Late 1936, Stepney
Leonard stood in the small, dimly lit bathroom, the cold tiles beneath his bare feet sending a slight shiver up his spine. He stared into the mirror, studying the reflection that gazed back at him. His black hair, kept short out of practicality, framed a face that had grown more defined over the past year, though still marked by the softness of youth. His blue eyes, a deeper shade than those of his family, seemed to hold a quiet intensity, a reflection of the thoughts he rarely shared with others.
He frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side as he assessed his appearance. At eight years old, he was still small for his age, his growth slower than he’d hoped. His shoulders were narrow, and though he had grown some over the past year, it wasn’t nearly as much as he would have liked. He sighed, feeling a pang of disappointment as he thought about his mother, who wasn’t particularly tall herself. Would he even overtake her? And as for his father, Edward Harrington had never been a tall man, even before the injury.
Leonard ran a hand through his hair, the texture soft under his fingers. He knew that wishing for height wouldn’t make it happen any faster, but he couldn’t help but hope for a growth spurt soon. His gaze drifted lower, taking in the rest of his reflection. He wasn’t strong, not in the physical sense, but there was a resilience there, a quiet strength that had developed over the years. He had learned to endure, to adapt, and most importantly, to control his emotions. The night terrors that once plagued him had all but disappeared, leaving behind only the occasional memory that surfaced when he was least expecting it.
When those memories did come, he no longer pushed them away in fear. Instead, he had learned to still his mind, letting the images and sensations pass over him like a film playing in the background. He recognized what could have been—what once was—but he knew that dwelling on the past wouldn’t change the present.
He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs before slowly exhaling. The reflection in the mirror was familiar, but it also held a sense of distance, as if he was looking at someone else, a boy who had seen and endured more than most his age. Leonard allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the journey he had taken to reach this point, and the journey that still lay ahead.
With one last glance at the mirror, Leonard turned away, ready to face whatever the day would bring. As Leonard stepped out of the bathroom, the reality of the morning settled over him like a familiar weight. The flat was quiet, but not peacefully so. There was an underlying tension that seemed to cling to the walls.
His father’s injury had been the turning point. It happened just over six months ago, when he had been working a shift at the docks. A crate, improperly secured, had slipped from its chains and crashed down onto his leg. The injury was severe—crushing bone and muscle beyond easy repair. The doctors had done what they could, but his father had never fully recovered. The man was now lame, barely able to move without assistance. The injury had taken more than his mobility; it had taken his pride, his sense of purpose, leaving behind a hollow shell.
Leonard paused in the hallway, listening to the low murmur of his father’s voice coming from the kitchen. It was unintelligible, a slurred mix of words that didn’t quite form sentences. His father spoke often like this now, especially in the mornings after a night spent drowning his pain in alcohol. Leonard winced at the sound, a mix of pity and frustration bubbling up inside him. He wanted to feel sympathy, but it was hard when his father had become so distant, so unrecognizable.
As he walked toward the kitchen to grab his schoolbag, he caught a glimpse of his mother. She stood by the sink, her back turned to him as she scrubbed at a pot with a mechanical vigor that spoke of someone trying to keep their mind occupied. Leonard noticed the redness around her eyes, the way they were swollen as if she’d been crying.
He knew better than to say anything. His mother had always been the strong one, the anchor that kept their family from drifting apart. But even anchors could erode under the relentless pressure of the waves. Instead of speaking, Leonard simply slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, gave her a silent nod she didn’t see, and left the house.
The morning air was cool and crisp as Leonard stepped outside, the street still waking up around him. He walked with a measured pace, his thoughts drifting back to the events of the past year. The injury had forced his father out of work, draining what little savings they had managed to rebuild. Now, their situation was more precarious than ever, with every day feeling like a balancing act on the edge of a knife.
As Leonard rounded the corner, he passed by a newspaper stand. The morning editions were already on display, their bold headlines shouting out the latest news. One headline caught Leonard’s eye:
"WILL THE KING REALLY GIVE UP THE CROWN? ABDICATION LOOMS AS AMERICAN DIVORCÉE SCANDAL ROCKS THE EMPIRE."
The headline was accompanied by a photograph of King Edward VIII, looking pensive and stern, next to a smaller image of Wallis Simpson, the American socialite who had captivated the King and the nation alike. Leonard paused, curiosity getting the better of him, and leaned in to read more of the text beneath the headline.
"Speculation grows as His Majesty, King Edward VIII, faces increasing pressure from the government and the Church to choose between the throne and his relationship with Mrs. Wallis Simpson, a twice-divorced American woman. With the constitutional crisis reaching a fever pitch, the fate of the British monarchy hangs in the balance..."
Leonard’s eyes skimmed over the words, absorbing the gravity of the situation. He knew enough from the hushed conversations he’d overheard at home and at school to understand that this was a big deal—a potential turning point for the country.
Before he could read further, the newspaper vendor—a gruff man with a permanent scowl etched into his face—noticed Leonard lingering by the stand. “Oi! If you’re old enough to read, you’re old enough to pay!” he barked, waving Leonard away with a dismissive hand.
Leonard stepped back, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He muttered an apology and quickly walked away, the headline still echoing in his mind. The idea of a king giving up everything for love—or perhaps obsession—seemed both romantic and foolish to Leonard, especially in a world where so many people, like his family, were struggling just to get by.
Leonard continued his walk to school, his thoughts turning to Charlie. There had been a time when Charlie was his closest friend, someone he could rely on for companionship and support. But that time felt like a distant memory now. Over the past year, Charlie had changed—or maybe Leonard had, and that’s why Charlie’s true nature had become so painfully clear.
The shift had started when Henry left. Henry had been the glue that held their little group together, the one who could always find common ground between Leonard and Charlie, even when tensions arose. But after Henry’s mother remarried and they moved to another part of London, that glue was lost. Without Henry’s steadying influence, Leonard began to see Charlie for who he really was—someone who found strength not in kindness or loyalty, but in belittling others.
Without Henry around, Charlie gravitated toward Billy Cray, the school bully who had once targeted them both relentlessly. It wasn’t long before Leonard started noticing Charlie standing with Billy more often, laughing at the cruel jokes and even joining in on the taunts. Charlie had become someone Leonard could no longer respect, let alone consider a friend worth saving. He had started to bully other children, especially the Jewish ones, parroting the same hateful words he heard at home or in the streets. At first, Leonard had tried to stand up to Charlie, to interfere whenever he saw or heard someone using derogatory words. He had felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, knowing what horrors a few years were just away in Europe. But his efforts had been met with mockery and indifference, not just from Charlie, but from Billy and the other boys too. The bullying wouldn’t cease, and the teachers—those who should have put a stop to it—didn’t seem to care. Some even encouraged it in subtle, insidious ways.
The guilt gnawed at Leonard, a constant companion he couldn’t shake. He hated himself for giving up, for no longer trying to defend those who needed it most. But what could he do? He was only nine years old, and the truth was, he felt powerless. Truly powerless. So, he kept his head down, spoke only when spoken to, and tried to avoid drawing attention to himself. It was safer that way, even if it left him feeling like a coward.
As he approached the school, Leonard’s thoughts turned to two of his classmates, David Cohen and Sarah Levy, both Jewish children who had borne the brunt of Charlie’s and others’ cruelty. David was a quiet boy with curly dark hair and round glasses that always seemed slightly askew. He was intelligent—brilliant, even—often finishing his work before anyone else in the class. But his intelligence only made him a bigger target. The other boys, Charlie included, would taunt him with slurs, calling him a “Christ-killer” or “dirty Jew,” and sometimes they’d knock his books out of his hands or shove him into the wall as they passed.
Sarah was a slight girl with long, dark hair that she wore in braids, and big brown eyes that were always alert, as if she were constantly on the lookout for danger. She was soft-spoken and kept to herself, but she had a quiet strength about her. Still, that didn’t stop the other girls from whispering behind her back, making snide comments about her appearance or the way she dressed. Sometimes, they’d spread rumours, accusing her of things she hadn’t done, just to see her squirm under the teacher’s disapproving gaze.
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Leonard remembered a particular incident from just a few weeks ago. Mr. Fenton, their history teacher, had been going on about the greatness of the British Empire, emphasizing the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race in a way that made Leonard’s skin crawl. At one point, Mr. Fenton had turned to David, singling him out in front of the entire class.
“Cohen,” Mr. Fenton had said, his voice dripping with disdain, “perhaps you could enlighten us on why your people have always been such troublemakers throughout history. After all, wasn’t it your lot who crucified our Lord?”
The class had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, all eyes on David, who had paled under the weight of the accusation. Leonard had felt a burning anger in his chest, but he hadn’t known what to do. What could he do? Speaking out against Mr. Fenton would have been futile. So, he’d stayed silent, hating himself for it, and watched as David stammered through an answer, trying to defend himself against the teacher’s prejudiced attack.
Sarah, too, had faced Mr. Fenton’s wrath. During a geography lesson, she had been asked to recite the names of the British colonies, but when she hesitated for just a moment, Mr. Fenton had sneered at her. “Perhaps if you spent less time in your little synagogue and more time studying, you’d know the answers, Levy,” he had said, his tone making it clear that he considered her faith and her people inferior.
Leonard had seen the hurt in Sarah’s eyes, but she hadn’t cried. She never cried, at least not where anyone could see. She’d simply straightened her back, recited the names correctly, and then sat down, her face a mask of determination.
As Leonard walked into the schoolyard, he spotted David and Sarah standing together near the entrance, their heads bent close in conversation. They were outcasts in a way that Leonard understood all too well, though their burden was even heavier. He thought about approaching them, about offering some kind of comfort or solidarity, but he hesitated. What could he say that would make a difference?
Instead, he offered them a small smile as he passed, hoping it might convey a message of support. But David and Sarah didn’t acknowledge it; their eyes remained fixed on the ground, their expressions distant and withdrawn. Leonard’s smile faltered as he walked on, blending into the crowd of children filing into the school, his heart heavy with the knowledge that sometimes, the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.
The remainder of 1936 passed in a blur for Leonard, marked by the same routine of school, the library, and home. The bullying persisted, the tension at school and in the streets simmering just beneath the surface. Leonard kept his head down, focused on his studies and the solace he found in books. The world outside was growing increasingly unpredictable, but Leonard clung to the small certainties in his life—the books he borrowed from the library, the brief moments of peace in the quiet corners of his mind.
December arrived, bringing with it a biting cold that seeped into every corner of their small flat. Leonard had just returned from the library one evening, the weight of a new book in his bag a comforting presence against his side. As he entered the flat, the familiar creak of the door and the scent of something cooking greeted him, but there was a tension in the air that made him pause.
The radio was on, the static crackling faintly as it struggled to maintain a clear signal. Leonard heard a voice coming through the speaker—calm, measured, but with an undercurrent of disbelief. He recognized the voice of the BBC announcer, a familiar presence in their home.
“And now, a momentous announcement from His Majesty King Edward VIII,” the announcer said, his tone grave. “It is with great regret that we relay the following message, delivered just moments ago…”
Leonard moved closer, his heart pounding as the voice of King Edward VIII filled the room. The king’s voice, though steady, carried a weight of emotion that Leonard had rarely heard in the carefully measured tones of royalty.
"At long last, I am able to say a few words of my own. I have never wanted to withhold anything, but until now, it has not been constitutionally possible for me to speak." The king paused, and Leonard could almost picture the scene—a man burdened by the weight of a decision that would change the course of history.
"I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as King as I would wish to do without the help and support of the woman I love." The words hung in the air, heavy with finality.
The announcer’s voice returned, providing the commentary that Leonard had grown accustomed to hearing. “With these words, His Majesty has made the decision to abdicate the throne, an unprecedented event in our nation’s history. The Duke of York, Prince Albert, is expected to succeed as King George VI.”
Leonard stood frozen, the gravity of the moment sinking in. He had heard the rumors, of course—everyone had—but to hear the king himself announce his abdication was something else entirely. It felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet, as though the very foundation of the world he knew was being upended.
The sound of chairs scraping against the kitchen floor brought Leonard back to the present. He slipped out of the small entryway and into the kitchen, where his family was gathered around the table. His father, Edward, was slumped in his chair, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey beside him. His mother, Margaret, stood at the stove, her back tense as she stirred the pot of stew. Beatrice and Thomas were seated as well, their faces a mix of shock and confusion.
“King gone,” His father muttered, his words slurred but still understandable. “Walked away… for a woman… ridiculous.”
Margaret turned; her eyes narrowed in a rare display of anger. “He did what he felt was right, Edward. If he couldn’t serve the country and be with the woman he loved, then he had to make a choice.”
“Love?” Edward scoffed, the sound harsh and broken. “Love… ain’t worth losin’ a throne over. Man’s a fool, I say.”
Beatrice, who had been silent up until now, spoke up, her voice hesitant. “But isn’t it… isn’t it romantic, in a way? Giving up everything for love?”
Thomas shook his head, his tone more pragmatic. “Romantic or not, it’s left the country in a mess. People won’t know what to think—first time in history a king’s walked away like this.”
Margaret sighed, turning back to the stove. “It’s true, it’s a mess. But maybe it’s for the best. If he couldn’t be the king we needed, then maybe his brother will do a better job.”
Leonard watched the exchange, his eyes flicking between his family members.
“Man like him,” Edward continued, his voice thick with alcohol and resentment, “ain’t fit to lead. Better he’s gone, but what’s it say about us, eh? About this country? King givin’ up his crown… like it’s nothin’. What’s next?”
There was a silence in the room, the weight of Edward’s words hanging heavy in the air. Leonard wanted to say something, to offer his own thoughts, but he knew better than to speak when his father was in this mood. Instead, he sat quietly, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The world was changing, and it felt as though nothing was certain anymore.
The conversation drifted to other topics, but the tension remained. Leonard’s thoughts kept returning to the king’s speech, the finality of his words.
___
The months following King Edward VIII's abdication were marked by a sense of unease, a collective holding of breath as the country adjusted to the idea of a new monarch. May 12, 1937, arrived with little fanfare in the Harrington household, though the rest of London seemed determined to celebrate the coronation of King George VI with as much enthusiasm as they could muster.
Outside, the streets were festooned with Union Jack flags, and there was a festive air about the city. But inside the Harrington flat, the mood was subdued. The family gathered around the radio in the small, dimly lit living room, the weight of the past year still pressing heavily on them.
The familiar crackle of the BBC radio filled the room as the announcer’s voice broke through the static. This time, the tone was one of solemnity and reverence, befitting the occasion.
"And now, we bring you the coronation ceremony of His Majesty King George VI, taking place at Westminster Abbey. The King, resplendent in his robes of state, has just entered the Abbey, accompanied by the Queen Consort, Elizabeth, and members of the royal family. The Abbey itself is filled with the great and the good of the empire, gathered to witness this historic moment."
The family sat in silence, listening as the ceremony was described in detail. They heard about the King’s procession down the nave, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s prayer, and the moment when the crown was placed upon the King’s head, marking the official beginning of his reign.
"The Crown of St. Edward, symbol of sovereignty, has been placed upon the head of King George VI. The Abbey echoes with the solemn vows exchanged, and now, as the King rises, the congregation stands as one, pledging their loyalty to the new sovereign. Outside, the crowds have erupted into cheers, their voices joining in a chorus of jubilation that fills the streets of London."
The announcer’s voice, steady and respectful, continued to guide them through the ceremony, but in the Harrington home, the usual excitement that might accompany such an event was absent. There were no special foods prepared, no flags hanging from their windows. The flat, worn and tired, reflected the mood of its occupants—quiet, restrained, as if the family had little energy left to invest in the grand affairs of state.
Leonard glanced around the room at his family. His father, Edward, slumped in his chair, was uncharacteristically quiet, his usual bottle of whiskey conspicuously absent. His mother, Margaret, sat with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the radio but her mind clearly elsewhere. Thomas and Beatrice were seated side by side, listening intently, but even they seemed more subdued than usual, as if the weight of the past year had tempered their spirits.
Outside, the cheers of the crowds filtered through the open window, mingling with the commentary from the radio. The contrast between the celebration in the streets and the silence within their home was stark, almost jarring.
"The King and Queen Consort now depart the Abbey, greeted by the deafening cheers of the people. It is a moment of unity, of hope for the future, as the empire places its trust in the new monarch, King George VI, and his Queen, Elizabeth."
The family continued to listen in silence, their thoughts kept to themselves. The grandeur of the ceremony, the solemn vows, and the resounding cheers from the crowds seemed distant, almost unreal, compared to the reality of their lives. The radio, usually a source of lively debate or at least some commentary, offered only the dispassionate narration of the event.
Leonard sat quietly, absorbing the words and the atmosphere. The coronation, while important, felt like something that was happening to someone else, in another world far removed from the everyday struggles of his family. The cheers outside seemed hollow to him, a stark reminder of the gap between the lives of ordinary people and the pomp of the monarchy.
As the ceremony concluded and the national anthem played, the family remained still, each lost in their own thoughts. The radio fell silent, and after a moment, Margaret stood, moving quietly to turn it off.
“No need to keep it on,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Edward grunted in agreement, but said nothing more, his gaze distant. The children exchanged glances, unsure of what to say, if anything.
The day passed without much more discussion of the coronation. Life went on, as it always did, with chores to be done and worries to be faced.