Emperor William II (the Kaiser) in England in 1907, during which he gave an interview which resulted in the 'Daily Telegraph' affair of 1908 and almost led to his abdication. From 'Hampshire County Magazine', November 1983

Among the clouds on the horizon of Edwardian England, none loomed darker than the menace of imperial Germany and its enfant terrible, the Emperor William II. One of his most extraordinary diplomatic ventures had its origins in a few quiet weeks spent at Highcliffe Castle in Hampshire.

In November 1907, the Emperor paid a state visit to his uncle King Edward VII at Windsor. The King had never liked or trusted his impetuous nephew, nor forgiven him for his callous treatment of his parents, Edward's beloved sister Victoria and the ill-fated Emperor Frederick. In return William regarded his uncle as patronising and two-faced, and the visit nearly did not take place. A scandal at Berlin in which some of the Emperor's closest friends were accused by the press of indulgence in “unnatural vices” (homosexuality) had left him badly shaken, and he telegraphed to Windsor that he could not come because of influenza. Hours later the British Ambassador saw him riding at a gallop near his palace, and after this miraculous recovery he could hardly refuse the pressures on all sides to withdraw his cancellation.

Through his staff he insisted to King Edward that he would need a holiday afterwards, and wondered if he might stay somewhere privately on or near the Isle of Wight for a few days. The King was reluctant, fearing that if his nephew spent too long in England he would be bound to get into mischief, but nonetheless he helped supervise appropriate arrangements. He had in the past visited Highcliffe Castle, owned by Colonel Stuart-Wortley, and asked if he would be prepared to lease his home to the Emperor. The Colonel was related by marriage to the pro-German writer Houston Stewart Chamberlain, and though he did not know the Emperor personally he had once entertained his brother Prince Henry of Prussia at Malta. The family were aggrieved at the prevalent dislike of Germany in the British press, and willingly seized any chance to improve relations between the two countries. He accordingly notified the Foreign Office that he could not lease Highcliffe to His Imperial Majesty, but would gladly lend it provided he could remain there and act as host.

On 18 November the grand but inwardly tense German state visit at Windsor came to an end. “Thank God he's gone!” muttered the King as he watched the entourage depart, the Empress (who loathed everything and everyone English) and his large suite for Hampshire. Highcliffe Castle provided him with almost every comfort he could ask for; one of the best cooks in London was hired to produce his meals, and special postal facilities were arranged for him by the King. At regular intervals throughout his long life William confided that his sole wish was to live as an English country gentleman, and here he achieved his ambition albeit for a short while. On most mornings he and the Colonel strolled along the cliffs and in surrounding woodland, and in the afternoons they drove through the New Forest and made expeditions to such towns as Beaulieu, Ringwood, Wimborne, Bournemouth and Southampton. On Sundays the Emperor attended St. Mark's Church at Highcliffe.

As a rule his wish for privacy was respected, though there was often modest cheering in the streets when he was recognised. Children delighted him; he always had a packet of sweets to offer them, and on the second Saturday of his visit he invited them to a tea party at the Castle, personally cutting the six-foot-high cake which had been ordered specially. Away from the tension and scandal in Berlin, he enjoyed himself so much that he arranged to stay on for a third week.

Although nobody attempted to pry into German affairs while the Emperor was there, it was inevitable that press and public alike would be most interested in what he was -or might be -saying to his host. He turned down an American journalist's request for interview, but he talked with his customary lack of discretion throughout the three weeks, and the Colonel kept detailed notes of these daily conversations.

“I had frequent occasion to discuss the subjects agreed upon and conduct conversations as desired by the Chancellor,” the Emperor later recorded in his memoirs, Chancellor van Bülow being equally anxious for a rapprochement with Britain. He recalled the days of the Boer War when, so he said, Queen Victoria had appealed to him for advice; in agreement with his General Staff he consequently recommended a certain strategy. The Queen thanked him profusely, and in South Africa Lord Roberts took a very similar line of action. He gave his side of Bismarck's sudden resignation in 1890; the Chancellor had wanted to call out the troops to fire on socialist agitators, but as Emperor he could not incur the responsibility of shooting down his own people. He talked of eventual war between the United States and Japan, and had built up his fleet partly in order to “be ready to lend a helping hand” against the Yellow Peril if necessary, and partly to protect German trade interests. Despite his description of the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Fisher, as “a most dangerous and overrated man”, he was Britain's greatest friend abroad, the only man capable of holding back the anti-British sentiments of his subjects. Yet he was cruelly misunderstood and regarded as an arch-enemy.

He returned to Berlin for Christmas fully refreshed, not only by a most relaxing three weeks at Highcliffe, but also by the feeling that he had helped to restore Anglo-German harmony. A postcard to the Colonel, in English, read: “I am quite in love with your lovely place. Shall only be too glad to come again.” In the following autumn Brigadier-General Wortley, as he now was, was invited to attend army manoeuvres at Metz. He had yet more interesting conversations with the Emperor, and when Wortley returned to Amidst the ensuing pandemonium he England he wrote up the remarks in the tried to make amends by giving a brief form of “a supposed communique”, and sent him a copy suggesting that it might be used in order to secure a “fair hearing” for Germany in the press. To this the Emperor agreed.

On 28 October 1908 an anonymous article headed “The German Emperor and England - Personal Interview - Frank Statement of World Policy - Proofs of Friendship” appeared in ‘The Daily Telegraph’, virtually the only national newspaper then sympathetic to Germany. The main points of the Emperor’s conversation, in which he told the English they were “mad as March hares” were there for all the world to read. In Britain the journalist’s scoop was greeted with varying shades of amusement and horror, King Edward commenting that “of all the political gaffes which H.I.M. has made, this is the greatest”, but Germany was outraged. There, people considered that the Emperor had made himself look foolish (or been made to look foolish by conspiring ministers), and that he had betrayed national interests; German sympathies during the Boer War had been with South Africa. In Parliament there were strong demands for immediate limitations to their sovereign's prerogative.

Amidst the ensuing pandemonium he tried to make amends by giving a brief interview to an American reporter representing the ‘New York World’. The copy he sent back was considered too inflammatory for publication, but a short synopsis was printed informing its readers that the Emperor thought King Edward corrupt, his court rotten, and Anglo-German war inevitable. Shaken almost beyond endurance by the uproar, his continuing court scandals, and quarrels with his Chancellor, he suffered a nervous breakdown and threatened to abdicate. Not until the New Year did he recover his customary spirits.

He returned to Britain on two later occasions, for Edward VII's funeral in 1910 and for the unveiling of a statue to Queen Victoria the next year, during which he made a point of receiving the Brigadier-General in audience. Far from bearing him any grudge, both men were genuinely disappointed at the failure of their attempt to mend fences. Yet to the end of his reign in 1918, if not to his dying day in 1941, “those glorious days at Highcliffe” must have remained an acute embarrassment to His Imperial Majesty.