Man of principle whose opinion cast town into spotlight

Early the following morning, he abruptly departed his parish, at the north end of Darlington. He told no one of his mission, save his churchwarden, Edward Waddleton, whom he swore to secrecy. But all would soon be revealed by headlines around the world.

Mr Jardine was pretty well liked at St Paul's Church, although his congregation never quite knew what twist his eccentricity would take next. He had grown up in Liverpool, but had seriously disappointed his father when he had become an apprentice bookseller. His father wanted him to take to the stage.

Like his father, he was an agnostic. Until, at the age of 19, he went to a church, had a vision of Jesus Christ, converted immediately and became an evangelical street-preacher. His father was aghast. He threw him out of the family home and disowned him.

Young Robert wound up in Denaby Main, a pit village in Yorkshire which was regarded as "the worst village in England".

All the churches were closed and boarded up, but, within 12 months he had got one re-opened and recruited a thriving congregation. He had even survived two attempts on his life.

For the next three years of his life, he would become a missioner, working among fishermen on the Shetlands, before returning to Liverpool to found the Protestant Free Church. Once, when lecturing on why there should be a change to the King's accession oath, he was mobbed and police had to escort him to safety.

By the age of 42, he had calmed down a little and was training to be a priest in the Church of England.

And, in 1927, he arrived at St Paul's, in Darlington, his third parish.

For ten years he kept his head down, a little unorthodox perhaps, but indulging in nothing more eccentric than persuading an evangelical preacher to play the organ at one of the local cinemas.

But then came 1936 and all that. King Edward VIII was forced to abdicate because he wished to marry an American divorcee, Wallis Warfield (nee Simpson). By 1937, the ex-king had wound up in France, at Chateau de Cande, near Tours, where he was planning a civil marriage ceremony. He would have dearly liked a religious ceremony, but no Church of England vicar could be found who was prepared to defy the church's teaching against divorce.

But then Mr Jardine disappeared from Darlington on the Monday. On the Wednesday, the Duke of Windsor's officials issued an extraordinary statement: "A civil ceremony, according to the laws of France, will be followed by a religious service of the Church of England, which will be conducted by the Rev R Anderson Jardine, vicar of St Paul's, Darlington. The vicar is already at the Chateau."

The parish was agog. Darlington was agog, indeed the whole country - and quite probably the world - was agog. It turned out that the previous week, Mr Jardine had written to the chateau, offering Edward his best wishes and adding a postscript that he would be prepared to conduct the ceremony. The duke's people had immediately telegraphed him back and, having completed his parish duties on the Sunday, he and his wife, Maud, had left for France early on the Monday.

Said the now-defunct Evening Despatch: "The news has come as a complete surprise to Darlington people. Mr Jardine has been in Darlington for ten years, and is well-known for his unusual views."

IN this case, Mr Jardine's unusual view was that no one should be denied a blessing before God - but the Bishop of Fulham, who was in charge of Church of England affairs on the continent, sent Mr Jardine a furious telegram.

Mr Jardine later explained his decision: "I would rather die than see one whom I respect and admire so deeply married outside the Church."

And so, on Thursday, June 3, 1937, the service went ahead. "When the Rev Anderson Jardine said: 'Edward Albert, will you take this woman to be thy wedded wife?', the duke replied in a clear voice: 'I will'," reported the Despatch. "The response of the duchess was soft and low.

"During the religious ceremony, the duke answered the questions put by the vicar in firm, clear tones, but was obviously deeply moved. There were tears in his eyes and his hand shook as he placed the ring on the bride's finger. Once or twice the bride, who was radiantly happy, placed an encouraging hand upon his arm, as if to help him to retain his composure."

At the reception: "Mr Jardine, with a glass of champagne in his hands, smiled his appreciation as he received the congratulations of the guests."

The vicar left the chateau late on Thursday evening. "As the car taking me back to my hotel moved off from the chateau, I saw the duke leaning over a bannister and he shouted: 'Goodbye, Jardine'," the vicar later said.

He spent the Friday driving back to Darlington, where he married George Gamble, a coach painter of Cross Street, and Doris Haylett, 22, of West Auckland Road, on the Saturday.

"Remarkable scenes at a Darlington Wedding," ran the Despatch's front page headline, as 700 people crammed into the church. Many were newspapermen from around the world; hundreds more were outside.

Mr Jardine finished the service by telling the happy couple: "I shall now put this book away and it will not be used any more after today. You have had exactly the same service, word for word, as the duke and duchess at the chateau."

He gave them a piece of wedding cake that the duchess had given him, and then retired to his vicarage next door, to answer some of the 1,000 letters and telegrams that had already arrived (all but four were supportive).

But Mr Jardine was not going to slip quietly out of the limelight. Twelve days later, he announced he was resigning, and a couple of days later he, his wife and son left for America on the Queen Mary. He was embarking on a US lecture tour, organised by an agency called Radio Features.

He was now billed as "the duke's vicar", and the tour was highly controversial - American bishops boycotted him and he was accused of capitalising on his fame in the most mercenary way.

Mr Jardine returned to Darlington for the last time in September 1937 to clear his things from the vicarage, preach a final sermon and try to clear his name. He said: "People thought I was commercialising the Windsor incident. I was doing nothing of the kind. It was suggested that I believe in divorce. I don't."

He left Darlington saying: "I can say to the councillors of this town that they have never had a better publicity agent than myself."

For the next 12 years, he was Dean of the Brenham Bible Institute, in Texas. In March, 1950, he was in England briefly on his way to take up a post as Bishop of the Episcopal Church in South Africa when he died, aged 72, at his daughter's home, in Bedford.

And so here endeth the story of the clergyman from Darlington who catapulted himself to international fame, in what he called "the greatest romance that has ever taken place".

l Echo Memories believes that Doris Haylett, who became a Gamble in 1937 thanks to her marriage, died in 1997.