A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II

by Michael Paterson

  Within a short distance of Royal Lodge was built the Wendy house of every small girl’s dreams. ‘Y Bwthyn Bach’ (‘the little house’ in Welsh) was a gift from the people of the Principality on her sixth birthday. There was about it nothing of the stage-set, and there was no need for its occupants to make believe, for everything was in working order. The roof of this two-storey building was thatched (it still has to be renewed periodically), and the rooms (which are too small for adults to stand up in) were fully equipped with working lights, running water and miniature versions of household products and implements – from a dustpan to a vacuum cleaner and a radio – for its maintenance. The girls, needless to say, loved it, not only for its scale and detail but also because it represented an ‘ordinary’ home. Elizabeth could be as fastidious in her sweeping and cleaning as her tidy nature desired.

  As regards other toys, there were constant gifts. Those from members of the public could not, according to protocol, be accepted and so were returned. Those from other sources – organisations, communities and other nations – were kept. Elizabeth had both a baker’s van and a grocer’s cart, with which she could make deliveries using her governess as the horse. A number of the dolls owned by the Princesses can still be seen at Windsor. They include two Japanese ladies in kimonos and two dolls given to the girls by the President of France. ‘France’ and ‘Marianne’ came with beautifully designed clothes, and one of them had no less than 10 pairs of gloves. As well as these toys, which were highly expensive and perhaps unique, they had more mundane playthings – they outfitted a miniature farm with lead livestock bought at Woolworth’s with their pocket money.

  Whatever the girls played with, there were usually just the two of them, and, in fact, they were so much separated from others of their age that they caught no childhood diseases. This comparative isolation also explains the closeness they felt to animals. For Elizabeth, at least, these were to be a lifelong passion and, surrounded as she would always be by subservient humans, it is easy to understand the attraction of species that could offer recreation and a sense of friendship without the tiresome complications of deference and protocol. From the age of three she had her own dog, and acquired a pony soon after. She was famously to say that, when she grew up, she wanted to marry a farmer so that she could ‘live in the country and have lots of horses and dogs’. She first met a corgi when, at the age of seven, she coveted one owned by Viscount Weymouth. Her family soon had one of its own – Dookie. He was not to remain a bachelor for long, and the addition of Jane would create a canine dynasty that would parallel that of the dogs’ owners.

  The duke and duchess, who seldom entertained and preferred their own company to that of others, were indulgent with their daughters. They were not noticeably strict and, despite the presence of nannies and governesses, there was about Elizabeth’s childhood nothing of the Victorian nursery. Their parents saw them for at least an hour, twice a day, and they took their meals together. The Princesses had the run of the whole house rather than being confined to the top floor. Their parents took a close interest in everything they did.

  Their desire was to give their daughters a happy childhood, one that – in the duchesses words – ‘they can always look back on’. The Duke, cowed by a boisterous father and a more extrovert elder brother, had endured a painful childhood and wanted his own offspring to be much happier. The duchess came from a close, affectionate family and had grown up to be dutiful without the need for strict discipline. She saw to it that the lives of her daughters, as far as was possible, mirrored her own, with the same books and games and interests. Once they were old enough for school, there was no discussion of sending them to one. It was not only that there were no family precedents for such a move, but also that their parents were simply not willing to part with them.

  Queen Mary devised a curriculum. She considered it unnecessary for them to learn much about arithmetic, since there would be little need for that. They must, of course, have a great deal of history, as well as knowing something of current affairs. In addition to The Children’s Newspaper, they therefore read Punch, whose beautifully drawn cartoons in those days were a joy to look at – and The Times. They had lessons in the Bible and poetry to learn. She chose for them a number of suitable books, children’s classics with which they should be acquainted. Elizabeth’s favourite, understandably, was Black Beauty. There was singing, drawing and painting, and needlework – although Elizabeth made little progress with this. As with Victorian princesses half a century earlier, there was no need to take formal education too seriously. So long as they had good manners, and were armed with a few ‘accomplishments’, there was no requirement for much further general education.

  It was not an onerous system. There was no question of intensive learning, nor of exams looming at any time in the future. Each lesson lasted only half an hour, and every afternoon was free for playing or walks or some educational outing. The girls were taught six days a week, however, so on Saturdays they used an improvised schoolroom at Royal Lodge. In London their classes took place in a small chamber off their parents’ sitting room.

  Their governess, appointed in 1933, was Miss Marion Crawford. A Scot, she had been recruited from an aristocratic family, and one of her qualifications was that she liked to walk long distances. Nicknamed ‘Crawfie’ by Elizabeth, she was to stay with the girls throughout their upbringing and to spend the war years with them at Windsor. She became greatly attached to her charges, and the Family in turn treated her as a confidante, but after she left their employ to marry she was to commit the terrible sin of writing about her experiences. She published two books, in 1950 and 1953. The first, The Little Princesses, was an anecdotal account of the girls’ childhood. The second, Happy and Glorious, describe Elizabeth’s life before coming to the throne. Although the subject is clearly treated from her particular perspective, the picture she gives of the whole family is an affectionate one. They are largely sympathetic portrayals of the Yorks both before and after the Duke became King, and they provide a wealth of information on the domestic lives of the girls. The books outraged the Family but did more than a little to increase its popularity. They have been extensively mined by historians – they are the only detailed record available of the Princesses’ girlhood – but the Family never forgave the author for this breach of privacy.

  Riding continued to be the girls’ passion. Not only did the Princesses increase their collection of toy horses, but they also learned to handle real ones. Elizabeth, at the age of four, had been taught to ride on the orders of King George by his stud-groom. The child was a very willing pupil and regarded her teacher, Owen, with respectful awe. She rapidly gained from him a detailed knowledge of tack and saddlery and feed, and these things became her chief topic of conversation. The Princesses were also given the use of a pony cart that had belonged to Queen Alexandra. Even when they were in London, they had the opportunity to see horses at close quarters, for the Royal Mews was a short walk away. They would often ask the grooms: ‘Please may we go and talk to the horses?’

  As can be seen, Elizabeth was the product of an extremely happy and close-knit background. She and Margaret grew up in a sheltered environment, surrounded by deference and overwhelming parental love, able to indulge to the full their passion for pets and countryside, able to avoid school subjects that did not interest them, and unquestioning of their position or the peculiar circumstances that went with it. Their parents deliberately sought to give them an idyllic childhood, rather than one that would fit them for life through rigorous training, discipline and competition, as tended to be the practice with princes.

  To further their education, the girls went on a series of expeditions by their grandmother and others. To let them experience the everyday life of the capital they were taken by Miss Crawford on the Underground to Tottenham Court Road, where they had tea at the YWCA – though they were recognised and had to be rescued from a curious crowd by their detective. Although this sounds a mundane enough inte
rlude, it had needed to be planned far ahead, like everything they did, and it would have been for them a considerable expedition. They enjoyed the novelty of handling money, a thing they almost never did, and of figuring out what the different coins were worth.

  They went to see the Royal Mint, and visited the great repositories of culture – Hampton Court, the British Museum, Madame Tussaud’s (where Elizabeth’s wax effigy sat on a pony) and the Victoria and Albert. In this latter they would have seen the gallery of plaster casts of statues and monuments. The striking full-sized naked figure of Michelangelo’s David is among them. To this day, visitors who go round to the back of its plinth will see, in a frame, an appropriately sized plaster fig-leaf that was always put on the statue when it was known that Queen Mary was going to visit. The princesses’ upbringing was sheltered indeed. Their memories of these trips were dominated by the upright figure of their grandmother, sailing ahead of them to point things out while they attempted to keep up.

  The placid life led by the girls was to be shattered, suddenly, when their Uncle David abdicated the throne on 10 December 1936. They had learned very little of the unfolding crisis, and discovered its full implications only on the day that their father succeeded his brother, for Elizabeth saw in the hall a letter left for ‘Her Majesty the Queen’ and asked: ‘That’s Mummy now, isn’t it?’. Margaret, now also aware of the implications, asked her sister if she would be the next queen. ‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth, ‘some day.’ ‘Poor you!’ replied Margaret.

  Elizabeth was aware of the concern of both her parents, and perhaps of her father’s outright horror at the prospect that was opening up before him. She heard her mother say: ‘We must take what is coming to us and make the best of it. There are going to be great changes.’ One of these was the removal of the family to Buckingham Palace (‘You mean for ever?’ asked Elizabeth when told), a home that no generation of Royals seems to like. It is vast, gloomy, uncomfortable and easy to get lost in. Although only across the road from their old house, it seemed a world away.

  Nevertheless, it cast a spell over the sisters. While their grandfather was alive it would have been an intimidating place. Now it belonged to their parents, and could be properly explored without the need to be well behaved. No child could inherit such a kingdom and be unimpressed. There were lengthy corridors – on which they could ride their tricycles – mysterious stairs, cellars and an entire inner quadrangle. The Throne Room, let alone the Ballroom, must have inspired awe. The gardens were vast, not overlooked, and entirely private – though they offered glimpses of the passing world. Best of all, the Royal Mews with their stalls and placid, munching horses were only yards away. It really must have been a huge adventure. The girls lined up their equine toys in the passageway outside their second-floor suite of rooms, although the King had their rocking horse put outside his study so that he could hear the sounds of his children romping. This may have been some compensation for the fact that their parents, and particularly their father, could no longer give them the attention to which they had been accustomed.

  Once the Duke became King, Elizabeth’s position naturally also changed. She was now second in line to the throne. It is said that from then on she prayed every night for a brother to supersede her. The recent crisis was banished from conversation as if it had not happened. The Family was now fixed upon its new destiny. Elizabeth had undergone a basic education in royal behaviour. Now she was to be schooled specifically for her future tasks. Her father, as a second son, had had no training to be anything but a naval officer. He had been – and remained – terrified of the prospect of ruling. His father, George V, had also been a second son and had experienced a similar naval career. His grandfather, Edward VII, had been deliberately kept from taking any part in affairs of state, and as a result had led a sybaritic, largely unproductive life until he succeeded at the age of 64. The new King was determined that his own successor would not come to the throne with such a lack of relevant experience. There was no recent precedent for the education of a female heir to the throne. The boys of previous generations had simply been packed off into the Navy or given vague courses of education with tutors and at universities. The King himself took on the task of instructing Elizabeth in the performance of a monarch’s duties, and a famous photograph, taken when Elizabeth was aged 16, captures this passing on of experience. It shows the King at his desk with his daughter looking over his shoulder as he explains a document from his dispatch box. This image perfectly captures the sense of close association between father and daughter, between the monarchs of the present and future.

  She not only learned about administration but also about standing for long hours without getting tired, and never looking peevish, unhappy, tearful or bored. All her life she had seen her relations going about their duty – waving to crowds, greeting, taking salutes, inspecting people or places. She absorbed this subconsciously and found that she could do it too.

  Another point was perhaps unspoken but obvious: while her father and grandmother offered examples of how a monarch should behave, her Uncle David – by now in exile on the Continent – showed how the job should not be done. As Prince of Wales he had been famous for a magnetic charm, and this had made many friends for the monarchy during his overseas tours. There had always, however, been stories of his petulance, self-indulgence and downright rudeness to mar the image that his subjects wished to have of him. As monarch for a few months in 1936 he was too preoccupied with Mrs Simpson to give his full attention to matters of state. He proved an extremely half-hearted sovereign, brusquely impatient with the trappings – and obligations – of his position and of the dedication and efforts of those who served him. When he decided to give up the throne, the disappointment with him felt by many in the Empire turned to resentment and hostility. Elizabeth had always been fond of him. He had been a frequent visitor to the Yorks and an indulgent uncle to the girls, who had been gratified by his interest in them (every Christmas he gave Elizabeth one of A. A. Milne’s books), although they had seen much less of him since he became King and his personal life grew more complicated. Now Elizabeth saw the effect of his selfishness on her family, the monarchy and the public. Queen Mary never forgave him. Her parents’ lives seemed ruined. The Crown appeared to be at its most unpopular since the years of Victoria’s seclusion. Perhaps some of the determination to be above reproach that has guided Queen Elizabeth has been the result of witnessing this upheaval.

  Before the ink was even dry on the Instrument of Abdication, Queen Mary had begun to take a more detailed interest in the education of her eldest granddaughter. From now on, no child produced by the Duke of Windsor – as he was now styled – would be of any importance. Elizabeth’s thoughts and energies, as well as those of the people around her, must be focused on preparing her urgently for the future. Queen Mary sent for the girls’ curriculum, studied it and made important changes. There was to be much more history, and there was more learning and reciting of poetry, since it encouraged a feel for the power and rhythm of words, and trained the memory. The lessons would now grow longer, which was appropriate anyway, since the girls were getting older.

  Elizabeth herself was naturally conscious of the new mood around her. She was galvanised to pay even greater attention in the classroom, to strain even harder to meet the expectations of family and public. ‘I will be good,’ she vowed, repeating – consciously or otherwise – word-for-word a statement made 100 years earlier by Princess Victoria.

  An imaginative and curious child, she was captivated by the past (‘History is so thrilling!’ she once enthused). It is perhaps not difficult to see the relevance of the subject when it deals so much with your own ancestors, when you are surrounded by their portraits and their possessions, and when you know that you yourself are likely to play some role in the continuing story of the nation. Marion Crawford described looking with her at the portrait of Queen Elizabeth in the Royal Library at Windsor, which had once been the Queen’s bedchamber. ‘Sometimes,’ she reca
lled, ‘my stories were told on the very scene of the historic events I described.’ As her predecessor, Princess Victoria, had been in childhood, Princess Elizabeth was fascinated by the figure of the great queen. She even learned by heart Elizabeth’s speech to her troops at Tilbury. The girls were also able to use the Royal collections for their education. Every week Miss Crawford had some piece from the picture store sent up to the schoolroom for them to study.

  Elizabeth loved the ceremonies, the costumes and the music that went with state occasions and which were the very embodiment of history. This was particularly noticeable in the months before her father’s Coronation in the summer of 1937, for this event meant the assembling of all the splendidly costumed officials of which the United Kingdom has so many. Once again, she knew her place in the hierarchy of the Court, and the functions that her parents and grandmother would fulfil. She knew the titles of office-holders and the names of foreign royalty who were coming to stay for the occasion (she reprimanded Miss Crawford for failing to recognise, and curtsy to, King Haakon of Norway in the gardens of Buckingham Palace). Once again, it was not difficult to be enchanted by the glitter of ceremonial when you yourself were part of it, when you knew so many of those involved, and when any of them would answer your questions. It was also rather head-turning to be able to command the resources of the monarchy. When Princess Elizabeth was 13 her favourite musical was Rose Marie. On her birthday she asked the band of the Scots Guards to play tunes from it at Windsor.