I WAS TALKING about claret and burgundy to Mr Berry in his wine shop at the bottom of St James’s Street on Friday afternoon, January 17th, when he suddenly pointed to the street and exclaimed “I don’t like that”. It was a poster with the words “The King — A Cold”.

I had been shooting the day before with the Prince of Wales at Windsor, where I had caught a cold myself. It was a filthy day, dark and snowing — but we had quite a cheerful morning. We lunched at the Fort (Fort Belvedere in Windsor Park, the Prince of Wales’s home). I had to hurry off afterwards as there was a meeting of the Defence Requirements Committee (DRC) at 3.30. The Prince came out in the snow to see me off. He was in the highest spirits and hadn’t heard a word then of his father’s illness.

I am terribly overworked these days — what with the War Office, the DRC and the proofs of the second volume of Haig, I have time for nothing. Also I have a bad cough and cold. I was glad therefore to spend the weekend in London. Saturday I stayed indoors, Sunday I stayed in bed. The death of Kipling, the illness of the King and the weather threw a gloom over everything.

I didn’t leave the house until after luncheon on Monday (20th) when I went to the War Office. On arriving there I got a message to say that the Prime Minister (Stanley Baldwin) wanted to see me at once. I went along to Downing Street, supposing, naturally, that he wanted to talk to me about the DRC which was to meet at 3.30. I found him in the Cabinet room and to my surprise he said: “I don’t want to talk to you about the DRC but about the Prince of Wales.” The Prince had come up to see him from Sandringham the previous afternoon and they had had a long conversation. I gathered that the King’s life was despaired of and that it was only a matter of hours. The PM is very much disturbed about the Prince’s relations with Mrs Simpson. He thinks that if it becomes generally known the country won’t stand it. “If she were what I call a respectable whore,” he said, he wouldn’t mind, by which he meant somebody whom the Prince occasionally saw in secret but didn’t spend his whole time with. I think the Prince’s staff are very much against him — especially Halsey (Sir Lionel Halsey, comptroller and treasurer to the Prince of Wales 1920-1936).

Why the PM had sent for me I don’t know. He said that he knew I was a friend of the Prince’s but he didn’t suggest that I should take any action. I think he may have had it in his mind that I might advise Simpson to clear out — for a bit at any rate — because he said that that would be the best thing that could happen. I shall certainly do nothing of the kind. She would tell the Prince who would never forgive me.

I dined that night at the Army & Navy Club — a dinner given by Sir Frederick Maurice for German ex-servicemen. When the time came to drink the King’s health Maurice stood up and read the latest message from Sandringham. “The King’s life is drawing peacefully to its close.” There was something extraordinarily moving about these words and I was profoundly affected. This completed the gloom in which the party had started and I slipped away as soon as I could. I picked up Diana (Lady Diana Cooper, his wife) who was dining at the Evelyn Fitzgeralds — a large party who, I thought, seemed unbecomingly cheerful, but I was unduly depressed. We went to bed without knowing whether the King was dead. He died, in fact, a few minutes before midnight.

I had to attend the Privy Council in the afternoon and was considerably rushed as I had been in negotiation to buy a second-hand Privy Councillor’s uniform. I hurried round to Moss Bros and found that it fortunately fitted almost perfectly. I had to put it on after luncheon and go down to St. James’s Palace. The ceremony was rather impressive but not as much as it might have been. I thought that Edward VIII looked very young and very lonely. I had to dash back afterwards, change my clothes and return to the House of Commons to swear the oath.

Diana wrote a letter of sympathy to the King to which she had the following reply:

“Dear Diana — Your letter was most kind and human. I do thank you for it and for the mention of the word confidence. As you know I shall do my utmost to see that it is not misplaced. Wallis, to whom you gave your note, is and always will be the most wonderful friend and help to me. She gives me the courage to carry on. Yours sincerely, Edward R.”

I didn’t go to hear the proclamation read out the next morning although we had tickets for the roof of St. James’s Palace. I thought it would make my cold worse. I gave my ticket to Liz Paget who went with Diana. They saw the King at a window with Wallis and Ernest Simpson, Helen Fitzgerald and Hugh Sefton. This is just the kind of thing that I hope so much he won’t do. It causes so much criticism and does so much harm. Already people are beginning to talk about her and to criticise him.

On Tuesday the 23rd the House met to pass a resolution on the King’s death. The Prime Minister’s speech was excellent — very much better, I thought than the one he had broadcast two nights before.

On Monday morning, January 27th, I went with other representatives of the Privy Council to present our address to the King. We stood in a semi-circle while the Prime Minister read it out. The King stood in the middle of the room looking very embarrassed and ill at ease. But when it came to his turn he did it very well. He first read the formal reply and then added a few informal words of his own — to the effect that so many familiar faces robbed the occasion of much of its formality etc. This went extremely well and the Privy Councillors were delighted. He then walked twice round the little group — first shaking hands and then having a word with nearly everyone in turn. To me he talked about our day’s shooting at Windsor and said that he knew then that his father was ill.

We dined with Freddie Lonsdale (playwright, 1881-1954) that evening at the Garrick Club. I sat next to Wallis. She talked to me a great deal about the King. I told her how well his informal little speech had gone with the Privy Council whereupon she repeated it word for word. Apparently he had spent a very long time composing it — walking up and down the room and dictating it to her. But it had been his own idea. She talked very sensibly — said she had not allowed him to come to her flat since his father’s death, had insisted in his using the large Daimler type of motor car in which people could see him — and even suggested that it would be better if she were to go away altogether. I think she is a nice woman and a sensible woman — but she is as hard as nails and she doesn’t love him.