize stormtrooper’s metal helmet. He may have seemed foolish but his presence was effective. As historian Karina Urbach observes: “Carl Eduard was the ideal ice breaker. Hitler used him to talk to the Prince of Wales and encourage pro-German feeling.”

  For the next few months Carl Eduard, a childhood friend of the new king, was a key player, his presidency of the newly formed Anglo-German Fellowship group giving him frequent access not just to the king but to Britain’s ruling class. Well-heeled members enjoyed lavish receptions at the German embassy and banquets at a Mayfair hotel, where guests sat at tables decorated with swastikas. On one occasion the Kaiser’s daughter, the Duchess of Brunswick, and her husband were guests of honour. The AGF, which was founded in September 1935, was itself started as a direct result of the Prince of Wales’s famous “hand of friendship” speech at the Albert Hall. Inspired by his speech, Conservative member of Parliament Sir Thomas Moore suggested the formation of a society that would engender positive relations between Germany and Britain. Members of this elite group included a former governor of the Bank of England and an admiral, and it had the backing of fifty members from both Houses of Parliament, including Lord Redesdale, father of rabidly pro-Nazi Unity and Diana Mitford. The group’s secretary and merchant banker, Ernest Tennant, was a close friend of von Ribbentrop, who was naturally enthusiastic about the project. At his urgings Lord Londonderry—known variously as the “Londonderry Herr” or the “Nazi Englishman” by American ambassador to Berlin William E. Dodd—was encouraged to join.

  Ribbentrop telegrammed Hitler: “If the King were to give his support to the idea of Anglo-German friendship, his great popularity might well help to bring about an understanding.”

  Ostensibly the group focused on improving relations between the two nations, though as the months passed, its membership became markedly more pro-Nazi and Fascist. The spies Kim Philby and Guy Burgess joined the AGF, which was widely seen as a far-right organization, in an attempt to disguise their Communist affiliations.

  Certainly Carl Eduard, who visited Britain on ten different occasions during this period, enjoyed close access to the new sovereign. After his intimate conversations the Duke of Coburg was able to report that Edward felt the League of Nations was a farce, that a British-German alliance was essential for maintaining peace in Europe, and—shades of Edward VII—that the business of high policy should devolve as much on his shoulders as on those of the prime minister and foreign secretary.

  When the duke broached with the new king the subject of face-to-face conversations between Hitler and Prime Minister Baldwin, he received a dusty answer. Edward told him: “Who is King here? Baldwin or I? I myself wish to talk to Hitler and will do so here or in Germany.”

  While the duke had a deserved reputation for exaggeration and was working in a German hierarchy that heard only what it wanted to hear, his report rang true. Even Ambassador von Hoesch, a professional diplomat who had enjoyed numerous intimate meetings with the king, was convinced that his “friendly attitude” towards Germany would influence the shaping of foreign policy.

  He reported: “These sympathies are deep-rooted and strong enough to withstand the contrary influence to which they are not seldom exposed. At any rate we should be able to rely upon having on the British throne a ruler who is not lacking in understanding for Germany and in the desire to see good relations established between Germany and Britain.”

  His indifference to French sensibilities and sympathy with regard to Nazi ambitions were music to German ears, the German ambassador in Washington reporting that Americans who knew the king believed he would oppose Cabinet decisions which he considered “detrimental” to British interests, implying that British interests marched in goose-step with German interests.

  This political interference was in marked contrast to the previous reign. King George V was a stickler for following his constitutional obligations, namely to stay above matters of policy. The new king had no such inhibitions, his pro-German behaviour reportedly giving the Foreign Office “a great deal of trouble.” Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden commented laconically that whereas King George V knew much but interfered little, the new tenant knew little and interfered much, making the job of the professional diplomat much more difficult. As the American ambassador to Austria, George Messersmith, commented: “It is probable that his personal influence did much to retard British policy.”

  There were other significant changes from his father’s day that soon alarmed politicians, diplomats, and courtiers alike. Where his sober father was diligent, his martini-loving son was dilatory; where George V was punctual, Edward VIII had such a reputation for arriving for engagements late or not at all that one member of the House of Lords suggested that he would be blackballed from London clubs for such behaviour if he were a lesser personage.

  The rhythms and routines of the old order were not for the matinee idol monarch. Nowhere was this contrast between father and son more clearly exposed than in the issue of red boxes, the interminable stream of important Cabinet and Foreign Office documents, many of which the sovereign must sign and give royal assent to before they can become law. Unlike his father, Edward VIII had no time for the nitty-gritty of political administration, the daily grind of reading and signing, signing and reading being of little interest to the new king.

  Within weeks of Edward becoming king, there was considerable concern that the secret and confidential contents of the red boxes were being treated in a cavalier manner. In his study at Fort Belvedere, boxes went missing or were returned late, delaying government business; top secret papers were left lying around, some even covered in stains left by cocktail glasses.

  On one occasion a startled American military attaché who was staying at the Fort was breezily asked to drop off several official boxes at Buckingham Palace. Only Mrs. Simpson seemed to take any notice of these sensitive documents. As for the king, he had eyes only for the American.

  It soon became apparent that this was not a cosy internal domestic matter that could be solved with a quiet word in the new king’s ear. In February 1936, only days after George V’s funeral, a summit of civil service mandarins, including the head of the civil service, the Cabinet secretary, and George V’s experienced private secretary Lord Wigram, assembled in Prime Minister Baldwin’s room at the House of Commons to discuss the thorny issue. Foreign Office under-secretary Lord Vansittart, who boasted his own “private detective agency” of spies, informed the mandarins that secret codes used by British embassies could be compromised.

  Furthermore, thanks to information from his spy network, he could confirm that both the French and Swiss governments knew that the king was discussing everything with Mrs. Simpson and showing her State papers. As Mrs. Simpson was believed to be, in Vansittart’s words, “in the pocket of Ribbentrop,” there was grave concern that the opportunistic German envoy may gain an inside track into secret British policy. Mrs. Simpson’s “partiality for Nazi Germans,” as courtier’s wife Helen Hardinge noted in her diary, was a further factor in the toxic mix.

  It may already have been too late. In his biography of von Ribbentrop, Paul Schwarz described how Germans were often surprisingly well informed about the reports that Sir Eric Phipps, the British ambassador in Berlin, sent back to London. Significantly, Schwarz, a former German diplomat, penned his book in 1943, years before official British papers about the matter were released.

  With uncanny accuracy he wrote:

  Berlin was filled with loose talk about Edward. It was said that he neglected his duties in the handling of official documents. Secret Ambassadorial reports were especially emphasized. At Fort Belvedere the Foreign Office dispatch bags were said to have been left open and it was possible that official se
crets had leaked out.

  Was it not true that in Nazi Berlin one could hear stories which in London passed for State secrets. There can be no doubt that some people in official British circles were aware that these rumors cast an undesirable reflection upon their king.

  Could it be possible that during dinnertime chitchat, Wallis Simpson or even the king were inadvertently leaking information gleaned from confidential documents? Though no one at the House of Commons meeting had the faintest inkling about Mrs. Simpson’s political views, the finger of suspicion pointed firmly at her. She was a woman and a foreigner, but most important she was also not the king so inevitably she was the lightning rod for suspicions. When he was briefed, Baldwin decided to sit on his hands rather than confront the king. As a compromise the most sensitive documents were weeded out from the daily boxes before they were sent to Edward VIII—and the dubious American.

  As Baldwin’s biographers Keith Middlemas and John Barnes observe: “About Mrs. Simpson, greater suspicions existed. She was believed to have close contact with German monarchist circles. Behind the public façade, behind the king’s popularity, the Government had awakened to a danger that had nothing to do with any question of marriage.”

  The influential and well-connected historian John Wheeler-Bennett told his friend Blanche Dugdale, who worked for British Naval Intelligence, that he was convinced that von Ribbentrop used Mrs. Simpson. He stopped short of accusing her of spying. Others were not so sure. American ambassador Robert Worth Bingham reported to Roosevelt: “Many people here suspect that Mrs. Simpson was in German pay. I think this is unlikely.”