Down Constitution Hill

In Hyde Park last week Edward VIII presented new colors to six battalions of Guards' Regiments. Six weeks ahead of time the omniscient London Times described exactly what was going to happen:

"The King will ride in procession from Buckingham Palace, accompanied by an escort and will enter the arena of the parade at the southeast corner. . . .

"Drums will be piled on a platform which will have been erected in the centre of the parade. The new colors will be laid against the drums and the clergy will process out and take post on the west side of the platform, facing east. The King, who in the meanwhile will have dismounted, will also move out to the platform. . . . The consecration service (which will be amplified) will then proceed, after which His Majesty will address the troops. . . . His Majesty will then ride back to Buckingham Palace at the head of the troops who will march in column of fours. The price of reserved seats will be 15s. and of unreserved seats 2s."

Just as the Times foretold so it occurred last week. What the Times did not foresee was that just as King Edward at the head of his troops passed down Constitution Hill, a crank with a pistol threatened to end His Majesty's personal liberty.

The morning that Edward VIII gave new standards to his Guards, Jerome Bannigan, a clubfooted, baldish young Scot who prefers to be known as George Andrew McMahon, left his home in Paddington. Author of a series of articles entitled Unmoral Girls, Vacuum Cleaner Vampires, Is Nudism Immoral? Why I Shall Not Marry, Too Old at Thirty, McMahon ran an herb shop in Netting Hill at which he tended counter in a wing collar and a long frock coat. A violent opponent of capital punishment, he had written a series of abusive letters to Home Secretary Sir John Simon. At 9 o'clock that morning a pair of Scotland Yard detectives dropped around to talk to Herbalist McMahon, but he had already left the house.

About the same time Anthony Gordon Dick, a square-jawed furniture polish salesman telephoned his office that he would have to take half a day off to act as a special constable along the line of the King's march. He put on the flat-topped cap that distinguished Britain's part-time policemen from the helmeted professionals, and took up his post part way down Constitution Hill. He did not know it, but George Andrew McMahon was standing almost behind him.

Just after noon came the blare of band music and the clatter of hoofs. Down the street rode King Edward, his head almost extinguished under the enormous bearskin of the Grenadier Guards. Behind him clattered his equerry. Major Sir John ("Jackie") Renton Aird, and behind him the stolid heir to the throne, the Duke of York.

As they passed the Wellington Arch, there was a flurry in the crowd behind Constable Dick's shoulder. Something shiny flashed through the air, landed under King Edward's charger. The horse took a few skittish steps, then straightened out. The King never flinched. Equerry Sir John dropped back. A shiny revolver lay on the pavement. Over the heads of an excited crowd appeared the rumpled features of George Andrew McMahon, being hustled away by four policemen towards a patrol van. Special Constable Dick had looked up just in time to see the revolver wavering in the herbalist's hand. Instinctively he lashed out, knocking it into the street. Dazed Herbalist McMahon cried, "Good heavens, don't strangle me!'' as the police rushed him away.

With a few whispered words, Equerry Sir John told all this to the King. "And it was loaded too!" watchers heard him add.

"The damn fool!" said King Edward, and rode ahead.

Quickly the name and picture of Special Constable Arthur Gordon Dick flashed around the world. Cried the excited wife of this Empire Hero:

"I think it is marvelous! If I had done a thing like that I'd be tickled skinny, but my husband is very modest. . . . We couldn't keep the children out of our bedroom all night they were so excited. I had decided to tell them nothing about what their father did because I thought it would prevent their sleeping. But my husband's sister came and told them all about it. They got highly excited. The eldest, Audrey, who is 11, exclaimed, 'How wonderful!' "

At Bow Street Police Court Herbalist McMahon kept repeating dully that he never meant to shoot, that his gesture was merely a "protest." On the blotter he was charged with "unlawfully having in his possession a loaded Chicago Arms Co. revolver with intent to endanger life and property."

Lawyers discovered on the statute books a law which makes it a crime punishable by flogging and 20 years imprisonment to aim a gun at the Sovereign. It dates from the last of five attempts (in 1882) to assassinate Good Queen Victoria, has never been enforced. Wiseacres wagered that there would be no trial, that Herbalist McMahon would be slipped quietly into an asylum.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.