S5 Ep3: The Duke of Kent Part One: The Crash
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How many inexperienced investigators does it take to figure out what happened? And how many rumors does it take to make the whole thing so shrouded in mystery that it all just fades away?

Welcome to Strange and Unexplained with me, Daisy Egan. I've never really been a fan of tales from the monarchy. You can keep your shows about the Tudors and Anne Bolin. I'll take Zombies or Schitt's Creek instead. To me, the monarchy has always seemed like a gilded pyramid scheme, and frankly, I couldn't care less about them. I'd much rather a polygamous matriarchy than a stuffy old monarchy any day.

But today's story is an exception. Today, we'll learn about some naughty members of the British royal family and the controversy around the spectacular death of one of them. ♪

A great-grandson of Queen Victoria, who was born fifth in line to the English throne, was in a pretty cushy position, if you ask me. All that duty and decorum stuff was okay with his two older brothers, who were, let's face it, bound by all that royal pomp and pageantry that looked so good if you're looking in. Castles, footmen, someone to put your toothpaste on your toothbrush and all, but might just be suffocating if you're on the inside looking out.

especially if your position in line to the throne is impossibly far back.

The fifth in line, cough-cough Prince Andrew, seems to think they can do just whatever they please and get away with it. Actually, I'm not talking about Prince Andrew, that fucking guy. I'm talking about Prince George, Duke of Kent. The Duke you've never heard of. At least, I hadn't heard of him because his brothers, as you'll see, had created and lived through a lot of headline-grabbing times, and so, well, he kinda dropped out of history.

But he's fascinating, too. I figured it was time to catch up to speed on him. George was born in 1902 when his parents were the prince and princess of Wales. That is, his father was first in line to be the next king. His younger brother, John, sadly died at the age of 13, which meant that George, the third-born son, was the family's youngest member, the baby, if you will.

If this helps with that family tree confusion, George, the one who would not ascend to the throne, was a first cousin to both the late Queen Elizabeth II and her late husband, the Duke of Edinburgh. I don't know why I thought that might clear up any confusion. I'm still royally confused. Ha ha. Ha ha. But whatever, he was in the mix. Also, that tree is more like a wreath.

He was, as most people privately knew, the brightest of the boys in that line, but was not on board when his father told him he was going to the junior naval college when he had just finished primary school. Prince George was, his father decided, to follow his predecessors and be an officer in the Royal Navy. Problem was, and this would be discovered a few years later when he was actually put on a boat, he was frightfully seasick.

Even Dad could see that it wasn't working out. So the prince, who was clearly not just the smartest, but also the best-looking of the brothers — his photographs remind me of a young Harry Connick Jr. — leaned into learning languages, literature, and art. The finer things, rather than, you know, the military things.

Now, doing the math, you can see that he turned 18 in 1920, a time when the Jazz Age hit the upper crust of London hard, and George and his older brother Edward did everything they could to embarrass the throne. They dated starlets and showgirls, they caroused until morning, they drank to excess.

And George, who was tall and hunky, decided that he liked men as much as he liked women, and spent the decade writing letters and giving pricey engraved gifts all around to his assorted lovers. Those, of course, had to be retrieved by the British intelligence services lest the royals be blackmailed, which George was once by a male sex worker he'd sent a cachet of love letters to, and that wasn't pretty.

Now, admittedly, a lot of what George, and indeed Edward, did escaped public notice because their Playboy hijinks went unreported by the British press for fear such frolicking would reflect badly on the monarchy. I know, hard to believe a newspaper would protect the powerful, but so it went. Back then, not now, of course.

Sometime during the 20s, his parents thought it best to have George roam the empire away from London. Maybe they thought he'd grow up. Nice thought. He instead rambled off to colonial Kenya, where a bunch of wild expatriate aristocrats and bon vivants had settled in a place they affectionately called Happy Valley. Ulf Aschen, the author of The Man Whom Women Loved, the title probably sounds better in Swedish, wrote about the small enclave of expats.

End quote.

It's here where Prince George met out-of-Africa's Karen Blixen, her husband Broar, and her lover Dennis Finch Hatton, as well as a lot of bored barons, British banking heiress Poppy Baring, to whom he supposedly proposed, a smattering of movie stars like Tallulah Bankhead and Gloria Swanson, the playwright Noel Coward, and the American banking heiress Kiki Preston.

It's suspected that Prince George slept with all of them, mostly casual flings, but occasionally a serious attachment. That was the case with Coward. They had an affair that lasted 19 years and included a run-in with the police once when they had both been dressed as women and the dangerous Kiki Preston.

Not to veer too much from where I'm really going into this episode, let me just say that Kiki was known to the Happy Valley set as the girl with the silver syringe because she was addicted to cocaine and heroin and offered anyone in her circle the delights she claimed were so transformative. It's said she'd shoot up anywhere, even while dancing. Conveniently, she always carried a syringe in her purse.

His being enamored with her led to Prince George's very severe addiction to cocaine and heroin. He is also alleged to have fathered a child with Preston. It is said she gave birth to the prince's son in Switzerland, who was quickly adopted by a wealthy Harper & Row publishing executive as their own.

To be transparent here, the history of all of this is a tad, well, opaque. The mother of that baby might instead have been a woman named Violet Evans, who was equally enamored with the prince and who came from equally wealthy beginnings and was said to have made that trip to Switzerland.

Both of those women would eventually die by suicide. Kiki in 1934, Violet in 1951. The Daily Express wrote in 2013 that Violet had never gotten over the grief of giving her child away. Regardless of who was his mother, that son, the one raised by the publishing heir and his wife, went on to marry Caroline Lee Beauvier, the younger sister of Jackie Kennedy.

It's hard to pin some of this illegitimacy down, but I think you get the drift. That is, the point of spelling all this out is to illustrate that George slept around, having fathered one and maybe two children while in Kenya. This is when, in 1929, Prince Edward came and got his brother, separated him from Kiki Preston, dragged him home, and got him off drugs, because this would not do.

Say what you will, but the monarch didn't need this shit. The bisexuality could be hidden. It was still very illegal in Britain for anyone to have sex with someone of the same gender. But the all-too-common and downright seedy behavior associated with hard drugs could not. You can't very well have a royal doing the 1920s equivalent of the Fenty Fold on the dais when the king is speaking, now can you?

And lo and behold, Prince George straightened up, which was extra good because at this point, his father was the king. Strangers, Three Day Blinds is back. For those of you who listen to my other podcast, STFU Nick Lachey, you know that my husband is the handiest of handymen. He's always fixing something.

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And then, on January 20th, 1936, his father died and his favorite brother, Edward, ascended to the throne.

I will skip the interim ugliness, you know, that Edward was in love with a once-divorced and still-married American socialite, Wallis Simpson, that followed. And because the British government, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the people who lived in the wide depth and breadth of the entire British Empire thought she was morally unfit to be queen, he abdicated in favor of the next in line, his brother, Albert.

You see, Prince Harry was not the first to leave royalty behind in favor of a beautiful and very unroyal-blooded famous American woman. Prince Albert became King George VI, and Prince George, the Duke of Kent, dropped back behind Albert's daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret. But he was still in line.

That pesky former King Edward, now demoted to being the Duke of Windsor, married Wallis, who then became the Duchess of Windsor. He sort of forgot that he was not still important and decided to muck about in global political affairs without asking the British Crown or British government their thoughts on the matter.

In October 1937, then the former Edward VII and his lovely American wife visited Nazi Germany and accepted an invitation to Hitler's mountain retreat where they dined with the Fuhrer and all his high-ranking minions, Joseph Goebbels, Hermann Goering, Joachim von Rippentrop, and architect Albert Speer. The Duchess took tea with Deputy Fuhrer Rudolf Hess.

Photographs taken at the time show the fallen king giving Hitler a full Nazi salute. With his oldest brother now a public embarrassment but not yet a traitor, Prince George, Duke of Kent, settled down to do the duty he was born to. The Second World War broke out in Europe in 1939, and duty took many forms.

The tangled bloodlines that crisscrossed the whole of Europe and Russia were troublesome for the British royal family. Everyone who had a royal title in the Western world was related by blood, which meant that in 1939, British royals were still pretty pissed about the 1918 murder of Russian Tsar Nicholas and his entire family by the Bolsheviks. Anyone who opposed the Bolsheviks and communists was their friend.

This, oddly enough, made them not so terribly upset about the rise of Adolf Hitler because he was virulently anti-communist and in his early days pretended a modicum of respect for the German monarchy, even suggesting he might restore them to power. The German monarchy was of course all cousins to Edward the Abdicator, Albert the King, and George the Duke.

War didn't seem like a good idea to them, so it proved as sticky wicket when Britain and France declared war on Germany after Hitler invaded Poland on September 1st. Not coincidentally, a few months earlier, Prince George had been promoted to Rear Admiral in the Royal Navy, Major General in the Army, and Air Vice Marshal in the Royal Air Force.

Quick now, this part gets nice and confusing because Albert the King was King George VI, but our story largely focuses on his little brother who was christened George. When the war started, King George, aka Brother Albert, acquiesced to his younger brother's desire to work with the RAF almost exclusively. It was, after all, where Brother George's interests lay.

George was also sent on an errand to Portugal for the new prime minister, Winston Churchill, to shore up support for the allies. He likewise came to the United States to oversee some air training work and met President Franklin D. Roosevelt, with whom he became great friends.

Meanwhile, the summer and fall of 1940 were occupied by the Battle of Britain as the entire country, especially London, was being bombed nightly while air battles raged over the English Channel as the Germans tried to wear down the British Air Force and the will of the people in advance of an invasion.

Prince George and Roosevelt remained in touch, so much so that when the third child of the Duke and Duchess of Kent was born in July 1942, FDR delightedly agreed to be the boy's godfather. Shortly thereafter, on August 25th, 1942, it appears as if the Duke was sent on yet another errand, though no one is actually clear who it was done for. Now, I'm going to pause here in case you are as confused as I was.

It might just be me, but there are too many men named George in this story. So, to be clear, Prince George, not to be confused with King George, was also the Duke of Kent. Don't ask me, I just work here. ♪

Okay, that Tuesday, August 25th, 1942, a new short Sunderland MK3 flying boat, coded DQM for Mother, rested in a narrow sea inlet called the Cromartie Fifth in Scotland.

The Sunderland MK3 was regularly used in wartime, with three gunners situated rear and aft that were equipped with 303 Browning machine guns and bombing capabilities for bombing the shit out of submarines with depth charges, like the kind used in Ant-Man and Wasp, starring two hotties, Paul Rudd and Evangeline Lilly. Now that is a sandwich I'd like to be the meat of, if you know what I mean.

This particular Sunderland MK3 was outfitted to carry VIPs around and over the North Atlantic. The crew that day had no idea what VIP they were toting or where they were toting him to. They were told to be at the aircraft at a certain time, and that was all they needed to know.

They arrived early to do their pre-flight checks and noticed that the sea was unusually calm. Not a good thing for flying a boat, as it needs some waves to help it leave the water's surface. And the clouds were very low and looked to be staying put. All this was not atypical of Scotland in August, but worth noting. ♪

Squadron Wing Commander Thomas Mosley had been at the morning briefing. Apparently, Mosley, who was both a pilot and a navigator, would be joining them on the trip, despite the fact that two other pilots had already been assigned flying duties on M for Mother. Why they thought they needed three pilots, no one knows. Also on board was a flight engineer, a novice navigator, as well as seven other wireless operators and those gunners.

The wireless operators would likely not have much to do that day except listen because the secret flight would be operating under radio silence. The number aboard would be 15. That was fine. It was a big plane.

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Technical aids on board for navigation included two compasses, one which was relatively new and was for distance reading so it didn't swing wildly as the plane flew through wind or maneuvers, but remained steady and thus easier to read. That compass was not in common use as of August 25, 1942. The other compass provided a true north reading, free of any mechanical or magnetic interference often given off by radio and radar equipment.

The most experienced pilot on the crew was Flight Lieutenant Frank Goyen, who had 1,000 hours of flying time. Also able to pilot the craft was the aforementioned wing commander and pilot officer Sidney Wood Smith, who was young and relatively inexperienced.

And the Duke, of course, was a pilot too, so they were covered. More than covered. Just in case all three of the first pilots died suddenly, the Duke could take over, I guess?

The full meteorological workup had been done and presented. A flight plan was formalized that kept the flying boat over water mostly, skirting the Scottish coast using a lighthouse as a navigational marker to head north toward Clithe Ness, another lighthouse, then to Dunbeath, where a large castle has stood watch over the sea since the 15th century.

A tight corner cut across the northern edge of Scotland. And then the plan called for an easy sprint northeast across the North Sea to Reykjavik, where they would offload the VIP, the Duke of Kent. After lunch, a small boat carrying His Royal Highness Prince George, a.k.a. the Duke of Kent, and three others assigned to him, approached the flying boat.

They clambered aboard. Everyone noticed that the Duke had an attaché case handcuffed to his right wrist. No one expressed surprise. The Prince was made comfortable and invited to tour the aircraft. An avid aviator himself, this was an opportunity for him to ask questions and appear congenial. Royals, you know, they're just like us.

Flight Sergeant Andrew Jack was in the rear gunner position. As he was closing the doors to his turret, he saw the Prince standing between two pilots, chatting. The seaplane took off from Invergordon in Scotland around 1.14 that afternoon in a northerly direction and soon enough climbed into the cloud layer that lay low over the rocky coast.

For half an hour, the four engines of the Sunderland flying boat could be heard aloft, but not seen, as the cloud obscured it, by people on the ground that were used to the sound. They thought there was something peculiar about this one, though, as it seemed to be heading inland over the craggy land that had narrow valleys and high cliffs. At 1.42, a few Scottish souls heard the sound of a thunderous crash.

Then they smelled acrid smoke and started to sort out who should get on a motorcycle and find the police, who should find a doctor, and who should go looking on foot for the wreckage and whatever or whoever had fallen from the sky. A search party was organized quickly by the Marquess of Titchfield, the son of the Duke of Portland, who happened to be at his father's estate very near where the plane went down.

The Marquess was at the time the chair of the Joint Intelligence Committee of the Chiefs of Staff, which is composed of the most senior military personnel in the British Armed Forces. So kind of a big deal. He was also a very good friend of the Duke of Kent. The searchers were pretty flummoxed by the terrain and the cloud cover. They soon split into two groups, and the group that did not include the Marquess found the wreckage still burning around 4 p.m.,

At a place called Eagle's Rock, they found this, as described by M.S. Morgan in his book, The Death of Prince George, Duke of Kent, 1942, A New Investigation to Find the Truth. Quote,

Here and there lay a few larger pieces such as the wing floats, the engines, sections of the wings, flaps and the hull, plus the detached large tail unit and the rear gun turret. This latter portion of the aircraft had been flung like a slingshot as the Sunderland tipped over in a forward somersault.

Although they could not see from ground level, the hull, the leading edge of the wings and the two wing floats, had left impressions in the soft earth before the aircraft disintegrated. This indicated that the aircraft was in level flight or gently decreasing in altitude when it struck the rising ground. Bodies lay all around and amongst the debris, some of which was still burning."

Finding no one alive, the search party decided to do nothing and departed. On their way back to the Duke of Portland's property, they came across two constables, Will Bethune and James Sutherland, who had heard the crash while fishing. When the law officers got there, Bethune noticed the fancy insignia and feared that the man in front of him who had clearly died of a massive head wound was the king.

On the dead man's left wrist, though, he found an identification bracelet of sorts. On his right, he saw the case with the Duke's monogram attached. He also saw what he told his son later were, quote, hundreds of Icelandic kroners flying through the air, end quote. The bills were in denominations of 100.

Bethune also said he noticed many pairs of white gloves, ladies' shoes, and a strong smell of perfume that seemed to overcome even the smell of smoke and burning fuel. The Duke's body, Bethune would later say, was 50 feet away from where the other pilots were found in the main debris field. The Duke's watch had stopped at 142. ♪

When we started writing our thoughts down on paper, it opened up endless possibilities. Ideas could grow beyond the borders of the mind. And it changed the world. Somewhere along the way, we lost touch with paper. Distracted by devices made for every purpose except for thinking and focus. On edge. Waiting for the next notification. But what if new technology didn't pull us away from paper, but brought us closer to it? Listen.

That's not paper. It's the sound of the new Remarkable Paper Pro, rewriting the future. A paper tablet with a true color ink display, gentle reading light, and unheard of tactility. With digital features for taking notes, thinking, and organizing. Without any distractions. Paper is about to change the world, again. Get your paper tablet at Remarkable.com today.

Off and on then through the late summer afternoon, others made their way to the crash site. Dr. John Kennedy, not to be confused with the president, John F. Kennedy, arrived to confirm that he was far too late to help anyone. He counted 11 bodies, with three others trapped under the burning wreckage. He said that the victims he could reasonably assess had all died from multiple injuries or burns.

Others would report going up there and hearing the faintest of cries from somewhere close, but when they called out, got no response. Bethune's son, aggravatingly also named George, has investigated the crash extensively and told author Morgan that the local people were all over the crash site, which was guarded only briefly and remained as it was after the bodies had been removed.

People could and did sift through the debris for souvenirs and treasures. The names of all those who surveyed the site before the military arrived to place a guard there were never noted, nor were they ever questioned. But more on that later. For now, the king and the duke's widow had to be told. It was wartime and this was supposed to be a secret mission and phones were scarce and nobody really knew whose job it was to do this onerous task.

Christopher Warwick, author of George and Marina, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, wrote that the king was eating dinner at Balmoral Castle with his wife when he was interrupted to take a call from the Secretary of State for Air who gave him the news. The Duchess of Kent was already in bed when she was told by her nanny. It was not until almost 10 at night, eight hours after the crash, when the Prime Minister was informed of the Duke's death.

The next morning, the families of all the crew members were also informed, this time by telegram. All, of course, were stunned and saddened. For the royal family, a man who stood very high in the monarchical chain had not been shot down but was the victim of bad luck.

He would be listed as a war casualty, the first man of British royal birth to die in active military service in 450 years, in what would become the second worst air disaster the country had ever witnessed.

So now, only two questions needed to be answered. What was he doing flying over treacherous Scottish cliffs a few miles inland from the coast at midday, carrying foreign currency and duty sworn to do something or meet someone, but who? And why did that plane go down? Those answers and the truly baffling investigation and conspiracy theories that followed, coming up next week.

Next time on Strange and Unexplained, The Duke of Kent Part 2, The Cover-Up.

Strange and Unexplained is a production of Three Goose Entertainment with help from Grab Bag Collab. This episode was written and researched by Amy Wilson and me, Daisy Egan. Sound design and engineering by Jeff Devine. Music by Epidemic Sound and Blue Dot Sessions. If you have an idea for an episode, head to our website, strangeandunexplainedpod.com and fill out the contact form. I will write back.

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When we started writing our thoughts down on paper, it opened up endless possibilities. Ideas could grow beyond the borders of the mind. And it changed the world. Somewhere along the way, we lost touch with paper. Distracted by devices made for every purpose except for thinking and focus. On edge. Waiting for the next notification. But what if new technology didn't pull us away from paper, but brought us closer to it? Listen.

That's not paper. It's the sound of the new Remarkable Paper Pro, rewriting the future. A paper tablet with a true color ink display, gentle reading light, and unheard of tactility. With digital features for taking notes, thinking, and organizing. Without any distractions. Paper is about to change the world. Again. Get your paper tablet at Remarkable.com today.