One of the
joys of the web is that it is possible to pick up on something and then go on
the chase using a wide variety of sources.
You can do some things in minutes that once might have taken days, if
not weeks and involve traipsing and tracking round libraries to find the
information.
Last night
rather than the football on vision with music on sound there was time to look
at the Channel 4 documentary on King Edward VIII in the period before he met
Wallis Simpson and especially his liaison with the major Parisian courtesan,
Marquerite Meller; purely out of historical interest, of course.
She, also
called Maggie, was a Triple A Plus gold digger who enticed some of the richest
and best connected men around at the time.
When, aged 22, Edward was introduced to her he was smitten. She became his mistress and showed him the
way around Paris ,
if you know what I mean.
The
programme concerned itself with, let us say, the basics. But what struck me was the date when the
affaire began. It was April 1917. As it happens I know exactly what my
grandfather was doing in France
at the time. While Edward was wining,
dining and squiring her around town there was a major battle going on that was
crucial to the British strategy on the Western Front.
It was the
British storming of the Hindenburg Line outside Arras , see Wikipedia “Battle of Arras 1917”. It was one of the many major battles now
dwarfed by other bigger ones in the histories but it was a long, bloody and
horrific business with very many casualties.
It lasted from 9 April to 16 May.
In his then battalion, the 13th Kings Liverpool, my
grandfather was one of the fifty left standing.
When Edward
returned from his leave he was writing long letters to her and others whinging
about the “bloody war” and sniping at others in his family and around him. But he was supposed to be a staff
officer. Admittedly, it seems that he
was used much more as a public relations and media celebrity to be trotted out
now and again but why wasn’t he doing any real work?
It was
understandable that he was kept out of harms way, perhaps against his own
wishes. But there was still a great deal
of hard relentless work to be done. It
was the junior staff officers who carried the brunt of the immense amount to be
done in managing the movements of troops and supplies. Was it that he was disinclined to do it or
that he could not be trusted to do a decent job?
His whole
record does suggest that when it came to the basic grind of any task he was
neither interested nor up to it or to taking responsibility. When he became King in 1936 he simply took
off to the French Riviera for the summer regardless of all the business to be
done.
Eventually,
after the War, Edward and Maggie drifted apart, she married a rich Prince who
was not quite a Prince and during a stay at the Savoy Hotel in 1923 murdered
him but managed to get off at the trial.
The TV programme takes the line that because of Edward’s letters, her
blackmail and the huge problems it might cause the trial was “fixed”.
By the
1930’s when Wallis Simpson had turned up and taken Edward over he was taking a
good deal of trouble to stay out of the limelight. His Private Secretary, Lord Brownlow had his
seat at Belton Hall just north of Grantham, close to good hunting country but
otherwise out of the way. Edward and
Wallis were often there together.
As well as
being a courtier, Brownlow was also a country squire and important in the
County. In 1934 to 1935 at the height of
the relationship between Edward and Wallis he was Mayor of Grantham. It is likely his appearances were restricted
to the formal occasions and he was not involved in town politics.
Quite what
he did and when might only be quarried from the archives of the borough. It may not be very much because I cannot see
him chairing committees or attending many council meetings. He may have been an Alderman, if only for
honorary reasons.
Another
Alderman of Grantham, and later Mayor himself in 1945 to 1946 was Alfred
Roberts, shopkeeper and “Independent”.
He had two daughters, one a nice girl called Muriel and later another
with a bit of a temper, called Margaret.
Her married name was Thatcher and we now recall her from the distant
past as Prime Minister.
When King
Edward VIII abdicated in December 1936 to keep up with Wallis and dumping the
job on his younger brother who deserved better than that one effect was that at
court there was a brutal clear out of all those who had been close to
Edward.
Brownlow
read in the Court Circular that he had lost his job. When telephoning to suggest that there might
have been a mistake he was told he had resigned. He did not recall writing any letter to that
effect but took the heavy hint. It was
almost as if an Iron Curtain, to borrow a phrase, had come down between the
Georgians and the Edwardians.
So when in
1979, Her Majesty received Margaret Thatcher to give her the seals of office as
Prime Minister and the Golden Girl of Grantham, it was almost as though a ghost
of the past had come back to haunt the monarchy to remind it of unsuitable
marriages of the past.
In the
meantime the National Trust, who had taken over Belton House were doing their
best to airbrush history. One thing was
the outbuildings many of which had the initials and names of First War soldiers
etched into the walls. They were sanded
over and almost fully erased.
In the
house itself it has become almost a shrine to Edward and Wallis. Its First World War history is not mentioned
apart from a passing reference to the Machine Gun Corps, there in 1917 and
1918. There is not a trace of any or
anything of the men of the King’s Liverpool Regiment, there from 1914 to 1916
in training.
Marguerite
Meller lived to a good age and died rich on the fortune she had acquired.
A lesson
for our times?
My late father mentioned Edward being on a ship he served on between the wars - he did not appear to have much appreciation of his general attitudes. Dad revered his successor and his daughter. There should be something more fitting at Belton - WW1 was so very tragic. So many young men - my uncle among them, only 17. So many young women who went through life without husbands as there were too few left. I knew three.
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