The Queen, page 10
As the Buthlays watched Archbishop of Canterbury Geoffrey Fisher pour water from the river Jordan over the infant’s head in the Music Room at Buckingham Palace, they were planning a stratagem that would rupture the lifelong relationship between Crawfie and Elizabeth.
The recently wed Mrs. Buthlay planned to write her memoirs about her time with the princesses and their parents. It was an incendiary idea especially as it soon became crystal clear that the royal family was wholly opposed to former or existing members of the royal household writing or talking about their experiences.
Even though her memoir, titled The Little Princesses, depicted Elizabeth and Margaret and their parents as a virtuous family who extolled wholesome fireside values of duty, love, and fidelity, their former governess was deemed to have betrayed their trust. In a letter sent to Mrs. Buthlay in April 1949, the queen made the family position clear: “I do feel most definitely, that you should not write and sign articles about the children, as people in positions of confidence with us must be utterly oyster.”3 That is to say, stay silent. When she defied her former employer and went ahead with a series of articles in the American magazine Ladies’ Home Journal and then published her memoir, the royal family was furious and shocked. Even though, to modern eyes, the book is anodyne and highly complimentary, Princess Margaret felt sick and her sister deeply upset at the perceived betrayal by their governess.
Elizabeth accused her of having “snaked”—betrayed the family—and advised any ladies-in-waiting who received letters from Mrs. Buthlay to hold them with a long pair of tongs. It was not what she wrote that concerned the royal family—the governess conjured up a world that was human yet dignified and where love, duty, and obedience were the currency of everyday life—but her deliberate act of disloyalty. In a six-page letter to Lady Nancy Astor the queen lamented that “our late and completely trusted governess” had “gone off her head.”4 The phrase to do a Crawfie was now used to describe any member of royal staff who subsequently sold stories about their royal service.
This unhappy episode vividly illustrated a royal family trait: At any sign of danger, the royal family immediately circled the wagons. Cross one and, as Crawfie found to her cost, cross them all. There was no going back, the onetime royal employee was cast into the outer darkness forever. Shortly after publication of The Little Princesses she vacated her “grace and favor” cottage inside the grounds of Kensington Palace and moved to Aberdeen just a few yards from the road to Balmoral. She longed for a reconciliation but it never came. In her later years she twice tried to take her own life. On one occasion she left a note that read: “The world has passed me by and I can’t bear those I love to pass me by on the road.”5
That said, the former governess should have anticipated the stern unforgiving reaction of the young woman whom she loved and adored like her own child. When Jock Colville, who was Elizabeth’s private secretary for two years before working for Winston Churchill, asked the princess if it were possible for him to write about his experiences in her office, he was given short shrift. His request cast a pall over the remaining months of his secondment to the royal family in 1949.
Just as Elizabeth was completely loyal to her family and the institution, so she expected complete loyalty from those she worked with. The long-term effect of the Crawfie affair was to place a distance between the princess and those in her employ, no matter how loyal. At times of crisis the royal family instinctively withdrew into themselves.
If the Crawford affair marked the end of childhood innocence, so the ailing king’s incapacity—he underwent a major spinal operation in March 1949 to restore the circulation to his legs—firmly propelled the twenty-two-year-old princess into the front line of the monarchy.
As he slowly recovered it was Princess Elizabeth who grew in stature, taking over many of his formal duties. In June 1949 the king was driven in an open carriage to watch the Trooping the Colour ceremony while his eldest daughter rode at the head of the horse parade.
Though endlessly concerned about her father, she was beginning to lead the life of an independent married woman, a process that accelerated when the couple moved from Buckingham Palace to Clarence House that summer.
Earlier in the year, when the princess celebrated her twenty-third birthday, she went to the fashionable Café de Paris on Coventry Street after watching Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh in School for Scandal. Then the glamorous thespians joined the royal party for an evening of tango, quick-step, and samba at a nightclub. At a ball held at Windsor Castle that summer the royal newlyweds stole the show. Chips Channon commented that they looked “like characters out of a fairy tale.”6 In July they arrived in fancy dress—Elizabeth as a Edwardian parlor maid and her husband as a waiter—for a summer party hosted by the American ambassador Lewis W. Douglas, whose daughter Sharman was a close friend of Princess Margaret. Determined to make an impact, Margaret came as a Parisian can-can girl complete with lace knickers and black stockings. In her thank-you note she told Douglas: “I was feeling so over-excited by the time our Can-Can was due that I could hardly breathe.” That didn’t stop the “ecstatic” royal from putting on her costume and repeating her routine for her mother when she got home to Buckingham Palace.7
Improvements in the king’s condition coincided with the end of Philip’s sojourn ashore. He was appointed first lieutenant and second-in-command of HMS Chequers, which was based in Malta, and he left for the island in October 1949. Elizabeth joined him a month later with the king’s blessing. Malta was a place that had become dear to George VI’s heart in the war. In April 1942 during the brutal siege of Malta he awarded the gallant defenders the George Cross and visited the island himself in June. The queen, who had a photograph of the king arriving at Malta on her bedroom dressing table, later recalled, “The King was so determined to get to Malta somehow, to try and convey his gratitude and admiration to the brave citizens for their courage and tenacity under endless attacks.”8
The feeling was entirely mutual as thousands thronged the streets to catch a glimpse of the king’s eldest daughter and their future queen. Such was the fascination with and adoration of Princess Elizabeth that Mabel Strickland, the owner of the Times of Malta, wrote an article asking the public to leave them alone on private occasions.
The princess, who arrived on her second wedding anniversary, November 20, hardly had a chance to join her husband to celebrate before she was plunged into a round of engagements. During her six-week stay she visited the island’s cathedrals, the national library, the dockyard, the Mediterranean fleet, an industrial exhibition, and numerous hospitals; she presided over the annual children’s toy tea at the palace and inaugurated a monument to the victims of two world wars.
For all the formality and protocol—Prime Minister Paul Boffa and the Archbishop Michael Gonzi were a seemingly constant presence—this was one of the happiest periods of Elizabeth’s life. Malta was where her second child, Princess Anne, was conceived and where she and her naval husband were able to spend time alone, exploring the fascinating coastline on a loaned Navy cruiser appropriately named the Eden. To keep seasickness at bay, she would take a bag of Maltese galletti, a wafer biscuit, which she nibbled on. She and the duke found time to go dancing aboard his ship at an officers’ mess shindig and at the Phoenicia hotel where the band leader dutifully played her favorite tune, “People Will Say We’re in Love” from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma.
She was also able to properly thank Philip’s fellow officer, Lieutenant Bill O’Brien, who had graciously given the prince his petrol ration coupons when they were stationed at Corsham together so that he could drive to London to court the princess.
He and his wife Rita were regular guests at the dinner parties hosted by the royal couple at Villa Guardamangia, a limestone villa with commanding views of Grand Harbor. The current occupants, Lord Louis and Edwina Mountbatten, moved rooms in the rambling establishment in order to give the royal couple the best suites in the house.
Another fixture in Elizabeth’s life was Mabel Strickland, the colorful, controversial character who ran the Times of Malta. She brought the princess into her circle and helped her with guest lists for social events. When the royal couple finally moved into Villa Guardamangia, Mabel attended their first dinner party. Fellow guest Vice Admiral Guy Grantham, who eventually became the governor of Malta, recalled: “We had a local dish as a second course, and we were using gold plated fish knives and forks—and the first thing that happened was that one of the knives used by the ADC snapped off. The Princess told him not to worry, [saying] ‘It was a wedding present’ but before we had finished the course another couple of handles had gone too! This amused the princess frightfully.”9
The atmosphere at the villa was warm and friendly, and Edwina Mountbatten enjoyed coddling the young mother. “It’s lovely seeing her so radiant and leading a more or less human and normal existence for once.”10
As a reminder of the responsibilities to come, Philip got an earful from his uncle when he kept his wife out late once, which caused them to miss the start of a dinner party hosted by the Mountbattens. He summoned the prince to his office where he told him, “Don’t you dare do it again. Remember, she is the Queen of tomorrow and please never forget that.”11
This turned out to be one in a series of clashes between two hard-driving men who liked to have their own way. After several weeks of brusque, offhand behavior toward the older man, Philip sat down with his uncle for a heart-to-heart to resolve their issues. The prince admitted that he was trying to resist his dominating uncle’s influence in the only way he knew how—by fighting back. In response Mountbatten agreed to back off. Once the issues were aired, the two men resumed their previously friendly and affectionate relationship.
Mountbatten was desperate to be liked and admired by the future queen, and he was thrilled when he discovered that she found him rather good company. He told his sister Patricia, “Lilibet is quite enchanting and I’ve lost whatever of my heart is left to spare entirely to her. She dances quite divinely and always wants a samba when we dance together.”12
The dancing came to an end in December when the princess waved farewell to her husband as his ship HMS Chequers was sent with six other warships to patrol the Red Sea, following tribal clashes in Eritrea. It was a salutary rite of passage experienced by all navy wives, including Edwina Mountbatten, who felt a surge of sympathy for the young woman standing on the docks watching her man sail away. Shortly afterward the princess and her small entourage flew back to London on a Viking prop plane.
“Lilibeth has left with a tear in her eyes and a lump in her throat,” Edwina told Pandit Nehru, India’s first prime minister, with whom she enjoyed a long and intimate romance. “Putting her into the Viking when she left was I thought rather like putting a bird back into a very small cage and I felt sad and nearly tearful myself.”13
The consolation was that she was reunited with her son, who had spent Christmas with his grandparents at Sandringham. Elizabeth, who was later joined by Philip, spent the next few weeks at the Norfolk retreat, helping entertain the numerous guests who came for what was called a dine and sleep, effectively staying the night after dinner. It was a way of efficiently hosting important guests, such as politicians and diplomats, as Sandringham was well off the beaten track. During a visit in February, Cynthia Gladwyn, the wife of the former English ambassador to Paris, observed the contrast between Elizabeth’s youth and her exalted position. She noted that she had “a most charming mixture in her expression of eagerness to please and yet a serious awareness of her rank and responsibility. Her charming diffidence was very appealing, for a touch of genuine gravity was always the traditional barrier which separated royalty from the common herd, warning them that no liberty should be taken. But all this with a sweet smile, a very pretty soft voice, and a certain gaucherie in her walk, showing her still to be a young girl.”14
Shortly afterward she left for Malta again to be reunited with her husband. The princess spent her twenty-fourth birthday at a polo field on the island, where she watched her husband and her uncle joust for bragging rights in their highly competitive games. She turned a deaf ear to her husband’s language, which, if the game were going badly, was of the industrial variety. These were happy days for the pregnant princess who, according to Mike Parker, spent only 10 percent of her time being a royal. For the rest she “mucked in” with other naval wives, organizing tea parties and other social events.15 For the most part she was left alone, the islanders heeding the urgings of Mabel Strickland and others to respect her privacy. All too soon that carefree spring and early summer came to end as the princess left for Clarence House, where thousands of curious onlookers gathered to catch a glimpse of the princess before she gave birth to her second child. On August 15, 1950, the waiting multitude were rewarded for their noisy patience when Princess Anne was born. Normally in robust health, the princess spent longer than expected recovering from the birth, her doctors advising her to cancel public engagements until November. That month she returned to Malta to spend Christmas with her husband and left Charles and baby Anne behind at Sandringham with her sister and her parents—as well as a small platoon of nurses and nannies.
When she arrived, Philip was eager to show her around his new “baby.” In September, shortly after the arrival of Princess Anne, he had been given command of the frigate HMS Magpie and was gazetted to lieutenant-commander. Only twenty-nine and now in command of a frigate, it was clear Philip was on a fast track to much greater things.
Shortly after she joined him in Malta, Elizabeth and the duke sailed to Athens on a goodwill visit to the Greek royal family, King Paul and Queen Frederika. Elizabeth made the journey aboard HMS Surprise, the commander in chief’s dispatch vessel, the prince on Magpie. During the voyage the royal couple exchanged humorous signals that are still preserved in the navy log. One famous example was: Surprise to Magpie: “Princess full of beans.” Magpie to Surprise: “Can’t you give her something better for breakfast!” Others related to biblical texts, the princess on one occasion signaling “Isaiah 33:23,” which says “Thy tacklings are loosed.” Her husband rapidly responded with “I Samuel 15:14”—“What meaneth then this bleating of the sheep?”16
Their highly successful visit, which was sanctioned by the Foreign Office, was the perfect union of Philip’s naval and Elizabeth’s royal duties.
This longer stay—without Uncle Dickie interfering—was probably the happiest, especially when her sister Margaret arrived to join in the fun. In a memo to her staff the princess made it clear that she wanted a life that was sunny-side up. “I sincerely hope that full cooperation will exist between all members of the staff as to create a happy atmosphere at the Villa Guardamangia.”17 She was relaxed enough to walk round the tiled mansion barefoot. Nor did she stand on ceremony. Tony Grech, the son of her maid Jessie, took to calling her Auntie Liz. He was not the only one. Long after she had left Malta she sent Christmas cards to her Maltese staff and later invited all of them to celebrate her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary at Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace.
While Philip raced his yacht Cowslip across the bay or honed his polo skills on a wooden practice horse, the princess went riding herself, drove around the island in her Daimler with her lady-in-waiting or detective for company, or visited other navy wives for tea and sandwiches.
She is also remembered for trying local dishes like rabbit pâté; pastizzi, a pasta dish; lampuki, a fish pie; or hobz malti, a local bread.
On one occasion in April 1951, she visited Sannat on the tiny island of Gozo, where she watched lace making.18 Though a plaque now commemorates the occasion, at the time her visit attracted only local interest. Hers was a life barely imaginable in England and an experience that she always looked back on with affection and gratitude.
Even in January 1975, a year after Malta became a republic, she waxed lyrical about the place. “I have been thinking so much about Malta and the happy times we had there as a Naval family—something I shall never forget,” she wrote to Mabel Strickland, who sent her an annual gift of avocados, oranges, lemons, and other exotic fruits from her garden.19
It was hard to give up such a happy and contented berth. But give it up they did. By the summer of 1951 it was clear that the visit to Greece on HMS Magpie had been nothing more than a happy coincidence. Both the Royal Navy and the royal family were full-time commitments. Something had to give. Philip was forced to accept the inevitable. Looking wistfully at his navy whites, he told his valet John Dean, “It will be a long time before I want those again.”20
Shortly afterward he was put on indefinite leave.
A bout of influenza that caused the ailing king to cancel a visit to Northern Ireland in May 1951 rather sealed his fate. As he recuperated, the queen, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Margaret took on his duties, his eldest daughter representing the king at Trooping the Colour in June. During the summer the king’s condition deteriorated, news that cast a pall over Princess Margaret’s twenty-first birthday celebrations at Balmoral in August. Several weeks later, in September, seven doctors issued a short but dramatic bulletin saying that the condition of the king’s lung gave cause for concern and he had been advised that he needed an operation soon. Elizabeth and Philip, who were due to sail to Canada for a five-week tour of North America, postponed their sailing and decided to fly instead so that they could be in London during the king’s operation on September 23.
