Lilibet’s fury at poor Dr Simpson

WITH a furrowed brow, Princess Elizabeth opened one of the children’s books in her nursery and furiously started scratching out the recurring name of one of the characters. His name was Dr Simpson. She had nothing at all against the fictional doctor, apart from his misfortune in sharing a name with Mrs Wallis Simpson. Nor, at age ten, did Lilibet — as she was then known — properly appreciate that the American divorcee was at the heart of a constitutional crisis. All she knew was that Mrs Simpson was the key to what was affecting her family. The evidence was all around: her father looked visibly ill, her grandmother Queen Mary, usually ramrodstraight and imperious, seemed older and somehow shrivelled, while her mother’s normally jaunty demeanour had deserted her. At home, the name ‘Simpson’ had initially been whispered, then become part of disapproving discussions that ended abruptly whenever Lilibet came within earshot. But much as her parents had tried to protect her, she had been adept at gathering crumbs of information. Scribble, scratch, scribble: methodically, she worked through her book in a silent rage, obliterating all mention of the blameless Dr Simpson.