From the diary of Sir Henry 'Chips' Channon:
6 February, 1952
An unbelieveable day began normally. That is, all my telephones buzzed, and I arranged my luncheon party, read my letters, chatted to Princess Olga on the house phone - and then soon after ten she walked into my room, followed by her son, Alexander. They looked gloomy, and she said simply: 'You may as well know at once, the King is dead', and then bursting into tears, added 'Poor Bertie'. Philip Hay had rung her a few minutes before, to break the news; the world did not yet know. It seems the Monarch was called at 7.15 this morning as usual by his valet, who found him dead. Doubtless coronory thrombosis. The Royal demise was kept secret for a few frantic hours whilst messages were sent to Princess Elizabeth in Kenya, and to Queen Mary. Later brief announcements were made over the wireless and I heard the mid-day one. .... I rang the House of Commons to ask what was happening to be told that 'Her Majesty's wishes are not yet known'. Le roi est mort, vive la reine.
6 February, 1952
An unbelieveable day began normally. That is, all my telephones buzzed, and I arranged my luncheon party, read my letters, chatted to Princess Olga on the house phone - and then soon after ten she walked into my room, followed by her son, Alexander. They looked gloomy, and she said simply: 'You may as well know at once, the King is dead', and then bursting into tears, added 'Poor Bertie'. Philip Hay had rung her a few minutes before, to break the news; the world did not yet know. It seems the Monarch was called at 7.15 this morning as usual by his valet, who found him dead. Doubtless coronory thrombosis. The Royal demise was kept secret for a few frantic hours whilst messages were sent to Princess Elizabeth in Kenya, and to Queen Mary. Later brief announcements were made over the wireless and I heard the mid-day one. .... I rang the House of Commons to ask what was happening to be told that 'Her Majesty's wishes are not yet known'. Le roi est mort, vive la reine.
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