From time to time, Princess Margaret witnessed Colin’s histrionics, the most public of which ended up with him receiving a letter from John King, the head of British Airways, banning Colin for life from using his planes. The three of us were flying back from America, and for some reason, while Princess Margaret and I had first-class tickets, Colin didn’t: he was ushered right when we got onto the plane as we went left.
Princess Margaret and I sat down in our seats, oblivious to Colin’s plight. He flipped, demanding to be seated near us, and when the cabin crew denied him, he lay on the floor, in the middle of the aisle, having a full-blown tantrum. His wails were loud enough for us to hear and we were absolutely horrified by the scene he was making. I instinctively got up to try to sort it out. Princess Margaret said very firmly, “Sit down, Anne.”
There was a kerfuffle as security dragged him off the plane. We saw him out of our window being hauled away, still screaming, “Help me, Anne! Anne! Help me!”
Princess Margaret said, “Take absolutely no notice, Anne.”
Colin was arrested and the plane took off without him. Just like my mother would have done, Princess Margaret disregarded the incident but knew only too well that I sometimes needed a break. Colin turned up three days later, but nothing more was said.
Given an official purpose and responsibility not only gave me a distraction but also meant I became more independent of Colin. He was utterly in awe of the Royal Family, especially Princess Margaret, so he was very proud that I had been given an official role and very supportive in my acceptance of her offer. I think he felt it somehow cemented his closeness with her, and would mean that we’d spend even more time in her company, assuming he would be able to come along to everything I was invited to. It didn’t quite work like that, much to his disappointment, but he did spend more time with her, something he always looked forward to. I think their friendship accentuated his desire to impress—Princess Margaret being on Mustique was the perfect reason to throw parties that he made even more spectacular, which in turn meant that he would be seen as a wonderfully creative genius, which he was.
Princess Margaret was no fool, deliberately choosing friends to be Ladies in Waiting. She appointed quite a lot of us, including her cousin Jean Wills, Janie Stevens, Davina Alexander, and Elizabeth Cavendish, who had introduced Princess Margaret to Tony Armstrong-Jones, and Annabel Whitehead, who now holds the office of Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
I was Lady in Waiting to Princess Margaret until her death, spanning three decades, merging friendship and duties: sometimes I would spend my time with Princess Margaret as her official Lady in Waiting; at others, she would be assisted by another and I would be with her as a friend.
My mother was Lady of the Bedchamber to the Queen from 1953 until 1973 so for two years we overlapped, carrying out similar roles. Most of our commitments revolved around accompanying the Queen and Princess Margaret on royal engagements and special occasions, making sure the event went as smoothly as possible. Just as my mother was for the Queen, I was there so Princess Margaret felt she had someone with her she knew and trusted wherever she was, in case she needed something.
Ladies in Waiting are only a small part of the Royal Household and the Queen has a much bigger household than Princess Margaret did. Princess Margaret had a chauffeur, a butler, a chef, a scullery maid, and two daily maids, who spent a lot of time replacing her ashtrays since she was a chain-smoker. She also had a dresser called Mrs. Greenfield, who would organize each outfit, laying the clothes out in advance so Princess Margaret could choose what she wanted to wear. Mrs. Greenfield also helped her dress as well as running her bath every evening. The Princess also had a hairdresser who would either come to the Palace before an event or she would go to the salon, where she would also have her nails done, but she always did her own makeup. There were several protection officers, headed by John Harding, who became a friend over the years, staying at his post for decades. These people made up the personal staff, and then there was Nigel Napier, her private secretary, who would be found in the office, along with four secretaries.
Princess Margaret had a good reputation for looking after her household, making sure her dresser and maid had nice rooms if they went away with her and that everybody was being looked after. Every year, Princess Margaret had a Christmas tea for her Ladies in Waiting. Under the huge Christmas tree there would be lots of parcels and she would hand them out to us. Sometimes she gave us really thoughtful presents, but at others she would give us things she deemed useful: she was rather fond of kitchen gadgets and once she gave Jean Wills a loo brush, saying, “I noticed you didn’t have one of these when I came to stay.” In fact, Jean had hidden the loo brush when Princess Margaret had visited, and was rather upset by the gesture. Sometimes we’d be given handbags that had clearly been given to her and rejected after she had used them a few times. But she could also be generous, giving me several antiques I had admired while out shopping with her.
Most of the royal engagements I went to with Princess Margaret involved visiting hospitals, factories, schools, or charities of which she was patron. John Harding and a couple of other protection officers would come on day trips, and if we went away for longer, Nigel Napier would come, as well as the dresser, Mrs. Greenfield.
All these engagements might have been boring, but they weren’t. It was interesting to meet all sorts of people, and when it came to her charities, Princess Margaret chose only the ones she really wanted to be a part of and, determined to make a difference, would embrace her duties fully. This energetic approach meant we had long discussions about each of her charities and she offered all her Ladies in Waiting the chance to be a part of the organizations we showed an interest in. Because my cousin Angus Ogilvy suffered from arthritis, I became involved in the National Rheumatoid Arthritis Society, and I was president of SOS (now called Scope), and the National Association of Maternal and Child Welfare, arranging masses of fundraising events, held mostly on Sundays when stars such as Vera Lynn, Roger Moore, Bob Hope, and John Mills were free.
Similar to Colin, Princess Margaret was fiercely knowledgeable about a great many things, so when we were on our way to an engagement, she would eagerly tell me an array of facts, anything and everything about the regiments to which she was Colonel-in-Chief, and quotes from the Bible, which she often used, rather naughtily, to put the many clerics she met on the spot.
Being married to Colin had afforded me years of good practice for the role. Always trying to preempt issues that could easily arise meant I had become very good at anticipating his needs, and this skill was vital for any Lady in Waiting. If we were at lunch or dinner, I would stay within sight of her so she could always look at me. From her expression, I would know if she needed me. When we arrived somewhere new, I did things like find out where the lavatories were so that she wouldn’t have to ask, and would always stand outside the door so no one else came in.
There were dozens of little things that became second nature to me, which helped her to relax and meant the official engagements ran more smoothly. I got to know small but useful things, such as that she drank a gin and tonic at lunch and whisky with water in the evening. It meant I could tell the people at each event, so she wasn’t given the wrong thing. Not only did having someone with her who could communicate her needs help everybody relax a little, it also meant that Princess Margaret wasn’t constantly faced with having to answer the same, albeit well-meant, questions each time she went to an event, which made it more enjoyable for her too.
If she was going to a cocktail party, or anything that involved a lot of people, I would be given a list of the most distinguished guests and anybody else she particularly wanted to meet so I could find them among the crowd and lead them to her. This was a delicate process of diplomacy because I would have to judge by Princess Margaret’s expression whether she wanted to stay in the conversation she was having, or whether she was ready for the next introduction, whereupon I would usher the person forward. Ther
e I was, hovering nearby, waiting to swap one person for another, trying to be as seamless and polite as possible.
Once I had successfully set Princess Margaret up with the next guest, I would be studying the list, trying to match names with the faces of people I’d often never met before. I wanted to scurry around and identify them prior to any encounter, but instead I had to be relaxed and glide around alongside her. Sometimes I would lose her—she was so small and would always be surrounded by people, so if I had gone off to find someone in particular, quite often I would then have to search frantically for her but without giving away my panic. I had to be like a swan, looking calm on the surface when actually I was paddling like mad underneath the water.
On days when Princess Margaret didn’t have an engagement and was at home in Kensington Palace, she was a creature of habit. She always had lunch at half past one, sitting down for three courses, often eating the same thing, especially prawn cocktail, which she enjoyed, remaining convinced that the Marie-Rose sauce was a far more exotic mix than its staple ingredients of mayonnaise and tomato ketchup. She was rather fond of teatime: at five o’clock she would be found drinking a cup of very weak Earl Grey with a ginger nut or Leibniz chocolate biscuit to accompany it, and at dinner she always had the same pudding: a lemon sorbet served in half a lemon, like the ones found in some Indian restaurants. Cream was offered alongside the sorbet, and she would pour a little bit on at a time, endlessly amazed by what happened to the cream. She’d say, “Oh, do look, it’s so lovely—it’s freezing, it’s freezing just like that.”
I really enjoyed going to Kensington Palace and especially looked forward to being in the office to help write and sort out the thank-you letters after an event because I was very fond of Nigel Napier. The most diplomatic person I’ve ever come across, he employed his tact throughout his often challenging role, which involved getting Princess Margaret out of sticky situations with his clever and inventive explanations…
Ever protective, he was also very fond of Princess Margaret and we always had a lot of fun together. Getting on with the other people who supported Princess Margaret made everything much more enjoyable and a lot easier, although when she came to Mustique, only John Harding, and occasionally Nigel, would come with her. Instead, when she arrived, Colin would have arranged local security that would team up with John and they would stay with us in our prefabricated house. Colin, accepting that I would be at her beck and call and not his, would rush around in preparation for her arrival, making sure the police were on standby for her and lining up everybody he could muster so she had a grand welcome.
Even though it was basic, and for years there were no celebrities and no grandeur on the island, she had privacy—a bolt-hole. It was far from formal, partly because Princess Margaret liked feeling relaxed and partly because there wasn’t any choice. In the daytime, she would wear her one of her many whale-boned swimming costumes with a short skirt. They were patterned with either stripes or flowers and suited her hourglass figure, but I began to notice that whispers circulated whenever she got out of the water. I soon realized it was because her swimming costumes were transparent when wet. Approaching the subject delicately, I said, “Ma’am, I wonder whether you are aware that your swimming costume is rather see-through. Perhaps I could get it lined for you.”
“Oh, Anne,” she said, somewhat exasperated. “I don’t care. If they want to look, they can look.” And that was that.
The days were spent leisurely, revolving around the late hours Princess Margaret kept. Just before lunch, we’d normally go off to one of the beaches for a picnic, setting up a parasol in the sand. The food left a lot to be desired in the early days, often requiring a large dollop of Hellmann’s mayonnaise to hide the blandness.
Princess Margaret didn’t like the feeling of sand between her toes, though, which was a bit of a problem. Colin came up with a simple solution she was very happy with. Every time she went on the beach, he made sure there was always a bowl of fresh water and lots of clean towels for her, so she could rinse her feet, ridding them of sand, whenever she felt she needed to.
After lunch, we would all go for a swim, the conversation never ceasing, Princess Margaret in full flow. As she swam breaststroke, keeping her head above the water, I would swim sideways, treading water, rather erratically, so I could continue the conversation. We would swim out in the bay and around the yachts. Often, we’d be invited up on deck for a drink of water. We’d accept, although wishing we’d been offered a more exciting drink. Everybody was always stunned when they realized Princess Margaret was dripping wet on their deck, a reaction that never failed to quietly amuse me.
In the late afternoons we’d return to the house and, like a big sister, she loved untangling my hair. Standing behind me while she brushed it, she would comment on all the different natural highlights, leaving me with a feeling of contentment, once she’d finished, and my hair beautifully sleek. She enjoyed doing things like that—she always offered to rub on sun lotion or apply ointment to mosquito bites.
In the early evening we’d sit at Basil’s Bar, drinking sundowners and watching for the green flash, as we’d done ever since she had come alone for the first time. Then we’d have dinner with anyone who was there at the time, although friends were limited and sometimes it would just be Princess Margaret, Colin, and me, drumming up our own entertainment, which Colin was good at, or playing cards late into the night.
By the early seventies, not only was there an electricity generator but the houses on Mustique were being built and the once-barren scrubland full of manchineel trees showed a glimmer of things to come: more and more villas appeared, statuesque, on the hillsides. Between 1960 and 1978, Oliver Messel designed seventeen house plans in his particular style, which was eventually described as “Caribbean Palladian.” Most of the houses were based on a classic plantation house and he concentrated on creating what he described as “indoor-outdoor living.” A master of scene-setting, he incorporated arches in all the houses to frame the views, which became like perfect backdrops.
All the houses were slightly different, and had wide verandas or terraces; the interiors were generally white, with accents of bright colors. A lasting legacy that went beyond Mustique was Oliver’s use of his favorite color—a sage green, which he used for the wooden shutters and doors, now known as both “Messel Green” and “Mustique Green.” As each house was finished, crates and crates of antiques and soft furnishings were shipped to Mustique and Colin would unpack them, buzzing with excitement, before I helped him set up the houses. Realizing people bought them more readily if no imagination was required, we lived in each one until it was sold, then moved to the next. Although moving around was disruptive, I had got used to it and the children, who would come out on their school holidays, enjoyed comparing each house to the next, seeing it as part of the adventure.
Princess Margaret came only once out of high season, in the year before her house was finished in 1971, curious to see how it was developing, but chiefly because she needed a break from Tony, her marriage continuing to go downhill. The trip was not a success because storms rolled in from the Atlantic, changing the atmosphere, a gray descending on the island, coming as an unwelcome surprise. Princess Margaret promptly renamed where she was staying “Gloomsville” and never returned again before Christmas.
Having been very involved with the designs, discussing little details with Colin and Oliver, she had become increasingly excited about her house’s completion. When we were both in London in the months leading up to it being finished, she had rung up several times to ask me to go shopping with her.
I had been delighted at the invitation, looking forward to going to Colefax & Fowler or some other glamorous place, but she always chose Peter Jones. Off we went to Sloane Square, where we were met by the manager and taken around the furniture and fabric sections. It was all very low-key, with just John Harding the protection officer following a few steps behind. She chose very simple things, mostly white furnitu
re and Laura Ashley–type curtains. Later, she had one or two things from antiques shops shipped over for the main sitting room, including some glass lamps, which she filled with shells, carrying on collecting things throughout the year.
In February 1972, she came to stay in her newly completed house, naming it Les Jolies Eaux—French for “pretty waters.” She was delighted with the house, which had panoramic views, framed by the arch in the sitting room, which had a wall of French windows that opened out onto a swimming pool, surrounded by a terrace.
We all came out to Mustique with the children, supported by Barbara, and everybody helped her unpack. The mood was one of excitement as Charlie and Henry opened boxes for her, and they’d peer inside before she would smile broadly, satisfied with the items she got out of each box.
Les Jolies Eaux made Princess Margaret very happy. It was the only house she ever owned and provided her with an independent base from her husband. Not only was he prone to mood swings, like Colin, they were both also having affairs. We complained but without overindulging, speaking bluntly, then brushing our troubles aside, concentrated on doing the things we enjoyed. She loved collecting shells to make tables decorated with shell tops, so together we would comb the beach, then take them back to the house to clean, lining them up out in the sun. It is surprising how such activities can have a calming effect and divert attention from any difficulties.
In the summer of 1973 Glen, as usual, was full of friends staying for days on end. Towards the middle of August, Princess Margaret was on her way to join us for a long weekend. As we were busy preparing a huge dinner party for the end of the week, a friend called regretfully to cancel, thereby leaving us one short. Because everybody went abroad in August, Colin suggested that I should ring up his “Aunt Nose,” Violet Wyndham (who had a large nose), because she seemed to know everybody and was bound to come up with a suitable suggestion. When I explained the problem to her, she gave me the number of Roddy Llewellyn, whose father Harry had famously won the only gold medal for Great Britain in the 1952 Olympics—in the team jumping equestrian event with his marvelous horse, Foxhunter.
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