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A Letter of Resignation
96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
February 23, 2026
This delightful, nostalgic little play captures the psychological essence of Harold Macmillan, often portrayed as “the last Edwardian,” perfectly. We follow him one summer evening in Scotland as he received the resignation of his Secretary of State for War, John Profumo. Rather than dramatizing the sensational aspects of the scandal itself, Whitemore chose to create something more compelling: a meditation on leadership, loyalty, aging and decline.
Macmillan is portrayed not as a caricature of Edwardian hauteur but as a complex, cultivated man grappling with betrayal on multiple levels: personal, political and generational. He is dignified yet vulnerable, intellectually formidable yet increasingly isolated. The Scotland setting, removed from Westminster’s immediacy, heightens the sense of detachment. The crisis reaches him almost as an echo, reinforcing the impression of a leader already out of phase with the modern world. Macmillan’s tragedy lies not simply in political damage control, but in recognising that the moral grammar of his generation no longer functions.
While the dialogue provided a fair share of laughter as well as an insight into the way the government machine works, the play itself remains a tragedy — the downfall of an old, lonely man who finds himself entrapped in a world he no longer recognises.
This is the Macmillan behind the well known mask of unflappability… and for some reason these lines hit me the hardest:
“I don't have that sort of courage. I need religion. I need its strength, I need its comfort. Without God, I would feel very alone. I know non-believers say religion provides nothing more than easy comfort. Well, what's wrong with that?“
“What a capricious thing it is. Life, fate, chance, whatever. You think your foothold is secure, and then, whoops, over you go, tripped up yet again.”
Macmillan is portrayed not as a caricature of Edwardian hauteur but as a complex, cultivated man grappling with betrayal on multiple levels: personal, political and generational. He is dignified yet vulnerable, intellectually formidable yet increasingly isolated. The Scotland setting, removed from Westminster’s immediacy, heightens the sense of detachment. The crisis reaches him almost as an echo, reinforcing the impression of a leader already out of phase with the modern world. Macmillan’s tragedy lies not simply in political damage control, but in recognising that the moral grammar of his generation no longer functions.
While the dialogue provided a fair share of laughter as well as an insight into the way the government machine works, the play itself remains a tragedy — the downfall of an old, lonely man who finds himself entrapped in a world he no longer recognises.
This is the Macmillan behind the well known mask of unflappability… and for some reason these lines hit me the hardest:
“I don't have that sort of courage. I need religion. I need its strength, I need its comfort. Without God, I would feel very alone. I know non-believers say religion provides nothing more than easy comfort. Well, what's wrong with that?“
“What a capricious thing it is. Life, fate, chance, whatever. You think your foothold is secure, and then, whoops, over you go, tripped up yet again.”
November 27, 2014
What a wonderfully observed study in regret, heartbreak and loyalty is this play, centered around the fallout of the Profumo affair to Harold McMillan's tenure as Prime Minister. The writer spends much time developing the idea of McMillan as an increasingly irrelevant figure to the rising tide of societal changes wrought by the 1960's... And as an audience member/reader, one feels that this is something of a loss. Great dialogue, witty, warm, deeply profound and staggeringly sad.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews