'Don't you believe Baldwin about the people of this country being against you!' wrote a man in Virginia to the King. 'All the right thinking people here are for you and Mrs Simpson and I wish you great luck and happiness.'53 A man in Atlanta wrote to say that 'the American People are with you in choosing the Woman of your Choice in Mrs Simpson. I am with you Heart & Soul. God Bless you Both.'54
Love and sympathy were sent from the Associated Negro Press, based in Chicago - 'your loyal coloured subjects in the United States of America', it said, were praying for him.55
But if Americans generally and the majority of people in Britain seemed to be backing the King, it was also true that Lockhart's Mrs Rectors and Mrs Town Councillors did not. 'My wife has just returned from a Liberal National Women's Committee,' wrote a man from Glasgow, 'and she tells me all her colleagues were boiling over with indignation as, of course, she herself has been since the news came out.'56 But these feelings were by no means limited to women. 'Bad show!' exclaimed a Sussex farmer in his diary.57 A retired engineer who had been secretary to the Governor of the United Provinces in India, and was now living in Kensington, London, wrote in his diary that, 'the papers are full of the King's crisis with the Govt. We all hope he will be wise & sacrifice his own feelings towards Mrs Simpson.'58 A woman working in the book department of Barkers, who was a regular reader of The Times, wrote in her diary that
The dominions - India - & the common people are united in the matter considering that Mrs Simpson is an unsuitable person to occupy the English Throne. Newsboys posters & Carmen are very blunt about it, describing the lady as 'The American Whore'. Everyone in cafes & tea shops was agog with the news .. . Tim came home with stories in rather bad taste from the club - It's an appalling state of affairs.59
Suddenly it was permissible to enjoy sexual innuendo, even in polite circles. 'There are a good many lewd limericks etc going round in male circles', noted the Sussex farmer. 'We hear the new Cunard liner will be named Mrs Simpson,' he added a few days later, 'because she is slightly faster than the Queen Mary!'60
Lockhart thought he saw clear signs that Whitehall wanted the King to abdicate. 'Lunched in the City at the Rothschilds - talked of nothing but the King', he wrote. 'Gather that Whitehall wants King to abdicate in any case - altogether too irresponsible.'61 On the following day, Lockhart 'Lunched with Harold [Nicolson] and Sibyl Colefax at Boulestin's. Harold says bulk of House and of serious people in City and Whitehall want King to go anyway; too irresponsible and now his prestige damaged.'62 'Of course there yet may be some way out of the impasse which will save abdication', wrote the Conservative MP, Cecil Headlam, in his diary. 'I confess, however, that I can see no such way - and I feel myself that it would be a pity to find one.' The King, he said,
has shown himself so obstinate and unbalanced in this affair that it would be a mistake in my opinion to let him get away with it - it would only mean some other 'crisis' in the future. He is clearly not the right kind of man to be a constitutional monarch and, unpleasant though all this business is, it may be a blessing in disguise.
'The Yorks', he added, 'should do the job admirably.'63
Baldwin sent a telegram on 3 December to the Dominion prime ministers: 'So far as I can tell from my informal conversations with [the King] it is likely that he will decide to abdicate.'64 However, the Prime Minister was evidently uncertain about this 'likelihood'. Referring to a draft of the Abdication Bill, which was telegraphed at the same time, he asked the Dominions for their cooperation in avoiding public debate. 'We feel,' said Baldwin, 'and we hope that you will agree, that in the circumstances of the case the less legislating, and therefore the less opportunity for public discussion and debate, the better.'65
Baldwin started to pressure the King and to bargain with him. When Monckton urged an immediate decree absolute for Mrs Simpson, enabling Edward to marry Wallis immediately if he abdicated, Baldwin suggested to his Cabinet that it might be possible to pass special legislation in order to arrange for it. But Duff Cooper pointed out to Baldwin that as well as being somewhat amoral, this would lay the Government open to the charge of wanting to get rid of the King. It would be said, said Duff, that while they had been unwilling to pass special legislation for a morganatic marriage in order to keep him, they had been willing to introduce legislation which, according to existing law, would legalize adultery simply to expedite his departure. Cooper was so obviously right that the scheme was quickly dropped.66
Some people, including journalists, assumed that Blunt's speech was a deliberate attempt to break the news of Edward's wish to marry Wallis. Lady Rhondda told Mr Baldwin that 'in common with most of Fleet Street I believed . . . that the public break of the news at the moment when it occurred had probably been arranged for' (she added that she saw no harm in this).67 Certainly, Baldwin had been encouraged by some key figures to bring the news into the public domain. Just days after Edward's tour of South Wales, Archbishop Lang had told Baldwin that if there was to be any announcement, 'it should be made as soon as possible'. Lang added that if this course were taken, the King
must leave as soon as possible. It would be out of the question that he should remain until the decree is made absolute. It is needless to dwell on this necessity . . . Only the pressure of our common anxiety - and hope - can justify this letter. It is written shortly and hurriedly. Forgive it.68
In the face of mounting suspicion about Blunt's reasons for mentioning the King in his speech, the Bishop of Bradford became defensive. 'I studiously took care to say nothing with regard to the King's private life,' he insisted, 'because I know nothing at all about it.'69 But then, wondered some, why mention the King's private life at all? If it was a breach of protocol to mention the monarch in parliamentary debate, then surely, at the very least, it was odd to mention him at a diocesan conference? Blunt explained that it had nothing to do with Mrs Simpson - that when he had prepared his speech, nearly two months before the conference, he had never heard of Mrs Simpson. He acknowledged, though, that by the time he actually gave the speech, he did know about her.'" Certainly it would have been surprising had it not come up as a topic of conversation between himself and Dawson on the weekend of 31 October, when he had gone on church business to Langcliffe, in the West Riding of Yorkshire - for Dawson went there too, to Langcliffe Hall, his country home. 'Then came a hurried week-end visit to Langcliffe', wrote Dawson in his written account of this period, 'for the consecration of our Churchyard extension by the Bishop of Bradford, who was eventually to play so conspicuous, if unintentional, a part in precipitating the crisis on to the public stage.' 1
Years later, the Bishop of Bradford informed Geoffrey Dawson's biographer that neither on 31 October, nor on any other date, did he exchange a word with Dawson on the royal matter.72 This would have required tremendous restraint on Dawson's part, however, since by the end of October he was so preoccupied by the crisis that he seemed to be always talking about it - with Chamberlain, with Baldwin, with Violet Milner, with the Archbishop of Canterbury and with Alexander Hardinge.
Dawson said that he had first found out about Blunt's speech on 1 December, when he returned to his office after dinner and found on the table a report of the address. With the report, he added, was a long quotation from the leader to appear in the next day's Yorkshire Post. Assuming that the Rothermere and Beaverbrook organs would not explode with the news about Wallis Simpson, and with assurance from Lord Camrose regarding the Telegraph and from H. A. Gwynne regarding the Morning Post, he 'felt pretty confident now that the whole London Press was safe'. He therefore decided to wait until the next day before taking any action in The Times, restricting himself on 1 December to printing the full text of the bishop's address. He also printed 'a prophetic leading article on the wonderful reception' of Albert and Elizabeth, the Duke and Duchess of York, in Edinburgh:73
Two of King George's four surviving sons have found their brides in ancient Scottish families to the general satisfaction of the nation; and that loyalty wh
ich has always been part of the fiercest pride of Scotland, and which overflows so spontaneously from the Sovereign to all his kind, is combined with a special affection for the Prince in whose posterity another race of Scottish descent may some day be called to the Imperial Throne . . . Nevertheless this visit of the HEIR PRESUMPTIVE to the great fortress that now stands aloft as a symbol of indissoluble union . . . encourages the speculation whether a time may not some day come when these historic 'Honours' may be used again, with the free consent of the Scots, in the crowning of a King of Scotland on the Stone of Destiny.74
Beaverbrook later described this report, as well as some earlier statements in The Times, as part of a campaign by Geoffrey Dawson against the King, 'almost in secret code'. To anyone who could read the code, he said, the message was clear - that 'The King was causing scandal, that he could count on support from no Party in Parliament, and there was a popular Heir Presumptive waiting in the wings."" John Gunther had also detected this 'secret' code. In an 'otherwise meaningless editorial', he wrote, The Times had uttered a curious warning on 30 November, the day before Blunt's speech. 'The Commons', the editorial had declared, 'may well prove itself what the country has often required in similar times ... a Council of State [to govern] in any crisis, foreign or domestic."'1 On the next day, 'as if by prearranged signal,' said Gunther, 'the Bishop of Bradford struck against the King.'7' It was his opinion that there had been some kind of arrangement between Blunt and Dawson.
Edward was doing everything he could to protect Wallis from the press. Robin Barrington-Ward, the assistant editor of The Times, promised Walter Monckton that the paper did not intend to publish the 'full life' of Mrs Simpson in the next issue. But this was an implicit threat to publish such an article at a later date. It was said in Fleet Street, commented Beaverbrook later, that the 'full life' would carry photographs of her two former husbands, her mother's boarding house and other illustrations. A promise to refrain from publication for the 'next issue', therefore, said Beaverbrook, 'was regarded as a cat-and-mouse game, and the King was the mouse. Torture.'79
Dawson and Baldwin understood the power of the press, both to intimidate Edward and to influence the public. They met together twice on 2 December and agreed that the story of Wallis and Edward needed careful presentation - 'The idea that the King might marry her must now be broached, but only as unthinkable.' Later that day, Baldwin phoned Dawson, telling him that the King had asked him to stop any attack on Mrs Simpson in the press. 'In vain,' commented Dawson in his diary, 'SB had explained that the Press in England was free and that he had no control over The Times or over any other newspaper.' However, Baldwin asked to see the leader so that he could inform the King of its contents: 'by this time . . . the paper was just going to press; but towards midnight I sent a proof of the leader by messenger to Downing Street and heard no more about it. SB - with Tommy Dugdale and all the other faithful staff who were supporting him - was able at last to go to bed.'80
The first few days of December were harrowing for Wallis. She was horrified when the story broke in the press and had no idea of the level of popular support for the King or for herself. Indeed, she would have had far less sense of what the population felt than did Edward, who had met so many of the ordinary people on his numerous visits to the provincial and industrial areas of Britain since 1919. Some of them seemed to realize how isolated she must feel. A woman in Middlesex who was desperate to help the King wrote, if only I could go to your lady and tell her just how we feel about it and give her a word of sympathy from the people, and let her know that our hearts are full of sorrow and wishing only for the best for you both.'81 Many regarded Wallis as a force for good who would share Edward's democratic ideals. A letter that arrived later in the week advocated that he reserve the right to marry until after the coronation - to anyone he liked. In the meantime, it suggested, 'Mrs Simpson might well become known to the public as Your Majesty's friend. On unofficial occasions, such as visiting distressed areas, housing estates, etc., she could be in the party; and she might find ways of coming into touch with people herself through art, music, or child welfare . . .'82
By 2 December, Wallis was close to a nervous breakdown. Edward realized with dismay that the situation was becoming intolerable for her and agreed that she should leave the country, quickly. Wallis had only a day to make preparations and had no chance to return to her house at Cumberland Terrace to make arrangements with the servants and organize her affairs. All she could do was send her maid, Mary Burke, to London to pick up a few clothes. Meanwhile, Edward arranged for her to travel with Perry Brownlow, his Lord-in-Waiting, as well as Inspector Evans of Scotland Yard. Educated at Eton and Sandhurst, and a Lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards, Lord Brownlow had succeeded his father as sixth Baron Brownlow in 1927. Now thirty-seven, he was dignified 'to a degree', remarked an item in the press, 'that a stranger might mistake for pomposity ... a man of the highest integrity.'83 He and wife Kitty had named their son, born in March 1936, after Edward, who was his godfather. So loyal was Perry's friendship that Edward knew he could trust him completely to look after the woman he loved.
Wallis decided to go to the south of France to the home of Katherine and Herman Rogers, the American friends she had stayed with in Peking. They had insisted that she turn to them for help at any time. 'You are still my one living example of a perfectly wise and complete person', wrote Herman Rogers in October. 'We are with you always . . . Come to us if and when you can . . .'84 Although he and his wife had lived for many years in New York, they had a second home in Cannes. This was a villa called Lou Viei - a twelfth-century monastery above the city, on a ledge below a hill, making it an ideal refuge. Accommodation was arranged for Wallis and Lord Brownlow on a Channel steamer, which had been booked in the name of Mr and Mrs Harris. It was not possible for Mrs Merryman to come too, because the journey would be difficult and unpredictable. Wallis also had to leave behind Slipper, her cairn terrier, a gift from Edward, in the bitter days that followed,' wrote Edward in his memoirs, 'I was to be grateful for his companionship. He followed me around The Fort; he slept by my bed; he was the mute witness of my meetings with the Prime Minister.'85
On the evening of 3 December, Brownlow arrived at the Fort to collect Wallis for the journey. He found the King looking 'rather pathetic, tired, overwrought, and evidently dreading Wallis's departure, almost like a small boy being left behind at school for the first time.'86 His parting words to Wallis were, 'I don't know how it's all going to end. It will be some time before we can be together again. You must wait for me no matter how long it takes. I shall never give you up.'87 As they departed, the King leant across to Wallis, said Brownlow, 'to get one last touch of her hand - there were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, and his voice was shaking - "Wherever you reach tonight, no matter what time, telephone me. Bless you, my darling." '88 They left at 6.00 p.m. and then, Edward later recalled, 'A sense of acute loneliness filled me.'89 Yet he had every confidence that he would be with her again and that all would turn out well. Wallis, though, was in complete despair, believing that she would never see Edward again.90
As soon as they had left, Brownlow urged a change of plan - instead of going to France, he should take Wallis to Belton House, his estate in Lincolnshire. This plot had been secretly hatched by Brownlow with Churchill and Beaverbrook: they thought that at Belton, Wallis would be safely out of the crisis but still close enough to exert an influence and, hopefully, to persuade the King against giving up his throne. If necessary, she would be able to go to London to see him in person. There was also a worry that if Wallis went to France, Edward might miss her so terribly that he would rush after her - which would precipitate him into abdication. Going to Belton would have been a much easier journey for Wallis, and staying with the Brownlows would have given her a period of calm respite, which she sorely needed. Belton is a gracious seventeenth-century house in peaceful surroundings: elegant gardens and acres of parkland, with avenues of oak and ash trees and fields of sh
eep. Wallis knew Belton House well, because she had stayed there with Edward several times, as the guest of the Brownlow family. But on this occasion she was not willing to go. It would break her agreement with Edward and risk weakening the bond of trust that united them. Belton was firmly refused, and she and Brownlow started their journey to France, driven by the King's chauffeur, Ladbrook.
As they travelled south, Wallis and Brownlow talked almost incessantly, but they had different perspectives on the problem. Brownlow's hopes and instructions were based primarily on no marriage; while Wallis was still talking vaguely about the morganatic plan. 'We crossed the Channel, Wallis and I,' Brownlow reported to Diana Vreeland, 'and our first night was in Rouen, where we found rooms in a hotel, just like ordinary tourists on the road.' Here Brownlow telephoned the King, who had been lying awake all night, worrying, to tell him they were safe.91 Wallis was completely overcome by fear and anxiety, recalled Brownlow later:
'Perry,' Wallis said to me through the door, after we'd been in our separate rooms for what seemed like an eternity, 'will you please leave the door open between your room and mine? I'm so frightened. I'm so nervous.' I did. Then she called to me: 'Perry, will you please sleep in the bed next to me? I cannot be alone.'
He went into her room, fully dressed, and pulled the blanket over himself. But then she started to cry. 'Sounds came out of her', Brownlow told Diana Vreeland, 'that were absolutely without top, bottom . . . that were primeval. There was nothing I could do but lie down beside her, hold her hand, and make her feel that she was not alone.'92 The next morning, they set off on the rest of the two-day drive through France. It was a nightmare journey. Their identity had been discovered, and the registration number of their Buick appeared in the French press. They were pursued by journalists, and Wallis was repeatedly forced to crouch on the floor of the car, concealed by a rug.
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