As I start to tell you this, I feel a little mischievous. If this story ever gets widely spread, it might cause quite a commotion for England’s royal family.
Earlier this year, I took an online introduction to theater class through Gavilan Community College. An assignment given by instructor Julianne Palma was to develop a dramatic story based on some real or imagined incident. I choose to develop the play “Drinks with Eddie” for my homework project.
The source for the story was my construction-worker friend Tony Quinn. About a decade ago when I worked in London for an international news service, he told me the tale over a pint of Guinness in a Irish pub called the Archway Tavern.
Quinn originally heard the amazing story from his grandfather Anton. And Anton, Quinn says, actually witnessed it one night in the Irish fishing village of Burtonport, County Donegal, in mid-November 1932. Now for some historical background to put this story into perspective.
In the early 1930s, Edward the Prince of Wales was England’s heir to the throne. On Nov. 16, 1932, he visited Belfast to officially open Stormont, the Parliament building constructed for Northern Ireland’s government.
Following the Stormont dedication ceremony, Edward and his entourage boarded a train heading west to the city of Derry, where he was scheduled to officially open another civic building the next day.
According to Quinn, the train arrived at the Derry depot and everyone got off. Everyone, that is, except for the Prince of Wales. He decided to stay onboard and ride the train to the end of the line – the village of Burtonport.
After arriving at the fishing community, Prince Edward walked into the first pub he saw and announced heartily, “A round of drinks for everyone on me!”
West Donegal in the 1930s was populated chiefly by poverty-stricken farmers and fishermen. So, when a distinguished-looking gentleman of royal bearing sauntered into a rowdy tavern and cheerily offered everyone a drink, folks took notice.
And not just any ordinary folks happened to be in that Burtonport pub that night. The tavern was filled with Irish Republican Army volunteers – people who truly hated imperial Britain.
So here in the IRA’s midst – alone and totally vulnerable – was the very fellow symbolizing what the volunteers viewed as English tyranny.
“As far as they were concerned, it was just a war,” Quinn said of IRA volunteers during that time in Ireland’s troubled history. “It was a war of independence, and they felt they were being exploited by the empire, and they wanted their own homes and their own freedom.”
I’d loved to have eavesdropped on the conversations in that pub that night. No doubt while downing beers, the IRA members discussed killing off the future king. They could easily dispose of the body in Donegal Bay.
But they decided not to harm Eddie. Their reason: “It ain’t polite to kill off the man buying the drinks.”
Taking literary license with this incident, my theatrical play “Drinks with Eddie” is a romantic comedy tinged with the tension of a turbulent era. The play’s theme is that in the grand scheme of humanity, in order to survive we must start seeing each other as human beings.
In my play, “Eddie” gives a young Catholic woman advice about marrying a Protestant man she fancies. And the Prince of Wales gets some advice himself about marrying for love instead of patriotic duty.
After a few beers, the “Eddie” in my play tells several IRA members about a certain American woman for whom he has developed fond feelings. He loves a certain Mrs. Wallis Warfield Simpson and admits he’s been spending time with the married woman in her London apartment. But Eddie acknowledges if she ever gets a divorce and marries him, he’d be forced to forsake the crown.
The people of the Burtonport pub advise him to listen to his heart. “The heart never leads you astray, Eddie,” one elderly Irish chap tells him.
According to Tony Quinn’s account, the real Prince Edward spent all night drinking and carousing at the Donegal tavern. The next morning, his handlers and bodyguards located him and discreetly took him back to Derry.
No mention of this incident ever got into the press. No doubt, a news story of a prince slamming down beers with his IRA buddies would embarrass Britain’s royal family and government.
But I think the story shows a revealing side to a complex man. History concludes that Edward almost certainly didn’t care to be king. Who’d really want to be an impotent fixture of British politics? Only a fool would really want crowds gawking at him for the rest of his life.
So what made Edward take the train to Burtonport? Maybe boredom. Perhaps his royal highness wanted to avoid yet another tediously dull ceremony.
Or perhaps, as I suggested to Quinn, it was a suicide attempt. Miserable about his love for a married woman, maybe he decided to give the IRA an opportunity to end his life.
“Him doing that would have been a very, very strange act indeed,” Quinn told me. “He certainly would have known they might have killed him.”
The psychology of the IRA members also adds an interesting aspect to the story. Providence tossed into their hands the soon-to-be monarch. But they decided against assassination. Quinn believes the reason was more than the fact Edward bought a few beers for the boys.
“If anything had happened to the man,” he said, “there would have been hell to pay. So obviously for their best interests, they made sure he had a drink, had a good time, and went home OK.”
The Prince of Wales became King Edward VIII on Jan. 20, 1936. By the end of that year, he renounced the throne to marry Mrs. Simpson.
And last week, IRA leaders renounced violence, instructing supporters to pursue their political aims “through exclusively peaceful means.”
With this news, no doubt Eddie would cheerily buy a round of drinks for his chums.
Martin Cheek is the author of ‘The Silicon Valley Handbook.’ He can be reached at ma****@sv**********.com.
