On September 12 Baba drove Walter Monckton down to Portsmouth in her Buick, followed by her chauffeur with a van (no car, either, had been made available to the Windsors). They arrived about half past six in the evening and went to the Queen’s Hotel where they booked for the whole party—it would be a dreadful first night back in England, thought Baba. Fortunately, Admiral James, commander in chief at Portsmouth, had offered to put the Windsors up.
At eight-thirty a message came to say the Kelly would arrive in about an hour. The party went down to the dock, in inky darkness except for a faint blue light, and stood on the same jetty from which the duke had so hurriedly and secretly left England almost three years earlier. With relief they saw that one gesture at least had been made to his former status: a red carpet flanked by a guard of honor of a hundred men with tin hats and gas masks—a tribute from Churchill to his friend and former monarch.
At last, out of the velvety blackness ahead appeared a tiny yellow-and-green light. It slowly approached until the Kelly slid into view alongside the dock. Baba and Walter Monckton were first up the gangway, followed by the admiral. They were greeted by Mountbatten, who took them down to his cabin for a glass of champagne with the Windsors.
Once ashore and after the reviewing of the guard, the Windsors were taken to Admiralty House in Portsmouth while Fruity and Randolph Churchill accompanied Baba and Monckton to the Queen’s Hotel. The next morning they collected the Windsors and, with Baba driving them in her Buick—the chauffeur had gone to fetch the duke’s car—and Fruity driving the luggage van, they set off at a steady fifty miles per hour behind a police car.
They arrived at South Hartfield House, Forest Row, at one-thirty, to find the press already at the gates. There was a brief photo shoot in front of the Metcalfes’ house and after a short statement from the Windsors the reporters and photographers left.
“The Duke never once gave the impression of feeling and sensing the sadness of his return with the dramaticness of departure,” records Baba’s diary. “Like with everything in his life, the blind has been drawn down and the past has been forgotten with its many memories. The visit has gone easily and well on the whole. There have been moments when the ice has seemed dangerously thin and ominous cracks have been heard but the night has brought a thickening up and we have skated on the next day okay.”
The Windsors went to London most days, using the Metcalfes’ town house, 16 Wilton Place, which had been closed for the war and its furniture dustcovered. The duke worked in a small sitting room, his papers on a single table; the duchess had her hair done in Baba’s empty bedroom with its shrouded furniture. “Clerks, secretaries, War Office officials, bootmakers, tailors and hairdressers stream in and out,” Baba’s diary continues. “We have sandwiches and tea from a Thermos.”
It was from Wilton Place, on September 14, that the duke went to see his brother the king at Buckingham Palace—the first time the two men had met since the abdication. The king reported to their younger brother, the duke of Kent, that “the meeting went off all right but it was very unbrotherly.” However they did discuss the duke’s future employment and agreed that the duke would join the Military Mission in Paris.
He saw the King, a stag party, and nothing personal crossed the lips of either [Baba’s diary recalls]. P.M., Winston, Belisha and Edward [Halifax] have all been visited with uneventful success. His job has materialised and Fruity is on his personal staff. This was done as usual not with tremendous grace. Fruity flew over to France to make adequate arrangements. The first few days 200–300 letters arrived a day and there were only six bad ones. Fruity and I got only a few bad ones and many charming ones. One IRA saying they would blow up the house and another incredible one to me from a sex maniac. Walter has had to be with his son so we have had everything à quatre. It’s been difficult on more than one occasion not to shout “Stop! Stop! Stop! You’ve got everything all wrong.” But considering all, they have been very grateful and sweet and completely simple. If the Duke goes to say goodbye to his mother, it will be at my door for good or bad the plan can be laid, as during one of our lengthy talks I put it over strong to Wallis.
I do think the family might have done something. He might not even exist but for the one short visit to the King. Wallis said they realised there was no place ever for him in this country, and she saw no reason for him ever to return. I didn’t deny it or do any pressing.
They are incapable of truly trusting anybody, therefore one feels one’s loyalty is misplaced. One has no real affection for either of them, as his selfishness and self-concentration is terrifying. I don’t know why one goes on “playing.” It must be for what he was, as what he is today, as a personality and friend, is not worth the candle. What I am finding difficult to put into words is the reason for his only having us as real friends instead of legions. He is so dreadfully disappointing.
From the Windsors’ point of view, the visit had been a success. The duchess wrote Baba a charming letter of thanks (“This is a small effort from the Duke, three dogs and myself to try and thank you for all your hospitality to us and being able to remain calm in the face of such an avalanche of guests”) with an amusing description of their arrival back on French soil after a horrible crossing.
“The Channel turned itself inside out for us and the Express lay flat on it first on one side and then on the other. We arrived looking green and drawn to be met by quite an ovation from the British troops on the quay. I wanted to cry and be sick at the same time and regretted my sallow appearance, realizing that several hundred men and a goodly smattering of nurses were wondering ‘How could he have done it?’ ”
In London Irene, worried that she had left Viv in what she saw as a hotbed of Nazism, was greatly relieved to hear from her niece that she wanted to go and work in Norfolk. She gained the agreement of Tom, who wanted her to contribute one thousand pounds per year to the upkeep of Wootton—“according to him, the two children want Wootton to be kept going more than Denham”—but the rest of his conversation left her even more deeply alarmed.
He predicted the likelihood of Germany and Russia winning; it was by no means so sure we would. Hence his mission to get a peace while the Empire was still intact . . . I asked him his views on Hitler etc and he said he was only out for Britain and a safe peace for her, but I think he sees in himself a potential smasher-up of all our capitalist systems when the disruption of communism creeps over Europe and toward us, and with anti-Semitism as his pillar of hate he will arise from the ashes of conservatism and profitmaking. We talked earnestly on the curious thing that great fanatical faith has to have hate to work on.
Next day, during lunch with his mother and Irene, Tom expressed his views more strongly. “They were venomous and alarming and vitriolic,” wrote Irene. “He cursed this Government for the betrayal of our nation and said he would work on the people to get them out.
If Tom had his way and he was in power he would at once make peace with Hitler, letting him have his huge bloc to the Mediterranean if Hitler leaves us and our empire alone, but if he touches it we fight. Ma said in vain: “But do you want to see such a regime all over Europe and all-powerful?” but I fear he does not mind the Poles, Rumanians, etc being sacrificed. He argues he could make England so strong Hitler would never dare touch her, how could he when she holds a colossal part of the globe and so forth.
He raged on about the audacity of Chamberlain saying Hitlerism must be wiped out—cannot 80 million Germans choose their Government and would we stomach Hitler butting in here and condemning our Government and telling them he would fight to exterminate them?
Irene found listening to this tirade so horrendous that she was even thankful when Diana arrived with her eldest son, Jonathan. She also decided that she would prefer to do her duty vis-à-vis the children by looking after Denham rather than Wootton—she did not see why Diana should gain financially at her expense—and wrote to Tom to tell him so—“tho’ I fear he will not like this.”
She was r
ight. When he received her letter there was another of the furious rows that everyone around him dreaded. Of lunch the next day with Tom and his mother she wrote:
It was one of those awful interviews with Tom when he was so wild with rage he tore up and down the room in a filthy blasphemous state, with dear Ma trying to calm him. I gave out some pretty stiff heated rejoinders and that simpering ass Diana never uttered. The situation was so bad when D. rang for lunch I begged to leave but Ma winked that I should stay and we both wasted a lunch we could not swallow.
Throughout lunch Tom threatened that owing to Irene’s intransigence the children would have to live like workmen, Wootton would have to go, Nicky leave Eton and Micky be put in the care of Baba and then in the spring to school. Irene repeated her offer to pay for Denham; Tom would have none of it.
Irene was under no illusions. With a father who had misappropriated her own income she was quick to recognize the same motive in another. Tom, she knew perfectly well, wanted her to subsidize his children so that even at this desperate time he could continue to pour funds into fascism, and was using her love for them and fear that they would be taken away from her as emotional blackmail. She had a miserable, sleepless night, but her view was confirmed next morning by both Lady Mosley and Baba.
A couple of days later, Tom capitulated. Realizing that he would get nothing more out of Irene and that if he were intransigent would lose Denham into the bargain, he called on her solicitor to say that he was happy to continue with the Denham arrangement as before.
“It is as I predicted,” wrote Irene triumphantly. “He would come crawling back when he saw his interests being damaged.” She added a note of thankfulness that her sister Cim was no longer alive to see Tom behaving like this; and, when she saw Nick at Eton, briefly outlined the dispute and his father’s propositions for Denham so that seventeen-year-old Nick, as eldest son, could make up his own mind on the future of their home.
On September 28—the day before the duke of Windsor left for Paris and his new job—Irene gave a luncheon party for him to meet Nevile Henderson: tea and apples for the Windsors (the duke seldom ate more than an apple for lunch and the figure-conscious duchess often followed suit) and sandwiches and drinks for herself and Nevile. The conversation was disjointed, ending with abuse of the Ministry of Information by the duke. The duchess said little. “I came to the conclusion what a common little man he really is,” wrote Irene. “Nevile stuck to the point he thought this [the Nazi] regime would hold the floor unless the Reichstag rebelled, and cracked.”
Fruity returned to France with the duke on September 29. After leaving the duchess at the Windsors’ house in Versailles they went straight to the Military Mission at Vincennes, commanded by Major-General Sir Richard Howard-Vyse. “Arrival very full of good cheer,” wrote Fruity to Baba on the thirtieth. “All the boys in red from the highest quarters down to welcome us. I knew one or two of ’em from the last war. We got off at 9:30 today and got to Suchet at 1:30—they go by themselves to Versailles till Monday. I’m so glad. It’s a great relief for me. I’m delighted to get a day or so without the Windsors. Mrs. Corrigan claimed me almost as a prisoner of war on my arrival here. I shall escape believe me.”
Once in Paris, the duchess reengaged Gertrude Bedford, her efficient secretary (who lived there), began to work for the French Red Cross, and concentrated on decorating the Windsors’ new house at 24 Boulevard Suchet. Almost at once the alert Fruity spotted a source of potential trouble.
At present and probably for a little time it is quite all right for Nibs to stay at Suchet with Mrs. Nibs [he wrote to Baba on October 3, 1939]. I say at present because he is seeing and talking to important civil and political people. BUT it must not last for too long otherwise he is finished. The French press are very quick to spot things and it will have a very harmful effect if Nibs is known to sleep with Mrs. Nibs etc while the boys are going through it. One other reason: he must get off on his own away from that influence, away from household worries. Now I want this “offensive” to start in a matter of a week. I suggest Walter starts the game. You could do a little to Mrs. N but be very careful—use all your famous tact.
Fruity’s comment about “household worries”—an unlikely phrase to use about a couple as well serviced as the Windsors—was justified. Anything pertaining to the duchess, however trivial, immediately received the duke’s absolute, undivided attention, no matter what more pressing concerns were in the offing. As Fruity wrote exasperatedly: “His Nibs is utterly impossible to deal with. If one has something really important to tell him and he is at Suchet, we’ll say, he will suddenly get up to notice a door has jammed and does not properly open or shut, or that the water does not run hot, or that Mrs. Bedford has to pay a bill for 71⁄2 yards of linoleum for the back stairs etc.”
It was quite different, save in one particular, when they visited a section of the French front, where the duke inspected fortifications and antitank defenses and met the generals of various divisions, with whom he was greatly impressed. “Everyone was delighted to see HRH and the visit could not have gone off better,” wrote Fruity. “This was very important to His Nibs as you can well imagine. Then we proceeded to another French section and saw their front etc. Again we were impressed. HRH was all through absolutely delightful company. No one could have been a more interesting or amusing companion—how we laughed at many incidents. All through he was in splendid form.
“The only few minutes I hated and when he was ‘all wrong’ was when I had to get the hotel bills and get them paid, and then he was frightful.”
The duke’s preoccupation with money had increased to an extent that embarrassed all those around him: in contrast with the lavish lifestyle and the duchess’s extravagance, every account was minutely scrutinized and, if possible, chiseled down, and friends were expected to pick up the bill for any entertainment.
I found W. looking like an old apple, a very old wizened one and a terribly sour one. I said Good Morning Wallis, had a look at her and went out [he wrote to Baba on October 9]. “You ask in your letter is my position secure or ‘groggy’—when I see W. I wouldn’t know anything! She is like a kaleidoscope—different every time you look. All I know is, I feel sure I am doing him absolutely the best and that no one could do him better, or nearly as well.
I know nothing of Gray Phillips coming out to join HRH’s staff. It is complete news to me. He has not said a word about it and of course neither has she. I’ve hardly seen them since we arrived in Paris because they went off at once to stay in the hotel at Versailles. I believe they are coming up tomorrow to Suchet for good. They have got Marcel and Robert and are now arranging to get the Chef sent to them. The Chef had been mobilised and sent to some unit in the S. of France but they’ve been upsetting the whole ruddy army to get him and today when I saw HRH he looked a bit sour and said there had been some stupid misunderstanding with the French about the Chef and that he must go out to the Mission to put it straight. He said it was not a Major General’s job but if people under that rank couldn’t do certain things he, as a Major General, would have to personally deal with it!! They say that the Germans are bombing the Maginot Line and that the French are replying and losses are taking place on both sides but the battle of HRH’s chef is making more noise than all the shelling.
The fact is that when he is off without “Mrs.” he is excellent. With her or near her he’s not worth 21⁄2d and then you can’t trust him a yard.
As a letter from the War Office made clear, Fruity could not look to the government for remuneration for his work for the duke of Windsor. “I am directed to inform you,” it ran, “that your appointment as ADC carries no emoluments from public funds.”
The next blow was to learn that Gray Phillips would be joining the duke’s ménage.
HRH tells me (now!) that he will be in uniform. I wonder what uniform and what rank? He is to live at Suchet. I gather he is to act more or less as Comptroller etc and at times HRH will take him on tour. I sugges
t he brings a few suits of civilian clothes. HRH wishes me to get out some. I wouldn’t mind my new grey striped flannel suit or my new blue flannel, a few decent shirts to go with them, collars attached and long sleeves, also one or two ties, my Regimental one and two or three new ones that I recently bought, also some medium weight grey or blue socks. I have the necessary shoes. My new little soft grey hat might also be necessary. These damn civilian clothes—I personally would never bother about this but he has several times mentioned it.
I shall remain at Ritz when in Paris. The Mission is utterly impossible, it is 45 minutes from Paris and Suchet. I must be near HRH as long as he insists on living in Paris. Be very careful when you or Walter write or speak to either of them at Suchet re HRH staying there. If he thinks there is any pressure or advice being given nothing will move him. Re Wallis: of course I don’t let her see what I feel. I am exactly the same as always.
Irene and Baba had immersed themselves in war work. Baba was now fully qualified and nursing, mostly the old, at the Princess Beatrice Hospital in Earl’s Court, where, at first, her unmistakably upper-class voice and elegantly fitting uniform caused the “career” sisters to suspect her of dilettantism. But her hard work and uncomplaining stance soon won them over.
The Viceroy's Daughters Page 36
