by Roland Perry
After another fifteen minutes and consumption of much champagne, Bertie seemed to choke on the drink. He couldn’t stop coughing. His head slumped below the liquid level. Thinking he was dead, the girls screamed. Gathering their wits, they pulled his head up so that he would not drown, but found it too difficult to lift his limp frame from the bath. One ran out to the manager who rushed to the room with the three bodyguards. They revived Bertie, who moaned and clutched his chest. ‘I think heart . . .heart . . .fetch my doctor and my son . . .at Le Meurice . . .’
A concerned George and the doctor who travelled abroad with Bertie arrived at the brothel 35 minutes later. They found him dressed and sitting in a lounge, sipping a whisky.
‘I am fine,’ he said, ‘fine!’
The doctor examined him. Bertie’s pulse was erratic and running faster than normal. His face was still flushed.
‘I suggest, your majesty, that you go straight to bed,’ the doctor said, putting away a stethoscope. ‘You may have had a mild heart attack. Er . . .too much exertion, I suspect.’
‘Nonsense,’ Bertie said, getting to his feet unsteadily, ‘my son and I have a dinner appointment. I shall take it easy. Had those damned pains many times before.’
‘Yes, your majesty, you recover from these turns remarkably well, but rest would help.’
Ignoring his doctor’s advice, as he often did, he and George sat down at Les Innocents, attended by a dozen waiters and staff. The petite dark-haired manager, Martine, greeted the king with a measured familiarity.When he made a joke, she responded with an accompanying light comment, showing the right balance, from Bertie’s perspective, of respect and fun.
‘Such a nice change from the grovelling at home,’ he said quietly to George as they were seated. ‘Don’t you think?’
They paused to consider the menu with help from a bevy of waiters. Bertie loved the process of ordering copious amounts of food and drink, where George hated this kind of excess, and his silence said much until his father commented, with a trace of cynicism:‘I know you’d rather be shooting on the moors or playing with your stamp albums but I prefer living. You never know when your time is up. I would rather go out with a perfect, real black woman by the name of Penelope astride me than looking for perfect Penny Blacks—if you’ll pardon the pun.’ He chortled. ‘Do you know that your grandmama banned the reference to “Blacks” while that Indian was at court?’
George did not respond. He sampled the wine and nodded his approval.
‘Sorry to have worried you tonight, my son.’
‘I don’t know why you jeopardise so much by—’
‘What? Visits to a bordello?’
‘What about Mama? What about the gutter press?’
‘No one saw me go into the place. No one saw me come out. It was for my private use for three hours, or however long I wished.Total privacy and discretion.’
Cold consommé was served as a first course.
‘Given the little scare tonight,’ Bertie said, dropping his voice a fraction,‘it is a good time to tell you a few secrets, before my time really is up.’ While the next three courses were served and devoured mainly by Bertie, he discussed money, property and some family secrets. A few of them left George gaping. Other revelations saw him shaking his head or blinking furiously. During the fifth course, a superbly garnished salmon, Bertie said:‘That’s about it.’Then as an afterthought he added,‘There is one other thing you should know about your grandmama. She had an affair with a well-bred Scot.’
George frowned. ‘Well bred? Brown was a servant.’
‘I am not referring to her gillie. She had a relationship with the thirteenth Lord Elphinstone.’
‘I know the current sixteenth—’
‘The thirteenth died in 1860.’
‘But—’
‘The affair happened, or at least began, before she married.’
George looked stunned.
‘Believe me, it’s true,’ Bertie said, pushing away his fish and suppressing a belch. ‘She told your aunt Vicky all about it in letters.’ He paused to sample the wine and signalled to a waiter to bring another bottle. ‘And the letters are still in an attic at Kronberg.’
‘What should I do?’
‘Wait for an appropriate moment. Steal ’em back and have ’em burnt.’
‘No. They should be preserved at Windsor, and guarded for the family.’
‘I’d burn ’em. Every single page.’ Bertie grunted. ‘We burnt all that Indian bastard’s letters, ya know.’
Bertie’s continuing improvement of relations with France made his nephew the kaiser suspicious. Apart from Bertie’s habitual tours of Paris, he trotted off to Athens, Oslo, Berlin and Stockholm. He met another nephew, Tsar Nicholas II, on their yachts in the Russian Baltic port of Reval (Tallin) in 1908. This fuelled Willy’s fears into a state of paranoia about his philandering yet felicitous and universally popular uncle. Was he surrounding Germany with enemies? Was it all a British plot to subsume German interests and eventually the nation itself? Bertie’s political flirtation with his Russian nephew created problems at home too. Socialists and radicals hated the tsar, who had a planned campaign of persecution against Jews. He also courted trouble in increasingly democratic-minded Britain and the international community by banishing political opponents to Siberia. The tsar used the oppressive secret police—the Cheka—for nefarious purposes to maintain his control of Russia. Its dissident elements were becoming more restless observing France, the United States and the UK with their burgeoning democratic institutions.Three Liberal and Labor parliamentarians rose in the House of Commons and criticised Bertie’s overtures to the tsar. He retaliated by not inviting them to his annual garden party for members of parliament at Buckingham Palace. None of the ostracised was too miffed.
Their actions did not seem to dent Bertie’s popularity. If there had been an international peace prize at the time, he would have won it. His reputation had shifted from Edward the Caresser to Edward the Peacemaker, except in Germany where he was attacked in the press at the kaiser’s behest. But it was believed everywhere that while Bertie ruled, there would be no war in Europe. He had his nephew bluffed.
Early in May 1910 the past caught up with Bertie and his heart began to register a serious protest. His asthma worsened. On the morning of 6 May, at Buckingham Palace, Bertie insisted on leaving his bed and sitting in an armchair to ease his breathing problem.‘I will not give in,’ he told his doctors. At 11.30 p.m. he was carried to his bed, where he died fifteen minutes later. Bertie was 69 and had been king for nine years. The timing pleased the royal courtiers, as it had concerning his father’s death. Edward VII’s demise made news in the morning broadsheets. Most papers acknowledged that he had done much, perhaps more than anyone else, to keep Europe at peace before and after taking the crown.
One decree in his will had executors baffled. It referred to the royal correspondence in Germany over which he had procrastinated throughout his reign, although he had briefed his son a second time, reminding him that the Victoria–Vicky letters were a potential time-bomb sitting in the German attic. Edward VII had bequeathed the problem to his son. When George V read it, he was reminded of an unwanted responsibility over the family secrets, which in their own way had more potency than the family jewels.
47
THE FORGOTTEN LETTERS
In matters of health, George V took more after his father than his grandmother. After 24 years on the throne, he was, by 1934, an ailing 69-year old. He had reigned during World War I in which he had seen Germany defeated, his cousin Wilhelm deposed and cousin Nicky assassinated by Bolshevik revolutionaries. George V had ruled through tough depression years in the early 1930s and now he was exhausted with lung and arterial problems. The fascist Adolf Hitler, leader of the Nazi Party, had come to power as chancellor in Germany. George let German ambassadors know his thoughts about him but they could do nothing. Hitler was an uncompromising dictator who had come to power by murder and thuggery and w
as not going to change his ways, causing a dark mood to envelope Europe.War, which had caused untold devastation sixteen years earlier, was looming again.
To make matters worse, more constant in George V’s mind for years had been his concern about his son successor, David. David was forty and with an insouciant, careless disregard for his position and future. He had been a compulsive, unfettered womaniser through the 1920s and 1930s. George V had done so much to maintain and improve the monarchy that he fretted daily about how David would destroy it. Those close to David said he had never developed mentally beyond adolescence; the king hated his dalliances with married women. It reminded him of his own father’s utter disregard for decorum and the sanctity of marriage. But at least Edward VII had taken a wife and created a family. George V did not want David to inherit the throne and he had far more respect for second son Bertie, who was next in line after David. George V overlooked his stutter and insecurity and saw a man with the potential to rise above his weaknesses, especially with his diminutive yet dynamic wife, Elizabeth, by his side.
After a string of inappropriate dalliances, David became closely involved with American socialite Wallis Simpson. She had divorced her first husband in 1927 and then married Ernest Simpson, an Anglo-American businessman. She seemed to have some hold over the future king. Some said it was her sexual expertise, allegedly gained in China, which somehow gave her undescribed erotic skills. Others claimed it was her bossiness in handling the immature David, who had never grown up. Her grip on the future king was most likely a combination of both, and he may well have felt ‘safer’ with married women.
George V and Queen Mary met Mrs Simpson at Buckingham Palace in 1935.They were most unimpressed and refused to receive her again. This further estranged father and son. George could not believe his son’s attitude, and that he did not want the responsibilities that went with his birthright.Yet he seemed to want the accoutrements of royalty, including funds from the Civil List, which allowed him to continue ‘playing’.
George V had battled ill health for years, starting with septicaemia in November 1928. He was a heavy smoker and this exacerbated his breathing problems. In this respect alone, he followed his father in continuing a bad habit even though he and his doctors knew it was slowly killing him. Chronic ill health associated with his lungs and pleurisy forced him into semi-retirement for a few months in 1929 at the seaside resort of Bognor, Sussex (which became Bognor Regis after his forced sojourn there). George V never fully recovered and he often returned to the resort in summer months. In 1934 he began the intermittent use of oxygen.
At this time George was estranged from David and closer to his second son Bertie, who visited him at Bognor mid-summer. He and wife Elizabeth found him sitting on a balcony overlooking the sea with an oxygen mask over his face reading The Times. George V was brightened by their arrival. He had a special affection for his daughter-in-law.
‘Time for you to know the family secrets,’ the king said, beckoning them to sit on wicker chairs with him. Elizabeth stood up to leave.
‘B-b-b—,’ Bertie stammered,‘but shouldn’t D-David be told ra-rarather than me?’
‘I don’t trust him. Mark my words. He will do something foolish and either bring down the monarchy, or himself. One of the two. If it is himself, you two will be king and queen. If I am wrong, you can pass on to David what I have to say, at your time of choosing.’ In between gulps of oxygen and a few seconds silence to steady himself, George V proceeded to outline some of the family secrets. He came finally to Victoria’s letters and her confessions about the Elphinstone affair, of which they knew nothing.They were both surprised.
‘The letters have been in that attic for about 40 years,’ George V said. ‘After Willy’s abdication and exile to the Netherlands the letters seemed less of a threat. I admit I did nothing just as my father did not bother about them until he was . . .ill . . .a few years before he died. Now I am as guilty as him, as far as inaction is concerned.’
‘What do you want done with them?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘If there is an opportunity, they should be carried secretly back to Windsor and stored there under lock and key, not to be seen by anyone unless the monarch decrees they can be viewed.’ He paused for more oxygen and added,‘I think with this current German chancellor it may not be the time to attempt to secure them. I am told that the borders are getting impossible to cross. But when he is deposed, which I believe will happen soon, you should see to it.’
‘Did you see any of the letters?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘No, alas I did not. But my father told me that Vicky was very, very concerned about them.’ He paused to take in more oxygen. Then he explained what he knew of the relationship between Victoria and the thirteenth lord. Every sentence was an effort for the king. ‘It’s the sort of thing that spoils . . . the reputation of our House.’ He struggled for breath again.
George V slumped back as if he intended to sleep. Then he sat up, startled, played with the oxygen mask and said, ‘Oh, and there is another thing. Willy knows about the Elphinstone affair. He tricked and blackmailed his dear mama Vicky into her telling him about it. Unfortunately, it’s all in writing. The letters concerned will be in his exile hole in the Netherlands. Even harder to get hold off with him still around. Still he might drop off the perch, but not before I do, I should expect. When that miserable sod does go, you should direct someone to raid his home and retake the “incriminating” correspondence. All right, Bertie?’
Bertie blew out nervously and nodded his head.
George V coughed long and hard, then tore the mask from his face. He pulled a fat cigar and matches from his coat pocket.
On 15 January 1936, GeorgeV went to bed with a cold, deteriorated and began drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point he enquired: ‘How is the empire?’
It was an odd question, but his secretary answered dutifully: ‘All is well, sir, with the empire.’
The king lapsed into unconsciousness. On 20 January, his physicians, led by Lord Dawson, assembled to discuss how to word a bulletin for a waiting empire and world.They wanted to say:‘The king is nearly dead’ or ‘The king is dying’. They settled for a more soothing euphemism: ‘The king’s life is moving peacefully towards its close’. Dawson decided it would be better if he were to die that night, which would mean that The Times would again have the ‘scoop’ on a monarch’s death, being the first to announce it on the morning of 21 January 1936.The respected broadsheet was considered more fitting to carry such news than ‘less appropriate evening journals’.
Just before midnight on 20 January 1936 the nurse in attendance administered a lethal dose of cocaine and morphine. George V, aware vaguely what was being done, mumbled his last words:‘God damn you!’ which were not quite as symbolic as those uttered by his father. But George V had had a much tougher, longer reign.
George V’s four surviving sons—David (now King Edward VIII), Bertie, Henry and George—mounted the guard (the vigil of the princes) at the catafalque on the night before the funeral. The dead king was interred at St George’s Chapel,Windsor Castle, on 28 January 1936.
There was promise that the 41-year-old, unmarried Edward VIII would do more than his predecessors to reach out to his subjects and the new monarch seemed aware of the need to ‘democratise’ the institution. But only months into his reign he caused a constitutional crisis by proposing to marry Wallis Simpson, who was seeking a divorce from her second husband. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin and those from the dominions opposed the marriage. It was supposed that the peoples of the empire would not accept a twice-divorced American as wife of the king, and possibly his queen. Edward’s response when told that the Australians did not want him to marry Mrs Simpson was to say there were ‘not many people in Australia’. There were then more than six million.Their opinion did not matter.
The Church of England also opposed the union, which created a tricky conflict of interest given that the king was head of the Church. Baldwin l
ifted the stakes by saying he would resign if the marriage went ahead. Such an act would have brought the issue into the political sphere if a general election followed Baldwin’s departure. Edward VIII realised that such a situation could damage the monarchy. He now had a choice: abdicate and marry Simpson or stay king and end his relationship. In a dramatic radio broadcast to the nation he announced his abdication in order ‘to marry the woman I love’. He had reigned for 326 days and was never crowned. His successor gave him the title Duke of Windsor.
Edward VIII had ‘ruined’ himself a year into the reign, and in so doing delivered the late king his fervent wish: that his second son, Bertie, would now be king and, after him, George’s beloved grandchild ‘Lilibet’, who would be queen. To keep the continuity with his father, Bertie wished to be known as George VI. The whole business of his father’s death and his brother’s short tenure was an ordeal. Bertie never wanted the monarchy and now it had been thrust upon him. He dreaded public speaking more than ever, although his impediment had been improved by his Australian therapist, Lionel Logue, who had reduced Bertie’s problem from a stutter or no words coming out at all to an acceptable hesitancy and occasional stumble. Logue was on hand again now that his former patient had been called to the highest ‘office’ where pressure would mount, especially with the prospect of war increasing.
48
THE PROBLEM WITH DAVID
The main problem for George VI was not a dreaded reoccurrence of his speech problem, the sudden burden of high office or any unpalatable kingly duties. It was his troublesome brother, now the Duke of Windsor and again just plain ‘David’ to family and friends. He had to be exiled, at least for a time. There would be no joy for anyone if the high-profile, society-oriented meddlesome duke were wandering England and Scotland like a disconsolate royal ghost. He was given a job with the military mission in France. It didn’t work. His known Nazi sympathies upset the French, the British royal family and the British government.
