by John Matson
What is less clear is the Queen’s awareness of Prince Eddy’s reputed tendencies. They had been broadly hinted at while the Prince was at Cambridge where scurrilous verses debating his sexual orientation had been published, and his parents were anxious to distance him from sources of temptation. His mentors were exercised to provide him with appropriate attractions and diversions. He had a certain charm and was good-natured in an indolent way; too idle to be bothered to practice at polo, but enjoyed whist.
The Prince of Wales was in favour of a tour of the colonies; it was not expected that any benefit would be derived from this but the real reason was, as the Prince of Wales told the Queen, that ‘the voyages would be longer.’ The Princess of Wales herself hoped that her son might remain in the Army – there he would be more accessible to her, and she could keep an eye on him. But it was too late to reconsider that as a viable alternative, and she turned her thoughts towards the final option, and the one ultimately favoured by all parties: marriage to Princess Victoria Mary of Teck (‘May’). The Prince of Wales, out of patience with his son, and humiliated both by the unpopularity he himself had incurred, and his wife’s disfavour as a result of his indiscretions in the Tranby Croft affair and with Frances Brooke, escaped to the pleasures of Homburg, leaving the Princess of Wales to make the final decision.
Princess May, as she was popularly called, would prove an unexceptionable bride for Prince Eddy, the Princess of Wales reflected, and he would, as likely as not, fall head over heels in love with her. It would be an ideal match – ideal from the viewpoint of the Prince’s parents and, indeed, the Queen, and there was no difficulty in persuading Prince Eddy that she was a capital girl. He was carefully drilled and obediently proposed to her at Luton Hoo in December 1891, and was accepted, to his parents’ extreme satisfaction and relief. It seemed at last as though the whole worrying situation might be brought to a happy conclusion. But who was this Princess May; who had been selected as Prince Eddy’s bride, and what might have been her thoughts on the matter?
The Princess, born in May 1867, was the eldest of the four children of the Duke and Duchess of Teck. Her father was descended, by a morganatic marriage, from the Duke of Wurttemberg. When he came to England in search of a bride, in 1866, he was a fine-looking man of twenty-nine, though somewhat sensitive about his ancestry. His courtship of Princess Mary Adelaide, a granddaughter of George III through Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge, was brief and entirely successful. There was no competition – the Princess was said to turn the scales at 17 stone, which had effectively repelled a number of suitors who, having paid court, departed shaking their heads. ‘Her size is fearful,’ commented the Queen.133 At thirty-three, it had seemed unlikely that anyone could be found who might offer for her.
Princess Mary Adelaide and her mother, ‘the stout parties from Kew’ as Lord Clarendon dubbed them, lived at Cambridge Cottage on Kew Green. The Princess was genial, gregarious, extrovert, ruthless in achieving her ambitions, unpunctual – and utterly incapable of understanding the meaning of money. The public loved her and she cheerfully acknowledged their warmth. ‘There goes fat Mary!’ they shouted as she drove, beaming, in her carriage. Though not always punctilious in her duty to the Queen, her cousin, she was able through sheer persistence to persuade her to grant White Lodge in Richmond Park to the Teck family, despite the Queen’s awareness of the financial problems which could, and later did, overtake her – in addition to a fine suite of rooms in Kensington Palace. She possessed a large capacity for company and entertainment and was oblivious of the expense which was a necessity to these indulgences. Her marriage to Prince Teck surprised everyone; the wedding took place after barely four months’ acquaintance with each other. Her husband, now created a Duke, had little enough to occupy himself with, but he had excellent taste and planned the garden at White Lodge and refurbished its rooms. Even so, for a man who had spent much of his active life in the army, such inactivity was bound to lead to restlessness and irritability and, eventually, proneness to attacks of ‘nerves’.
Princess May was a central figure at Sandringham and in the life of the nation for more than forty years. For much of this time her shyness and reserve attracted comment and the early causes of what the Countess of Airlie described as ‘the hard crust of inhibition’ are to be found in her parents. Princess Mary Adelaide educated her children on sound principles, giving them a dimension in their lives never contemplated for the children of the Prince and Princess of Wales. The jovial exuberance and vitality of her mother gave the young Princess May scope only to listen and watch. It was not long before she became aware that her mother’s size was not only unusual but provoked amusement among children of her own age. She could not fail to observe that where one chair was sufficient for other grown-ups, the Princess needed two, causing indiscreet comment and hilarity. In conversation, Princess Mary Adelaide was apt to remark on her daughter’s shyness, which could only aggravate such sensitivity in any child. Furthermore, she must have seen, and wondered at, the contrast between her parents. Later, her father’s unpredictable behaviour (he had suffered a stroke in 1884) would have increased her reserve; neither could she have failed as an intelligent, adolescent girl, to be aware of her mother’s disregard of the family’s acute financial difficulties which, following the increasing insistence of her creditors and the exasperation of her relatives, were to lead to their two-year exile in Florence. Although as children they had played together, Princess May knew that a gulf created out of differing cultures and interests separated her from her in-laws; she was truly ‘the poor relation’.
It was not to be expected that this marriage to Prince Albert Victor would be, at any rate initially, a love match. Princess May was well aware that Royal marriages were arranged, often for political purposes. She had been brought up to recognise that service to the throne was the highest and most honourable occupation she could envisage. Further, she knew and liked Prince Eddy; they had known each other for years but – and this was important – only intermittently. To what extent she was aware of his indiscretions and dissipations can only be guessed at, but she did know about Princess Hélène and sympathised with him. Later, in London, she began to have doubts and wondered whether she could ‘really take this on’,134 but the Duchess, who was not easily to be deflected from a project which would not only have brought honour to her family but, in all likelihood, respite from her chronic financial difficulties, had reassured her. ‘Of course you can,’ she replied buoyantly. Though the Princess had faltered, she nevertheless began to prepare her trousseau and to make arrangements for the visit to Sandringham to celebrate her fiancé’s birthday. Meanwhile, as a purely temporary measure, Prince Eddy was to remain with his Regiment until the spring. It was hoped that this would ensure that he kept out of trouble until he was safely married.
Of the other Wales children, Princess Maud and Princess Victoria remained close to the family circle. Their mother’s claim that they ‘had no inclination’ for marriage must be discounted as the wishful thinking of a selfish and increasingly lonely woman who would resist any weakening of the bonds of a close family life. The Princess of Wales was not imaginative, and never less so than when her own comfort and convenience were threatened. The then Prime Minister, Lord Rosebery, tentatively considered offering for Princess Victoria but the idea was not pursued, and any notions she may have had of marrying a commoner were firmly rejected by her parents. The close bonds linking her to her mother effectively prevented the kind of freedom which might had led to more realistic opportunities.
During the First World War, Princess Victoria remained generally with her mother at Sandringham, visiting families on the estate whose menfolk had joined the Services. She visited camps in France and hospitals in England, where her visits were awaited with some trepidation, since she had an uncanny knack of sympathising with the sick and wounded in a well-meaning but tactless way which seemed to draw attention to their condition. ‘Poor man!’ she would say; ‘I can see you are very ill
.’ When King George was seriously ill in 1928, the Princess was kept out of his room for precisely this reason, but she contrived to slip in and very soon convinced her brother that he was dying, leaving him depressed and exhausted.
Princess Maud was more fortunate than her older sister; she was able to attract the notice of her first cousin, Prince Charles of Denmark, and they were married in the Chapel at Buckingham Palace in July 1896. The Queen signified her approval of the match by attending not only the service but the luncheon in the Ballroom afterwards. The couple planned to spend a short honeymoon at Appleton, the former home at Sandringham of Louise Cresswell, which had been given to Princess Maud by her father as a wedding present. But the pull of family ties was powerful: Princess Maud was reluctant to leave the Sandringham estate and her family; moreover, she was well aware that ‘Toria’ would be left single-handed to be her mother’s companion and had few illusions about the kind of life her sister would lead. In the event, the honeymoon lasted five months and caused considerable embarrassment to the Prince’s family who, three weeks after the wedding, had gathered to welcome her to Denmark. More relations arrived but Prince Charles and Princess Maud tarried at Sandringham, following the traditional pattern of her own family life with scant regard for the inconvenience they were causing their relations in Denmark. Eventually, the welcoming committee dispersed without having glimpsed the young couple. It was not until shortly before Christmas that they finally reached Denmark where they received a belated, but nevertheless warm, welcome. Their married life was not uniformly easy; Prince Charles, as a serving naval officer, was frequently absent for long periods, and the Princess yearned for her own home at Appleton where she would frequently return to rejoin the family circle.
In 1905 their lives, which had been unremarkable in its domesticity, underwent an abrupt change. The Act of Union between Norway and Sweden was dissolved by the Norwegians who then found themselves without a monarch, whilst Sweden refused to recognise the dissolution. Anglo-German relations were strained, each viewing the other with suspicion, and Denmark was therefore invited to find an occupant for the throne. Every eye was turned towards Prince Charles, who accepted the invitation, though with a reluctance shared by Princess Maud. King Haakon VII, as he was now known, and Queen Maud were duly crowned at Oslo in the following year. Queen Maud’s health was precarious and it had long been agreed that she would continue to spend part of every year in England, where she remained a familiar figure on the Sandringham estate, supporting her mother and sister and happy within the close family circle.
Shy as children and retiring in their maturity, the daughters of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra never sought the limelight and they were not widely known among the British public during their lifetime. But they were an inseparable part of the Sandringham scene for nearly sixty years. Louise and Maud achieved their freedom but ‘Toria’, in her lifetime of service to her mother, deserves our sympathy. Though she enjoyed an affectionate relationship with her brother, Prince George, the deadly sameness of the Sandringham routine must have weighed upon her. When she was finally liberated in 1925, it was too late – she felt lost in a world that had largely passed her by and all that was left for her was another ten years of loneliness in her apartments in Kensington Palace and at Coppins, her Buckinghamshire home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TROUBLED YEARS
The years 1890-91 were among the most troubled of the Prince’s maturity. Not only were the Royal couple worried about Prince Eddy’s future, which looked more and more unpromising, but the Prince of Wales himself was drawn, albeit unwillingly, into situations which were heavy with scandal.
Early in September 1891, the Prince was staying, with some reluctance, at Tranby Croft, near Doncaster, the home of a Mr Wilson, a shipping magnate. Another time he might have accepted the hospitality of Christopher Sykes who by now had ruined himself in trying to match the Prince’s standards. Among the guests was Sir William Gordon-Cumming, a colonel in the Scots Guards, who was immensely wealthy and a close friend of the Prince. After dinner the gentlemen sat down to play baccarat, but it was not long before it was observed that Sir William appeared to be cheating. Similar instances were again noticed on the following evening. On the next day, Sir William was accused of cheating but, in view of the presence of the Prince of Wales, a promise of secrecy would be given in exchange for an undertaking by him that he would give up playing cards. Sir William denied the charges but agreed to sign the document since the evidence against him seemed overwhelming.
The matter might have ended there but, almost inevitably, the secret leaked out, though by whom has never been satisfactorily established. Sir William, greatly angered by the unwelcome publicity, issued a writ for slander against the five signatories to the document. The action excited wide interest, which quickened when it was learned that the Prince of Wales himself had been involved in a game which at that time was illegal. Furthermore, as a Field Marshall, he had disobeyed Queen’s Regulations by not reporting Sir William, if he had really believed that cheating had occurred. Either way, the Prince showed up badly. Sir William lost his case, but the publicity surrounding the Prince’s appearance in court made it seem almost as if he himself were the guilty party. The opinion of Society was divided, creating lasting bitterness; the Queen criticised him openly and the Press condemned his participation in the game. The repercussions continued for some time and, indeed, overlapped with another crisis.
One of the Prince’s closest friends was a Lord Charles Beresford, whose brother Marcus was the manager of the Stud at Sandringham. Lord Charles was a naval officer who by his courage and good nature won the loyalty of those serving under him. He was also wealthy, energetic and amusing – in short, exactly the kind of man whom the Prince found congenial company – and a founder member of the ‘fast’ Marlborough House Club. His practical jokes were elaborate and entertaining. On one occasion he donned navvy’s clothes and, with a group of friends, dug up a section of Piccadilly, which rendered the road useless for three days. He was, of course, often to be seen at the house parties among the Prince’s closest friends. The Prince used his influence on his friend’s behalf, so that in 1884 he was appointed 4th Lord of the Admiralty. It was at this point that Lord Charles, himself married to a woman ten years older than himself, fell in love with the wife of Lord Brooke, who was inclined to take a tolerant view of his wife’s infidelities. There was no attempt at concealment; Lady Brooke even told Lord Charles’ wife that she would elope with her husband, which seemed to imply that the Brooke’s marriage was to all intents and purposes at an end. Then, in 1889, she heard that Lady Charles was expecting a baby and, instead of accepting the situation with dignity and withdrawing from the liaison, wrote a letter to Lord Charles which suggested that she was the injured party and that in returning to his wife, he had been unfaithful to herself. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that the letter fell into the hands of Lord Charles’ wife, Mina, who had been authorised to open her husband’s post in his absence. Lady Charles left this letter with her solicitor, George Lewis, together with instructions to sue Lady Brooke for libel if she caused further trouble. ‘Daisy’ Brooke, however, called on Lewis claiming the letter since she had written it. Lewis told her that it was Lady Charles’ property, and he had no authority to hand it over. At this point Lady Brooke called on the Prince of Wales for assistance, for she had long been one of his favourites. With a singular lack of judgment he tried to persuade Lewis to burn the letter; when he failed, he ensured that Lady Charles would be socially ostracised, which caused her husband to visit the Prince to tell him that he had behaved like a blackguard and had had no right to interfere.
For years the row simmered, Lord Charles behaving in a slighting manner when in the presence of the Prince, and it was not until 1897 – and at the races – that the Beresfords dared to seek reconciliation. The Prince explained to Lady Brooke in terms warmer than mere friendship the circumstances which had led to this encounter:
; Shortly before leaving Ascot today, Marcus B. came to me & said he had a great favour to ask me… He then became much affected, & actually cried, & said might he bring his brother C. up to me to offer his congratulations on Persimmon’s success. I had no alternative but to say yes. He came up with his hat off, & would not put it on till I told him, & shook hands. We talked a little about racing, then I turned and we parted. My loved one, I hope you won’t be annoyed at what has happened, and exonerate me from blame, as that is all I care about.135
The affair had even involved the Queen, to whom Lady Charles had also appealed. She was well aware of the disrepute brought upon the Monarchy by this latest of her son’s indiscretions. She deeply distrusted the aristocracy in general, and the ‘Marlborough House Set’ in particular, denouncing them as frivolous, selfish and immoral: ‘wretched ignorant Highborn beings, who live only to kill time.’136
As for the Prince, he had much to make up: the unwelcome publicity had shed a harsh light on his habits; it was not the first time that he been booed at race meetings; he had transgressed the unwritten code of Society and, what was perhaps worse, offended the increasingly influential middle class. The aristocracy understood, and forgave, infidelity – provided absolute discretion was maintained. Everyone who was anyone knew the rules; every country house party had its own code of practice and this was expected to be observed – a plate of sandwiches left outside a bedroom door might, or might not, have its own significance, but this revelation of sexual intrigues was unforgivable, even though ‘Daisy’ Brooke was notorious for her indiscretions. The middle classes reacted strongly: Royalty was expected to set an example to the nation, and the repercussions of this affair sent a shock through the country of which the Prince could not but be aware. The Princess of Wales, who had suffered much in silence, evoked admiration for her tact and loyalty to her husband, but she never accepted ‘Daisy’, the ‘Babbling Brooke’, and never invited her to Sandringham.