I have been busy writing statements on the King’s health for publication in the newspapers and radio bulletins. Maybe you have heard them? It is true that his heart appears to be growing weaker and his condition is being regarded with some disquiet. The blessing is that he is without pain.

Darling, I hope you are not too cold tonight. Why not actually wear your mink in bed?

My love to you and the children,

Tommy

18^th January 1936

Darling Tommy,

The postman has just delivered your latest communiqué. He is new and very nosey. He sees Sandringham on the envelope and almost bows to me. I can see he is desperate to ask questions. I take the post from him, thank him and promptly close the door.

If he thinks me rude, then let him. We are about to be plunged into national mourning. We are losing a much loved monarch and replacing him with a weak and easily influenced successor. I’m sorry, darling, but it’s true. I know you know it as well as I do.

Mr Williams, the plumber, is coming out today to give the boiler a wallop.

I really am longing for a hot bath.

Fondly,

Joan

19^th January 1936

Darling Joan,

Dear girl, I do hope Williams’s wallop did the trick? I have some army combinations in the attic. Dig them out and you’ll be as warm as toast, I guarantee.

The days here at Sandringham are becoming more surreal. Life goes on, fires are lit, maids scurry. Meals are made and dinner served, with no hint that the King of England is upstairs, in his bed, dying.

The Queen’s unwavering fortitude upholds us all.

This morning the Prince of Wales returned, looking very sombre. Clearly the thought of his succession is weighing heavy. I cannot say more.

This afternoon I spotted the Queen walking in the grounds with all her children. The Prince of Wales looked more downcast than I have ever seen him. The Duke of York, Duke of Gloucester, Duke of Kent and Mary the Princess Royal flanked their brother and the Queen as they perambulated the misty grounds. One can only imagine their conversation.

On my own walk, I spotted people gathered at the main gate like grey spectres. Their loyalty is touching but seeing them only underlines the whole terrible business.

They are like us and we like them. All of us waiting for the inevitable news, while behaving as if everything were quite normal.

Would you be kind enough to send me asap a pair of black mourning trousers – bottom drawer in the wardrobe of my dressing room – two white flannel shirts with a black stripe, and two pairs of my black woollen socks? All in the small drawer of the big wardrobe.

I have just been working with Lord Dawson, the royal physician, on the medical communiqués. He has a beautiful sensitivity. When the time comes, he has proposed these words: ‘The King’s life is moving peacefully to its close.’