I have gained access to some of Her Majesty's prisons more easily than I got into the Bodleian Library, writes George Frew.

First, you are supposed to produce a letter of some kind, or some ID. Then you are ushered forward where Helen the admin lady takes the form you have filled in, along with your ID and asks you some questions.

She then focuses a hi-tech camera on you and your face appears on her computer screen. In a second, your picture appears. Helen takes one look at mine and says, "Ah yes. That's the gentleman of the Press look."

She then asks me to recite the Bodleian Promise aloud to her. Essentially, I have to agree to handle the library's property with due consideration and proper care and must swear not to eat, drink, smoke or "kindle fire" within its ancient portals. I agree that I will not attempt any of these activities and Helen asks me if I'd like to become a Bodleian Reader for a day.

I agree that this will be sufficient and she asks me for £3. At the other end of the scale, I could have paid eighty quid and been a Reader for four years. Alas, gentlemen of the Press do not get much time to indulge in academic research.

Clutching my passport, the stage was set for a perusal of history - the release of letters from the archive of Walter Monckton, King Edward VIII's lawyer.

The correspondence was expected to reveal the role played by the Queen Mother in the abdication crisis that brought her husband, King George VI, to the throne in 1936.

Would it be media fireworks or merely a damp squib? The anticipated media feeding frenzy was due to start at 8.30 yesterday morning. In the quad of the Bodleian Library, the Press had gathered to have a sniff at the latest batch of Sir Walter Monckton's personal papers. The 1st Viscount Monckton, as he was to become, was the attorney general to the then Prince of Wales from 1932 to 1936 and to the Duchy of Cornwall from 1936 to 1951.

He was also a close and respected confidant of Edward VIII, the man who wouldn't be king unless his divorcee bride could be queen.

So the release of these letters after 60 odd-years was anticipated by the media to contain some possible juicy titbits concerning the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Mr Hitler and his gang and prominent members of the Royal Family. There might even be a firework or two nestling in in one of the sturdy cardboard boxes, just waiting to explode into print or over the airwaves. The late Lord Mockton, a former undergraduate of Balliol, clearly felt that his correspondence had better be securely housed. Where better than the Bodleian Library at his beloved Oxford?

The papers were eventually deposited there in 1974 and gradually came into the public domain throughout the 1980's and 1990's - but at the request of Lord Mockton's literary executors, those relating to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were closed until the end of last year.

And yesterday morning, Vernon Bogdanor, Professor of Politics and Government at Oxford was handed an archive box and prepared to do verbal battle with the assembled journalists.

In the end, it was less of a media feeding frenzy and more of a genteel scrum, really. The hacks who turned up were not the usual foot-in-the-door snarling pack of Press hounds. Why, even Nicholas Witchel, that nice man from the BBC news was there.

And even Nicholas Witchel had to swear the Bodleian oath not to burn the books. The Library's administration receptionist smiled shyly as Nicholas attempted to introduce himself. "I know who you are," she said bashfully. Unfortunately, she didn't know who your reporter was and for a moment it looked like I would not be getting a peek at Lord Mockton's letters after all.

But then Jacob the Bodleian Press Officer intervened on my behalf and swore that he known me for years. We'd met five before, down in the quad.. By this time grumbles of discontent were to be heard in the Press ranks. The word was that there was nothing new and certainly nothing juicy in the soon to be unveiled letters. No news is bad news on these occasions.

"We were surprised at the level of media interest," admitted Press Officer Jacob. "Although obviously we knew it would be of interest because of the involvement of the Monarchy.But we haven't had this sort of coverage for some time. " Monckton was also the man who drafted Edward's abdication speech. While the Professor was doing his stuff for the telly, I discovered that the Bodleian was founded by Sir Thomas Bodley, another Oxford undergraduate and a shrewd cove to boot. In the 1500's, he was a diplomat at court and married a rich widow. When he retired, he came back to Oxford and founded the second largest library in the land.

"We never get rid of anything," said Helen. "There are 22 miles of books under your feet." Round at the New Bodleain, I flash my new Reader's card at the porter, who promptly informs me that it's no good. he points out that the date on it is wrong. So it is.

But Helen the admin lady comes to my rescue. She dashes off and switches the card. "If you write about this, you're dead," she smiles. Sorry, Helen.

It then transpires that we're in the wrong place anyway to speak to the Professor. There then follows the sight of a bunch of bemused hacks roaming around like baffled wildebeests.

The Professor, it seems, has been giving a Press briefing with no Press present. We eventually find him and settle down for a chat about The Letters. He immediately confirms that there are no startling revealtions awaiting us. "there is no evidence that the Duke of Windsor was engaged in treasonable activities," he says. Ho hum. Professor Bogdanor goes on to tell us about the "Tragic inevitablity" of Edward's abdication and that the holding back of the letters is an argument for a Freedom of Information Act.

"The story is known, but the letters are of enormous value to historians and the papers confirm that the coronation oath is a lifetime service. There will never be another abdication," the Professor adds confidently. "But history doesn't work in sensational documents - it fills in the pictures."

"As AJP Taylor used to say, there are no secrets."

Needless to say, this is not what we hacks want to hear. But we trydge back round to the New Bodleian to see the letters for ourselves anyway.

And reflect that by the time the last bundle in the Mockton collection is released in the year 2037, most of us will have gone to that great library in the sky anyway.

About Monckton

Walter Monckton had enormous sympathy for the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and of their predicament. But he was a member of the Establishment and, as such, he was aware that the couple would never be allowed to become king and queen.

Nevertheless, Monckton displayed enviable skill when it came to handling both sides. Edward preferred him to his private secretary, who had annoyed him by writing a stiff letter to him on the affair.

In fact, Monckton had the ability to get on with everyone, it seems. He was, according to Prof Vernon Bogdanor, "a classic fixer and concilliator. George VI's first act was to knight him and it was a considerable achivement that Monckton managed to get on with Edward, George VI and the Government as well.

"He was also a fine writer. His prose is clear and he wrote well, with authority."

His son, Gilbert, the second Viscount, is a former Army general.

Some of the key letters

1939, London: Monckton writes to the Queen, praising an unknown poet and complaining bitterly about a "loathsome" advertisement for lung tonic he has seen.

December 23, 1939: The Duke of Windsor writes to Monckton with news of the duke's confidante, socialite Fruity Metcalfe, has been a member of his staff whom he has sent on leave.

"The Christmas spirit is hard to catch this year and we must hope for better things in the new year," writes the duke.

December 29, 1939: The duke writes telling Monckton that "on past experience, we know we have to handle him (the author Compton MacKenzie) with caution.

"My patience is pretty much at an end and I don't feel like taking much more in this one-sided game."

The MacKenzie article is spiked by the New York Times.

January 2, 1940, London: Monckton writes to MacKenzie, assuring him that a piece he intends to write on the duke will not be the subject of a Defence Notice.

January 2, 1940: Wallis Simpson writes to Monckton, informing him that there is a lot of "cunning propaganda" going on and that she and the duke are praying for peace. She writes her initials on the envelope.

1940, Cap d'Antibes: The Duke of Windsor's private detective writes to Monckton about a man called Stan who has apparently been writing "grossly obscene" letters to the duke about a woman employed as a housekeeper. He asks Monckton to do something about the situation.

January, 1940, London: Monckton writes to the security forces about the likelihood of places visited by the king and queen being subjected to attacks from the air.

January 8, 1940, Isle of Barra: MacKenzie writes to tell Monckton that an effective way of dealing with Nazi propagandist Lord Haw-Haw must be found - especially since much of what the traitorous Englishman is saying in his broadcasts from Germany is "painfully true".

January, 8, 1940, London: Monckton writes to Wallis, telling her that he has managed to avoid being appointed Minister of Information.

Story date: Thursday 02 March

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.