King Edward VIII. Philip Ziegler

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СКАЧАТЬ great-aunt Augusta. ‘He was so from the first. I have a vivid and pleasing recollection of the only time I saw him this year at White Lodge, when he flirted with the nice Lady Cousins.’⁴¹

      The Duke of York was a man of habit and, imperial tours apart, he liked the year to unroll to an unchanging pattern. In January the whole family was at York Cottage, Sandringham, the children staying on there in February and March while their parents were in London. At Easter they were reunited at York Cottage or Frogmore House, Windsor. They stayed together in London for May and June, and then in July and August the children with their mother would retreat to Frogmore while the Duke shot or yachted. September and the first half of October were spent near Balmoral; then it was back to York Cottage for the rest of the year.

      York Cottage was thus as near to a permanent home as the children knew. It had been built by the Prince of Wales to hold the overflow from his vaster shooting parties and given to the Duke of York as a wedding present. The word ‘Cottage’ hardly conveys a true picture. Harold Nicolson, who must have visited it on a cold, wet day, described it as ‘a glum little villa … separated by an abrupt rim of lawn from a pond at the edge of which a leaden pelican gazes in dejection upon the water lilies and bamboos’.⁴² In sunnier circumstances the pond is a more than respectable lake and the life-size pelican looks contented if not exuberant. As for the glum little villa – villa perhaps, but large enough to provide today spacious estate offices, storage rooms for the Sandringham shop and five decent-sized flats. The rooms were small – the nursery being barely large enough to accommodate a medium-sized rocking horse – but the Duke liked small rooms, which reminded him of naval cabins. ‘Very nice to be in this dear wee house again,’ he wrote in his diary, and when his father offered to rent for him Lord Cholmondeley’s palace at nearby Houghton, he rejected the proposal with alacrity. As a child Edward was fond enough of its cosy and suburban comfort, as he grew older it came more and more to symbolize all that he disliked about family life.

      His education was at first desultory. Reading, writing and a little history were given priority; Latin, mathematics and the sciences were eschewed; French and German were deemed essential, with enforced recitations of poems in both languages on his parents’ birthdays, turning these festivals into nightmares. ‘I am a good boy. I know a lot of German,’ Edward proudly told his father in 1901.⁴³ He was less good when it came to French, mainly from dislike of his teacher, a podgy Alsatian lady called Hélène Bricka whom he described as ‘a dreadful old person’.⁴⁴ Religious instruction, such as it was, came from Canon Dalton; it failed to enthral the young prince. Cecil Sharp, expert in folklore, song and dancing, was supposed to have taken charge of Edward’s ‘social education’ and first inspired in him a passion for ‘physical jerks’ and other forms of violent and uncomfortable exercise.⁴⁵ Geography was picked up largely as a by-product of the Yorks’ travels. ‘I am very pleased to get a present from Christchurch and a whip from Tasmania,’ he wrote when his parents were in the Antipodes. ‘I know where these places are … Fancy Papa shooting peacocks.’⁴⁶ He learned the art of crochet from his mother and picked up some general knowledge from forays into the royal palaces. ‘There are such a lot of books,’ he remarked in awe after a visit to the library at Windsor. ‘I saw the first book Caxton printed. I read all about him in Arthur’s History.’⁴⁷ It was not a bad beginning, but it did not add up to the formal education required by a future king. His father knew that something more was called for, but could not convince himself that the matter was of any urgency, until January 1901 when Queen Victoria died. The Prince of Wales succeeded as King Edward VII; the Duke of York became Duke of Cornwall and ten months later added the title of Prince of Wales.

      Prince Edward, aged six, was now second in line to the throne. The event meant little to him; he was dimly aware that something of vast significance had occurred, an era had ended, hushed and reverent mourning was in order, but he had hardly known his great-grandmother and felt no personal grief at her disappearance. Of the funeral he remembered only ‘the piercing cold, the interminable waits, and of feeling very lost’.⁴⁸ He made a clearer impression on others than the ceremony did on him. His aunt Maud, Princess Charles of Denmark and later Queen of Norway, remembered that ‘Sweet little David behaved so well during the service and was supported by the little Hesse girl who took him under her protection and held him most of the time round his neck. They looked such a delightful little couple!’⁴⁹ King Edward’s Coronation the following year meant little more to him. Edward remembered only the longueurs of the service in the Abbey, mitigated by the clatter when one of the great-aunts dropped her book programme over the edge of her box into a gold cup below. Once only did the ceremony come alive, when his mother whispered to him, ‘Now Papa will do homage to Grandpapa.’⁵⁰ For a moment the relevance of what was going on to himself and to his country became dramatically apparent.

      Grumbling, the Duke of Cornwall – or Prince of Wales, as it is easier to style him without more ado – moved from his modest apartments in St James’s Palace to the massive grandeur of Marlborough House. He took over Frogmore House at Windsor and Abergeldie near Balmoral. These changes made little difference to his son’s way of life. But a far more significant event had already occurred. In the spring of 1902 the Prince of Wales engaged as tutor to his elder sons Henry Hansell, a thirty-nine-year-old schoolmaster and son of a Norfolk country gentleman, who had taken his degree at Magdalen College, Oxford, and had recently been tutor to the Duke of Connaught’s son, Prince Arthur.

      There were a lot of good things about Hansell. Six foot three inches tall and strikingly handsome, he had played football for Oxford and was an excellent shot. Shane Leslie, who was taught by him, describes him as uproariously funny, to small boys at least, convulsing all around him by the comical goose step with which he would advance from his goal in a football match.⁵¹ He liked his charges and served them with loyalty and devotion. The Princess of Wales thought he taught history well and managed to engage the boys’ interest: ‘This pleases me immensely as you know how devoted I am to history.’⁵² He made an excellent impression on many people who should have been competent judges. Lord Derby said of him: ‘Never have I found a man who understands boys better. Admirably straight, but very broadminded. I can imagine no man better able to guide rather than drive a boy.’⁵³ ‘Mon impression sur M. Hansell fut excellente du premier coup,’ wrote the Marquis de Breteuil. ‘Je le jugeai de suite un homme intelligent, plein de tact, bon et complètement devoué a son élève.’⁵⁴

      And yet it is impossible to doubt that this good, honest, conscientious man had a disastrous effect on the intellectual development of his pupils. Without imagination, with only the most rudimentary sense of humour, pedestrian in mind, aesthetically unaware, Hansell represented everything that was most philistine and blinkered about the English upper middle classes. Whatever adventurous instincts Edward might have had were blanketed by his tutor’s smug and unquestioning self-assurance. Harry Verney worked with Hansell during the First World War and told Edward that what had struck him was ‘his commanding presence … his savoir faire coupled with the most incredible stupidity in dealing with the business of the office … I am amazed to read that he got a Second in history at Oxford, but I expect you are right. With it all what a very charming man he was, and devoted to you.’⁵⁵ Edward’s final view was not dissimilar. He told Harold Nicolson in 1953 that Hansell had been ‘melancholy and inefficient’. ‘He never taught us anything at all,’ he went on. ‘I am completely self-educated.’⁵⁶

      Prince Edward had a naturally enquiring mind. He was ready to question any dogma and investigate any phenomenon which he did not immediately comprehend. He was hungry for exact information, and wanted to know not only how things worked, but why, and whether they could work better. He did not lose this freshness of approach but, thanks in part at least to Hansell, it was never harnessed to an intellectual apparatus which would have made it an effective instrument. It was the mark of Hansell’s tuition that the Duke of Windsor could admit fifty years later that he had ‘always preferred learning history from pictures than from script, and it’s amazing how much one can learn from pictures’.⁵⁷ That his father should think СКАЧАТЬ