by Andrew Rose
Quite apart from official inside information, the earliest press reports showed that Marguerite, whatever her defence might be, would have a case to answer. A trial would have to take place, probably at the Old Bailey. It is not difficult to see why the Royal Household should have wanted to ensure that the Prince was away from England during so sensitive a period. Sir Archibald Bodkin, the Director of Public Prosecutions, was the man to ask about trials, dates and judges. At that time, the DPP’s office was in Richmond Terrace, Whitehall, no great distance from St James’s Palace, but a confidential meeting might just as easily have taken place over lunch or dinner in a London club.
Tommy Lascelles, for example, was a member of the Travellers’ Club (and two other West End clubs, the Beefsteak and Pratt’s). He frequently lunched at the Travellers’, on occasion sitting near the Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin. ‘The PM is sitting exactly 3 feet from my pen,’ Lascelles confided to his wife later that year.307 Bodkin, exemplifying the close connection between advocacy and the acting profession, belonged to the Garrick Club in Garrick Street, near Covent Garden.308 These clubs, with a carefully selected upper- and upper-middle-class male membership, were ideal places to meet and converse, often in subdued voices in a quiet corner of one of the club rooms (perhaps in a ‘morning room’ or a ‘smoking room’ equipped with comfortable leather armchairs) about confidential matters of the day.
Marguerite’s arrest posed some awkward questions for the Prince’s people. In the circumstances, it is most likely that one or other of the private secretaries approached the DPP within hours of the shooting, asking for essential information to help keep the Prince’s name out of the media. As DPP, Bodkin cut a hard-working, possibly obsessive, figure. ‘He took an active part in the direction of enquiries prior to trial and on occasion prior to arrest…’ Bodkin was also willing to advise ‘any government department’ (read this to include the Royal Household) on matters arising from the conduct of criminal prosecutions.309 This being the case, Bodkin was an ideal recipient for sensitive information involving the heir to the throne.
The Prince’s secretaries needed to know when any resulting murder trial would be held. Bodkin, aware of the Old Bailey calendar, fixed well in advance, would have had no difficulty in responding that the trial would take place at the next session, starting on 10 September 1923. At this time, trials rarely lasted longer than a week. There was a risk that a jury might disagree on its verdict, with the prospect of a re-trial, but this was unusual and could be accommodated if the Prince were to be away for as long as six weeks. Armed with this information from the DPP, the Royal Household could safely announce that the Prince would visit his ranch in Alberta during September and October.
The High Court judge already assigned to that session was the recently appointed Sir Rigby Swift KC, which was an excellent stroke of luck for the Royal Household, for reasons that will be made clear in due course. The DPP would have been appraised of the background to the case by either Thomas or Lascelles, emphasising the importance of absolute secrecy. At all costs, the Prince’s name must not be ‘dragged in’ to the proceedings. At this very early stage, of course, there was a rogue element. Its name was Marguerite.
12
What the ‘Yellow Press’ Said
The Daily Mirror’s headline of 11 July 1923, ‘A PRINCE SHOT IN LONDON’, was typical of its contemporaries, accompanied by a report that seized eagerly on the two exotic birds of paradise who had so suddenly found violent notoriety. At first, the references were generally sympathetic to both parties, the affair being seen as a domestic tragedy between two foreigners, a crime passionnel worthy of a novel by Zola. For example, the Sunday Express referred to ‘the painful sensation in those social and Bohemian circles where the “Prince” and his beautiful French wife were very vivid and decorative personalities…’
In some early reports, Ali Fahmy was depicted as an ardent young lover, dashingly handsome, regarded by his contemporaries, according to the Daily Express, ‘with affection, commingled with amusement created by his extravagance … His charming manners, happy smile and immaculate appearance placed him in the forefront of Cairo’s gaieties, spending lavishly for his own and other people’s pleasure…’ The Daily Sketch printed a long article, almost certainly based on an interview with Said Enani (‘one who has been the Prince’s constant companion for the past five years’), which gave some reasonably correct background material and was headed ‘WELL-BELOVED BY ALL HIS PEOPLE’.
Inaccuracies abounded. The Daily Chronicle reported that Marguerite was ‘a descendant of a noble Turkish family of Alexandria’; according to the Sunday Illustrated, she was from ‘a good family … born just on thirty years ago in the south of France … lapped in luxury from earliest hours’. To the Daily Mirror, mindful of the year’s Tut-Ankh-Amun discoveries, Ali had been a member of ‘one of the oldest Egyptian families’, a misstatement which paled in comparison with the People’s inventive streak, demonstrated on the first Sunday after the shooting. Ali, it declared, had been in London some months ago, helping to revive an ancient Egyptian dance, a visit at which ‘a private, but most allegorical [sic], ceremony was performed to celebrate a festival called Amun Toonh (established … in 1403 BC … to celebrate the goddess of the Sun, Ta Aha) … [and] carried on with many mystic movements’.
But there were less favourable references to Ali, a trend to which eventually the entire English press succumbed. The Daily Mail was one of the earliest to make use of the ‘oily Levantine’ approach: ‘He was a notorious spendthrift and, being ignorant and vain, had long been the victim of a crowd of sycophants … He was very fond of jewellery … his glittering diamonds used to attract attention at the [Paris] Opera House…’ Lloyd’s Sunday News accused Ali of ‘voluptuousness truly Eastern … every form of excitement that could appeal to a sensuous nature … notorious for the lavish expenditure he incurred in entertaining stage stars of both sexes [in] Paris…’ This flashy, effeminate foreigner had not so easily impressed the English upper classes as he had their gullible French counterparts: ‘From time to time, he was received in good London society, but his vulgarity and extravagant habits caused him to be dropped … [He] next drifted into the night clubs and dancing resorts, wearing … conspicuous jewellery … naturally, he was blackmailed heavily.’
The Illustrated Sunday Herald splashed a denunciation of Fahmy across half a page, using information that can only have come from someone close to Marguerite. Headed ‘SECRET LIFE OF BOY “PRINCE”’, it contrasted ‘the beautiful and the bestial…’ Readers were left in no doubt who was beautiful and who was bestial. Marguerite was the ‘radiantly beautiful wife’, who, before the ill-fated marriage, had ‘flitted from capital to capital … carrying off in the gay whirlwind of her life a legion of untiring admirers…’ Although the article hinted at Marguerite’s background (‘… her smart frocks were discussed; her horses and motor-cars were the envy of the grand cocottes…’), the fire was reserved for Ali, ‘madly jealous’, who, ‘when she asked him for fidelity … pursued the trend of his own devices…’ Marguerite’s alleged imprisonment in the dahabeeyah at Luxor became marvellously garbled: ‘On one occasion, when Maggie had again gone out at night in Cairo, the Prince had her abducted by his dusky slaves and carried to his yacht…’
One vital aspect of the story was missing from this wealth of reportage: any mention of the involvement between Marguerite and the Prince of Wales.
13
‘Horrible Accusations’
By coincidence, ‘Ali Fahmy Kamel’ happened to be the name of a prominent Egyptian nationalist, not in good odour with the British authorities. Exiled in Paris, Kamel hurriedly telegraphed home to contradict the rumour that he had been the victim of the Savoy Hotel shooting. On the other hand, ‘Prince Ali Kamel Fahmy’ had worked as Press Attaché at the French Legation in Cairo. The British were as suspicious of French political activity in Egypt as they were fearful of the ever-stronger Egyptian nationalist movement. An example of
British official attitudes arose that year, when an Egyptian civil servant in the Cairo Ministry of Education had the temerity to propose that French should be placed on an equal footing with English in Egyptian schools, also recommending a French company’s scheme to take Egyptian students round France at low cost. To the British, this was all ‘part of the usual policy of intellectual propaganda … the real object … is intended to encourage young Egyptians to acquire a knowledge of … French life and ways of thought’.310
Immediately after the shooting, Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, with its interest in royal protection, was in the frame. A senior officer’s minute in the Metropolitan Police file, dated 13 July 1923, ordered that Grosse’s original ten-page police report be sent to ‘H[ome] O[ffice] for F[oreign] O[ffice]’, adding ‘[Superintendent] E [Division] to see attached papers from Special Branch. I understand that – as we expected – the wife is making horrible accusations against the husband.’ These words give a clue to the content of the Special Branch file, which has since gone missing, and suggest that Marguerite had made ‘horrible accusations’ on an earlier occasion, this time against the Prince.311 The ‘stinker’, sent by Marguerite to the Prince in late October 1918, may have contained some extremely unpleasant allegations.
Postal communications between Marguerite and the outside world were immediately put under official surveillance and the prison governor, aware of the public furore surrounding the case, had acted swiftly. ‘She sent out two letters last Saturday [14 July],’ he told the head of Special Branch, also emphasising the lack of francophones at Holloway by adding ‘as these were in a foreign language they were sent to H[ome] O[ffice]’.312
Major-General Sir Borlase Elward Wyndham Childs was Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and head of Special Branch. Familiarly known as ‘Fido’, Childs had spent part of the war in a mysterious role as ‘Director of Personal Services’. On 16 July, a peremptory message was telephoned to the prison governor: ‘Sir Wyndham Childs … wishes you to supply him with the names and addresses of all persons who have visited Marie Marguerite Fahmy … and the names and addresses of all persons to whom she has written and who have written to her … He also wishes to see all letters written by her and sent to her from this date.’313
‘I quite understand,’ the governor replied soothingly to a highly unusual request. This was a catch-all demand, open to legal challenge had it become known, as it would have included confidential and legally privileged written communications between Marguerite and her solicitor, Freke Palmer.
Marguerite had no complaints about her reception at Holloway. After arriving by taxi from Bow Street Police Court late on the afternoon of 10 July, she was taken immediately to the hospital wing, well away from the common run of women prisoners.
She undressed for the compulsory ‘mental and physical’ examination, carried out by the prison doctor, Dr Morton, who had many interviews with her during the period of remand. Marguerite, he reported, was kept under ‘continuous mental observation’ during her period of remand. Morton had taken care to read the court depositions before making his final report to the DPP, Sir Archibald Bodkin, and his findings were manifestly sympathetic to Marguerite.314
She was thought to be ‘depressed, dazed and sleepless’ on admission to Holloway and would suffer ‘recurring attacks’, relapsing into a similar state. Initially, ‘she took very little interest in her surroundings’ and ‘it was with difficulty that she was persuaded to eat’. Apart from an arthritic knee, the result of an accident, she felt in good health. Morton noticed that she seemed ‘anaemic and weak’. On examination, she was found to have ‘a large thrombosed pile and a fissure’. According to Marguerite, this had been caused by ‘unnatural sexual intercourse early in June of this year’. Dr Morton thought that this ‘might have been caused’ by such activity.315
Marguerite took the opportunity on first examination to point out the small injury to her neck, which, she said, Ali Fahmy had inflicted on her shortly before the shooting. Once the other formalities of admission had been completed, she was put to bed with a sedative, sleeping soundly until eight the following morning.
She awoke to find five other female inmates sharing the dormitory. ‘I saw a nurse sitting at the end of my bed,’ she recalled, ‘She looked young and pretty under her white cap.’ The ‘nurse’ was a prison officer and very well disposed towards the new arrival. ‘Better this morning, Fahmy?’ she asked, taking Marguerite’s hand.
Marguerite’s broad experience of life helped her to get on well with her fellow remand prisoners. ‘The other women were mostly there for drunkenness,’ she observed, ‘or for having tried to commit suicide, which is not, I think, a crime in France.’ In the next bed was a young girl of 18 who had killed her baby (English law on infanticide was not reformed until 1929). She knew a few words of French and Marguerite was able to communicate with her in an Anglo-French patois.316
As would be the case at trial, the language barrier was an advantage that Marguerite could exploit. Although wardresses would have been present during conversations with visitors, it is unlikely that any of them spoke French or, if they did, well enough to understand what was being said.
Though Marguerite had presented as ‘depressed, dazed and listless’ to Dr Morton, she quickly recovered her equilibrium, keen to secure her patrimony. Her spirits were boosted by the first of a series of visits by the faithful Major Bald, beginning the process of negotiation with the Royal Household described later in this book.
The first shots of Marguerite’s defence came at the inquest on Ali, held at Westminster Coroner’s Court, Horseferry Road, on Wednesday 12 July. Public interest in the case was already enormous and, despite a sweltering heat that approached 90°, a crowd had started to form outside the little courthouse at 12.30, an hour and a half before the proceedings were due to begin. ‘The house windows looking on to the mortuary,’ reported the Pall Mall Gazette, ‘were crowded with eager spectators.’
The Coroner bore a strange name and possessed an even stranger personality. After just eleven years’, mainly prosecution, practice at the Bar, Stephen Ingleby Oddie had been appointed Westminster Coroner in 1912. He accepted the offer of this gloomy post with wild enthusiasm. ‘I trod on air!’, he later recalled.317 Some of his personal prejudices also verged on the eccentric: ‘The ordinary Englishman, he believed, did not have a taste for homicide and disliiked guns always preferring a simple fist fight. He does not in a quarrel suddenly produce a pistol … as is the common practice of certain other nationalities…’318
Marguerite, of course, was a woman of a certain other nationality who, on any reading, had suddenly produced a pistol during a quarrel and shot her husband dead. Wisely, she did not attend the inquest. Freke Palmer correctly advised his client that she would do herself no good by giving evidence and she remained in Holloway Prison, comfortably accommodated in the hospital wing, well away from less savoury inmates, while her solicitor did battle on her behalf.
In Marguerite’s absence, the proceedings were little more than a formality, but there was the chance for her lawyer to put questions to the small band of witnesses and Freke Palmer was anxious to sow some seeds in the public mind. Reporters crammed into the tiny courtroom to hear Said Enani confronted by allegations of Ali’s misconduct, with an occasional glimpse of humour:
PALMER: Did he call her in front of other people a prostitute?
ENANI: Yes, they used to exchange names.
PALMER: They exchanged compliments?
ENANI: Yes, she called him a pig.
There was much talk of threats and punch-ups (‘they used to exchange hidings,’ said Enani, with an incautious smile), before Palmer made some veiled, but potentially explosive, suggestions of homosexuality:
PALMER: Did she complain about you and her husband?
ENANI: No.
PALMER: Did she complain that he would go up to your room and spend an hour with you before he returned to her?
ENANI:
Yes …
PALMER: Was not one of the complaints she made that he used to spend the day going out with men of a very bad character?
ENANI: Yes, but he never did.
It was a loyal response, but Marguerite’s solicitor went on to suggest that there had been something ‘improper’ between Said and Ali. He was beginning to forge a dubious link between these innuendos and Dr Gordon’s evidence that Marguerite had been suffering from ‘external haemorrhoids’, a fact which, even in those prudish days, some newspapers reported in full. When his turn came to put questions, Freke Palmer homed in, eliciting from the doctor that ‘Madame’s complaint was extremely painful … [she said] her husband was the cause of it…’
In his summing up, the Coroner expressed disgust. ‘It was,’ he said, ‘a sordid, unsavoury and unpleasant story of married life…’ In the absence of the person accused, ‘it would not be proper for a verdict to be returned in this court of anything less than murder’. The jury took their cue and, without retiring, declared a verdict of ‘Wilful Murder’ against Marie Marguerite Fahmy.
On Thursday 15 July, the temperature peaked at 92°. People were still dancing, despite the heat, according to a correspondent in the Daily Mirror, which also reported the sad fate of a van driver, found lying beside his horse and van in Kensington. At the West London Hospital, his body temperature was found to be 109°. The unfortunate man had been stripped, bled and put into an ice bath, where a fire hose was placed on him, but he died, still registering 102°. In similar vein, the Sunday Times recorded an inquest on a fish-fryer. Thomas Collard had been out of work for three years before getting the job. A week later he collapsed while working during the heatwave. On admission to St Andrew’s Hospital, Bow, his temperature was 107°. Medical opinion was that the man had died of sunstroke. His employer disagreed. Death, he thought, was due to the shock of getting work. The steam and heat did not affect the boss. ‘Indeed’, he added, ‘I have got fat on it.’