The Queen, page 9
Finally, on July 9, their engagement was announced. It was a brief pick-me-up for a nation on its knees, a country where rationing was so severe that concerned folk from the Dominions sent food parcels to help out. Britain may have won the war but was rapidly losing the peace. This was the age of austerity, a pervasive attitude that cast a long shadow over the planning for the wedding, which was officially set for November 20, 1947.
If the royal family and their courtiers had their reservations about the untested prince, as the wedding day approached Philip, too, had doubts about the prospects of marrying the future queen. A week after the engagement was announced, he and the princess traveled to Edinburgh, where she was given the freedom of the city. As the princess made her acceptance speech, he dutifully stood two steps behind her. It was to be his default public position in the years ahead.
Over breakfast at Kensington Palace after the second of two stag nights, the prince asked his cousin Patricia Mountbatten, “I don’t know if I’m being very brave or very stupid going ahead with this wedding.” His cousin, sensing that his question was nervously rhetorical, told him, “I am quite sure you are being very brave.”31
As she later recalled, “We were well aware that he wasn’t just taking on the immediate family; he was taking on all the outer aspects of the Court life. He was very well aware, I think, that there were going to be difficulties.”32 For her part Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands likened Philip’s situation to “entering the royal cage.”33 And she told him so.
During his first Balmoral summer as the princess’s fiancé, he had a taste of what he was up against. Many fellow guests, including the queen’s brother David Bowes-Lyon, the Eldons, and the Salisburys, had been doubtful of the match. The prince, knowing he was in hostile territory, was perhaps more combative and “chipper” than usual. Courtiers who ran the rule over the couple concluded that she was in love with him but they were not too sure about her erstwhile fiancé. They found him too offhand toward the princess for their tastes. For his part, Philip found the courtiers, particularly that gnarled and grizzly palace infighter, Tommy Lascelles, patronizing and dismissive.
As the wedding day approached, he concluded that he was simply seen as a cypher, albeit a dashing one. All the big decisions about the wedding were taken out of his hands. Even though he had fought loyally during the war, the king deemed it too soon to invite his sisters, who had married Nazi royalty. “So soon after the war you couldn’t have the Hun,” said Lady Pamela Hicks bluntly.34 It was a disappointment to both the prince and his sisters, but he completely understood the king’s reasoning.
On the big day itself Philip’s Nazi family was forgotten in the euphoria of the wedding. When Princess Elizabeth looked out from her second-floor bedroom window, she was amazed by the scene that greeted her. In the dawn November light she saw hundreds of people lining the Mall, some lying on mattresses and blankets now sodden with the rain that had fallen during the night. At Kensington Palace, where Philip Mountbatten RN spent his last night as a bachelor, he seemed remarkably relaxed for a man who had just given up smoking—at the urging of his fiancée. He decided to wear his somewhat careworn navy uniform, a move admired by the queen and her friends. Though he wore a pair of darned socks on his big day, he now had enough to buy himself a new pair as his £11-a-week navy pay ($600 at today’s prices) had been augmented by an award of £10,000 a year from the Civil List. His bride was awarded £50,000 by the government with a further grant of £50,000 to restore Clarence House, which was bombed during the war and was now earmarked as their London residence.
That wasn’t the only bounty the navy officer received. On the day before the royal nuptuals the king had bestowed upon him the Order of the Garter. In addition, on the day of the wedding, the king awarded him the titles of Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Merioneth, and Baron Greenwich.
Once again Dermot Morrah had come to the rescue. When the king was agonizing about what his future son-in-law should be called, Morrah compiled a list of appropriate names and ranked them in order of historical relevance and suitability. Several found favor with the sovereign.
By contrast with the groom’s modest preparations, his bride and her eight bridesmaids were being fussed over by couturier Norman Hartnell and his team. It took them two hours to fit the princess into her ivory silk satin wedding dress, a creation that had taken a team of 350 dressmakers seven weeks to make. The dress, with its theme of rebirth and renewal, had even been discussed in the cabinet, where the Labour prime minister Clement Attlee had expressed concern that the silk may have come from a country recently at war with Britain. Hartnell tartly pointed out that the silkworms were from Nationalist China, an ally of Great Britain.35
Inside the palace, as the princess was carefully eased into her wedding dress, there was subdued panic. First the bride’s bouquet went missing, only to be discovered in a cool cupboard after a footman recalled he had left it there for safekeeping. Then, as the princess’s veil was fitted, the frame of the sun-ray tiara, lent to the bride by the queen, snapped off.
Fortunately the crown jeweler was on hand. He was escorted by police to his workshop to effect running repairs. Finally Elizabeth’s double string of pearls, given to her by the king and queen, went missing. Fortunately a courtier recalled that the absent pearls were on display with the other 2,583 gifts at St. James’s Palace. So the princess’s private secretary Jock Colville commandeered the official car used by King Haakon of Norway and raced to St. James’s where, after a tricky conversation with police guarding the wedding gifts, he was able to retrieve the precious piece of jewelry.36
As the drama took place backstage, Westminster Abbey itself saw the largest gathering of royalty since before the outbreak of war in 1939. Crown Princess Juliana of the Netherlands scanned the other royals, many looking distinctly down-at-heel, and commented: “Everyone’s jewelry is so dirty.”37 Besides Philip’s sisters there were three other telling omissions from the guest list—the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and the princess royal, the king’s sister. She boycotted the ceremony because she felt that the Windsors’ exclusion was unfair and un-Christian. It was the first public example of a pattern that would continue for the rest of their lives, the duke and his American wife exiled from the land he once ruled.
By contrast his friend Winston Churchill, who had played a telling role in the abdication crisis, was treated as the all-conquering hero. He deliberately arrived late and almost stole the show as everyone in the congregation, including royalty, rose to their feet in acknowledgment of his contribution to securing victory, liberation, and peace in Europe. As the war leader had predicted, the royal wedding was a “a flash of color on the hard road we have to travel,” as more than two hundred million tuned in to the radio broadcast and thousands lined the streets leading to the abbey.38 For many it was a chance to escape grinding austerity and soul-destroying drabness just for a day. For others it was a renewal of the ancient compact between the public and the royal family, a chance for the nation to pat itself on the back, to celebrate an eternal ceremony that speaks of commitment, love, and hope.
The star of the show arrived to a fanfare and the hymn “Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven,” Elizabeth and her father walking slowly down the red carpet—secondhand to save money—to the high altar where Philip and his best man, David Milford Haven, were waiting.
“I was so proud and thrilled at having you so close to me on our long walk in Westminster Abbey,” the king later wrote to his daughter. “But when I handed you to the Archbishop, I felt that I had lost something precious.”39 At the wedding breakfast Philip made a short speech saying: “I am proud—proud of my country and of my wife,” while the new bride wished for nothing more than that “Philip and I should be as happy as my father and mother have been, and Queen Mary and King George before them.”40 Acknowledging that “we four” were now “we five,” the latest arrival to the House of Windsor wrote tenderly to reassure the queen that her daughter was in good hands.
“Lilibet is the only ‘thing’ in the world which is absolutely real to me and my ambition is to weld the two of us into a new combined existence that will not only be able to withstand the shocks directed at us, but will also have a positive existence for the good.”41 Perhaps the suspicious courtiers had misread the royal romantic.
Though “blissfully happy,” Elizabeth considered the first few days of her honeymoon on the Broadlands estate a most “vulgar and disgraceful affair,” particularly their attendance at Sunday service.42
Curious crowds arrived on foot or by car to watch them at Romsey Abbey. Those who couldn’t get inside climbed on gravestones or propped ladders against the walls so they could peer through the church windows. One family even brought a sideboard they used as a makeshift stand to watch the royal newlyweds at prayer.
Royalty as celebrity, monarchy as circus. It was a sign of things to come.
4
The Barefoot Princess
Marriage changed Elizabeth. She seemed more womanly, more assured, and more confident. The family dynamic had changed. Her world now centered on her husband and rather less so her parents and sister. Nonetheless in the early going Elizabeth’s instinctive reaction to a troubling decision was often to consult her mother first and her husband second. It was a difficult habit to give up and one that the queen continued to encourage as she felt Philip challenged her authority as the family matriarch. Philip bided his time. History professor Jane Ridley has argued that the queen viewed him as “rather an enemy.” She added, “One would see those early years as being a tug-of-war and a tussle” for the ear of Princess Elizabeth.1
As forthright and tactless as he could be, the prince was in no hurry to clash with his formidable mother-in-law. It was perhaps inevitable that in any close family, royal or non-royal, the arrival of a newcomer upsets the existing power balance. It was particularly the case when “we four” turned into five.
In their day-to-day life Philip ruled the roost domestically, choosing menus, giving orders to staff, placing furniture, and organizing private engagements. For her part Elizabeth consulted with her private secretary Jock Colville on matters of state, royal engagements, official signatures, and the like. Philip kept his nose out just as he avoided conflict with the third wheel in the marriage, his wife’s companion and dresser Bobo MacDonald, who was in attendance during their honeymoon at Broadlands and afterward at Birkhall on the Balmoral estate.
The dour Scot, who dressed just like her mistress, was the guiding hand behind the princess’s daily wardrobe. She kept an inventory of her handbags, hats, dresses, and shoes and ensured that everything coordinated and fitted.
She was the one who brought the princess her calling tray with a cup of tea every morning and, more important, passed on the palace gossip. Her presence occasionally grated, but for the most part Philip held his peace.
In the meantime the princess was excitedly plotting her departure from Buckingham Palace and starting married life at Sunninghill Park, a rambling country house set in 665 acres on the boundary of Windsor Great Park. For a young woman who wanted to be surrounded by dogs, horses, and eventually children, the early-nineteenth-century country house estate was ideal. Shortly before they were due to move in, however, the rambling pile, which had been invaded by squatters, caught fire and burned down. Arson was initially suspected though after an investigation the police concluded that the fire began during repairs. With their London home of Clarence House under construction, the homeless royals lodged for a time at Kensington Palace before returning to Elizabeth’s suite of rooms at Buckingham Palace. The couple had separate bedrooms and exchanged jolly banter while they were being dressed by, in Philip’s case, his valet John Dean while the ever-present Bobo dressed the princess. And of course the newlyweds were under constant scrutiny, watched by silent footmen, judged by knowing courtiers, and minded by their police bodyguards.
Even so, compared with today, it was a relatively relaxed ambience. Prince Philip was able to walk to work along the Mall to the Admiralty where he had a desk job working for the naval director of operations. Often he would take a break during the day to oversee the works at Clarence House. It was Philip who was responsible for the installation of the latest gadgets including washing machines, televisions, an intercom system, and an electric trouser press. As the place neared completion the princess would join in, busying herself by mixing the paints for the green walls of the Adam-style dining room.
Her private secretary Jock Colville was active, too, trying to mix and match the newlyweds, who were still royal apprentices after all, with a swatch of different events that would help paint for them a more authentic picture of modern Britain. The couple attended a debate in the House of Commons, visited a juvenile court, and had dinner, hosted by Prime Minister Clement Attlee, with young politicians and their spouses.
But it was not all serious matters of state. On February 28, 1948, the family went en masse to the London Palladium to watch the American entertainer Danny Kaye. For the first time, the royal family sat in the front row of the stalls rather than the royal box. The king joined in with a sing-along and was the one to shout a warning to the comic in a skit about missing his tea break. The royal family loved Kaye’s zany, often improvised routines. Over the decades the comedian became a regular and welcome visitor to royal homes. Elizabeth was such a fan that the American poet Delmore Schwartz wrote the poem “Vaudeville for a Princess,” which was subtitled “Suggested by Princess Elizabeth’s Admiration of Danny Kaye.”
On their first overseas tour together, in May 1948, the couple visited Paris, which gave the princess the chance to put all those French conversation lessons to good use. While they enjoyed watching the horse races at Longchamp and danced at a fashionable nightspot, the princess was nursing a secret. She was in the early stages of pregnancy and prone to morning sickness. On several occasions during the visit she only just managed to maintain her composure. Most spectators thought that her indisposition was due to her depth of feeling.
In the meantime the couple appointed a comptroller and treasurer, General Sir Frederick “Boy” Browning of Battle of Arnhem fame and husband of novelist Daphne du Maurier. One of his first jobs was to secure a lease on Windlesham Moor, a country manor set in fifty acres of leafy Surrey. Philip immediately turned the tennis courts into a cricket pitch and organized matches with friends and locals during the summer. They had eight staff when they were in residence, including a footman whose job was to bring the corgis their food on a silver tray at four thirty precisely.
Regular weekend visitors were Philip’s great naval friend Michael Parker and his wife Eileen who, like the princess, was pregnant but with her second child. Though the two wives did not know each other at all well, they had a common topic of conversation—babies.
Eileen Parker recalled that the princess often spoke about her dreams and ambitions for her children, wanting her sons and daughters to have less restricted lives than she had had. The word normal was frequently used—as it would be by future generations of royal mothers. As Eileen recalled: “She longed for them to be brought up under what she called ‘normal’ circumstances.”2 “I would like them to be able to lead ordinary lives,” the princess said, confiding to Eileen that her idea of happiness was to live quietly with her children, dogs, and horses. Her ambition was something of a pipe dream.
No sooner did the palace announce her pregnancy on Derby Day, June 4, than she and her husband were showered with layettes, booties, blankets, and toys sent by well-wishers. The princess gave up royal duties at the end of June and spent her days in the then-traditional way of mothers-to-be, namely organizing the nursery at Clarence House and developing a craving for her favorite chocolate cake.
The princess insisted on having the baby in her own rooms at Buckingham Palace and was relieved when the James Chuter-Ede made it clear that a presence of a senior government minister at the birth was no longer required. Neither, it seemed, was her husband, who played squash with Michael Parker in the palace courts as the princess, attended by four doctors, was in labor. The prince was interrupted by Tommy Lascelles who told the duke that, as of 9:14 p.m. on November 14, 1948, he was now the father of a baby boy. They named him Charles Philip Arthur George.
As the new parents celebrated with flowers and champagne, a cloud hung over the palace. The king, increasingly irascible and fragile, had been harboring a serious medical complaint. Throughout his daughter’s pregnancy, he had been suffering from wrenching cramps in his feet that made standing—part and parcel of his job—agonizing. Not wishing to cause a fuss, the stoical sovereign had soldiered on until the pain became too much to bear. He had relied on the remedies prescribed by his homeopathic doctor, Sir John Weir, and this dubious course of treatment was suspected of delaying more conventional investigation. On October 30—two weeks before the birth of his first grandchild—doctors established that he was indeed seriously ill. Once he had given himself up to the ministrations of the orthodox medical fraternity, the king, exhausted and distressed, slept for two days straight.
After further tests he was diagnosed as suffering from Buerger’s disease, a chronic inflammation of the major blood vessels. There was such a severe danger of gangrene in his right leg that surgeons discussed amputation.
During these anxious few days, secrecy and evasion were the order of the day to ensure that nothing would upset the heavily pregnant princess.
No word of the king’s condition became public before the princess gave birth. Two days later, on November 16, he accepted that a long-anticipated tour of Australia and New Zealand would have to be postponed. He also gave permission to release a medical bulletin and announced that he was canceling all engagements for the foreseeable future. He was, however, sufficiently well to attend the christening of Prince Charles at Buckingham Palace on December 15. Besides other members of the royal family, the ceremony was also attended by Elizabeth’s former governess Marion Crawford and her husband George Buthlay, the couple having married in September 1947.
