Duty or Love?

David’s tone betrayed his annoyance.  “It’s done, Mummy!  I’ve made up my mind.  And Bertie has agreed to step in for me.”

His dowager mother could hardly believe what she was hearing.  “Bertie?  Are you mad?  Your brother is a stammering simpleton!  He’s my son and I love him, but really!  Whatever can you be thinking?”

“You really need to give him more credit, Mummy.  He knows more about our affairs than I, despite our positions.”

The old woman tossed her head imperiously.  “Please, do not mistake me for one of your sycophantic hangers-on.  If your father, God rest his soul, knew what you are contemplating, he would be rolling in his grave.”

“It’s well beyond contemplation, Mummy.  I’ve made my decision!  I plan to sign the documents today.”

“You are mad, d’you know that, David?  Mad!  You can’t just walk away from your responsibilities like this.  It’s…it’s just not done!”

“It has never been done, I grant you that.  But that is not to say I cannot do what my heart so earnestly desires.”

“Bollocks!” his mother declared.  “To whom have you been speaking that you would hear such rubbish?”  She drained the last of her tea from the embossed porcelain cup clutched in her hand.

“I have consulted widely, considered every opinion that has been vouchsafed, and have made up my mind accordingly.  Even Winston agrees with me.”

“Winston?” his mother scoffed.  “That drunken ponce?  When has Winston ever been right about anything?”

“I trust him, Mummy…which is more than I can say for some of the yes-men who surround me.”

“Those yes-men, as you call them, were your father’s most trusted advisors.  Mr. Baldwin—your Prime Minister, may I remind you—is adamant that you must not do this.  You would do well to heed his counsel.  I thought your father might have drummed that home—if nothing else—before he passed away.”

“I have considered my father’s opinions, Mummy, but I am a grown man and must make my own decisions.  The fact that my government disagrees, and even my own mother, cannot dissuade me from what I must do.”

The old woman stood up stiffly and smoothed her dress.  “You are grown, yes, but you are a foolish man if you think you are making a wise choice.  You must listen to me!  I forbid you to do this, d’you hear?”

David had risen with his mother.  “Madam!” he said, his voice thickening with anger.  “Constrain yourself!  Must I remind you that you are talking to your King?”

“I need no reminder, Your Majesty,” she replied, making no effort to mask her disdain.  “I remind you, however, that I was your father’s Queen before you even attained manhood, and he would never have disgraced the Throne as you plan on doing.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about the wonderful reign of George V,” David replied.  “How he could make no false step, do no harm—despite leading us pell-mell into the war to end all wars.  And for what?”

Mary Augusta Louise Olga Pauline Claudine Agnes of Teck had indeed been Queen of the United Kingdom and British Dominions, and Empress of India, until the death of her husband.  But now, she was simply Mary, the Queen Mother, afforded all pomp and ceremony by the Court, yet ultimately powerless.  With a baleful stare at her eldest son, and without so much as a curtsy to her Monarch, she turned and swept from the room.

David strode to the ornate desk at the far end of the chamber.  His eyes fell on four key paragraphs of the lengthy statement he was planning to make on a BBC radio broadcast to the nation after his decision was received by Parliament.  Typed neatly on thick, vellum paper below the Royal Insignia denoting the official correspondence of King Edward VIII, it was an irrevocable abdication and renunciation of the Throne.

A few hours ago I discharged my last duty as King and Emperor, and now that I have been succeeded by Albert, my younger brother, my first words must be to declare my allegiance to him, King George VI. This I do with all my heart.

But you must believe me when I tell you that I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as King as I would wish to do without the help and support of Mrs. Simpson, the woman I love.

This decision has been made less difficult to me by the sure knowledge that my brother, with his long training in the public affairs of this country and with his fine qualities, will be able to take my place forthwith without interruption or injury to the life and progress of the Empire.

During these hard days I have been comforted by Her Majesty my mother and by my family. The ministers of the crown, and in particular, Mr. Baldwin, the Prime Minister, have always treated me with full consideration. There has never been any constitutional difference between me and them, and between me and Parliament. Bred in the constitutional tradition by my father, I would never have allowed any such issue to arise.

Picking up the receiver from the ornate telephone on his desk, he said, “Place a transatlantic call to Mrs. Simpson in New York.  Put it through when you have her on the line.”  He disconnected before the palace operator had even acknowledged the order.

Then, with a long sigh, he plucked the burnished gold pen from its oaken stand and signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of the statement—

Edward R

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2022}