Evening star., 1936-06-21
BY C. PATRICK THOMPSON.

VIDE open windows, ana then gets out
Of bed alertly and goes in to the shower.
The bath room scale, which he uses
religiously every morning. tells him
that his weight stays steady at LAG
pounds.
Lean. fit and AZ.
1t may be the grace of the same God
whose name is invoked when his titles
are called that King Edward VIII has
survived all the hazards of war, world
travel hunting, steeplechasing, big
game shooting, skiing. flying and
bacilli, and is living vigorously to cele-
brate his 42d birthday anniversary
June %, 1886. But for the leanness
and fitness he can claim personal
credit.
Providence had nothing to do with
making him the streamlined King Of a
streamlined age. He made himself
that way.
He could have made himself lean,
but not At; or fit, but not lean. Either
would have been easy, but both-this
was a problem. King Edwards prob
lem being woven into the universal
problem of maintaining the human
machine as an efficient instrument
into middle age and beyond. to stand
up to strains and stresses which stead
lily increase as the rhythm Of life
speeds up, the story bears telling.
GIimpses of Past.
There are three phases to it. But,
first, four f1ashbacks by way of preface.
The old French town Of Bethune in
May, 1915. I came out Of divisional
headquarters. The town seemed dead.
But just then footsteps clattered on
the cobbles. saw thin boy in baggy
Guards plus-fours, which did unkind
things to his bean-pole legs, emerge
from the chill mist. A tall Guards
sergeant walked PAGES in the rear.
I saluted. The tall escort glanced
sideways, and I could have sworn that
for f1eeting instant he invited the
sympathy of a fellow human whose
duty also called him forth at this
ghastly hour The Prince of Wales,
not long since arrived in the war zone,
was taking his morning constitutional
before the days routine began. Time:
5:55 am.
Sixteen years later. Eleven Of us for
dinner. Our host warned us that the
Prince might be tired. He had had a
week of heavy public engagements,
taking him all over the country, and
this day he had dashed 150 miles
north to hunt-he needed the exer-
cise-and he was dashing back to keep
his engagement to dine, and then go
on to see fight.
Banquet Turns Jolly.
We sat down rather in the mood Of
people invited to the bedside Of dis
tinguished convalescent. Inside 10
minutes, however, we were gay party.
The Prince was in high spirits. He
ate little, drew out his companions
even got Arnold Bennett to forget his
stammer and discourse on the beauties
of the soft-fronted dinner-shirt, ther
a novelty (the King always wears one
American fashion, with dinner clothes
now; but that time the man of letters
was dress jump ahead of royalty.
We arrived at the fight at 9:15. The
Prince took an expert interest in every
angle of the preliminary and the big
bout. We rose at 11:15. The Prince
asked his host to excuse him. He
would have liked to go on and sup;
but he had promised to put in an ap-
pearance at a charity ball. So on tc
the ball he went and danced till 2:15
am. Early next morning he caught
the northbound express; and at 3:3t
pm. he was descending coal mine.
Three men climb into the south
bound express. Two Of them look
and are-all in. Who wouldn't be
after four days tramping through mud
and slush in mining villages, talking to
miners and their wives, entering
miners cottages. lunching on biscuits
and cheese, dining in rough mining
town hotels? They sink back thank
fully in the cushions of their COM
partment and close their eyes-Sir
Godfrey Thomas, thin, fit, 40, the
Prince of Wales private secretary and
state department, and Sir Noel Curtis
Bennett, 6-foot, A, athletic. boss of all
Britain's official sports activities and
picked for his sports contacts with the
people to take care of the Prince dur
ing that celebrated un-policed and un-
escorted 1926 tour Of the coal fields
where the miners we're on strike and
Bolshevik agents had been busy.
Writes Out Report.
In his compartment next door sits
the third of the trio, the Prince Of
Wales, very wide awake and still on the
job. He is tapping out four-pag
letter on the portable typewriter rest
ing on his knees. He had promised
Premier Baldwin a report and wished
to get it done right away, because he
had date to keep with his horses and
fox next day.
King George v is dead. The new
King marches through sleet and a
bitter wind with the funeral process
sion from Sandringham to the station
and from the London terminus tc
Westminster Abbey. He stands guard
at midnight on the last day of the
lying in state, marches behind his
fathers bier from Abbey to station
next morning, and again from Wind
sor station to the castle (an endur-
ance test, slow, funeral marching, and
he had in all a dozen miles of it.
A time of intense physical and
mental strain. In 10 days he has not
averaged five hours sleep night
and has been on the go all the time
His face shows the ravages Of fatigue
in deep lines and pouched eyes. But
those who have state business with
him record their astonishment to find
him equable. poised, accessible at al
hours-no Wallets Stalling ministers
and others with finger r-on-lip word of a
wornout King sleeping-and with un-
tagging brain. The people, too, see
sleep-starved man whose body seems
completely subservient to his will.
How does he do it? The answer at
one time was, mainly, riding and
squash rackets. But he rides little
now, and he has not played squash al
one Of his four London clubs in two
LII a