A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II

by Michael Paterson

  The King, knowing that his eldest daughter might well have her own Coronation within a decade or two, used the occasion to teach her about the ceremony, its participants and its significance. He had a picture book created that showed the event from beginning to end, and went through it with her. Queen Mary, too, found a guide to the Coronation procession, this time a relic from the reign of Victoria, and similarly explained the names and functions of the people depicted. Their present-day counterparts could be introduced to the children as they came to the Palace to attend rehearsals. The king was, in any case, given to discussing with her affairs of state, and it was observed that he spoke to her as to an equal.

  Elizabeth had already, as a small girl, learned how to wave to crowds. She had understood all her life that people wanted to see her, and that it was a kindness to make herself visible. Gradually, during the 1930s, she became more noticeable at Royal occasions. She was a bridesmaid at the wedding of her uncle, the Duke of Kent, in 1934. She participated in the celebrations for her grandfather’s Silver Jubilee. In May 1937, she attended her father’s Coronation. She began accompanying her father to events, such as the opening of the National Maritime Museum, and she made a speech in French to welcome the future French President René Coty, as well as greeting other Coronation guests.

  Elizabeth took a sisterly interest in Margaret and hoped she would behave (‘she is rather young for a coronation’). She told her that, in the Abbey: ‘If you see someone in a funny hat, you are not to point at it and laugh.’

  The ceremony itself took place on 12 May 1937. Elizabeth was encouraged to write a journal of the event, and she did so with characteristic thoroughness. On lined paper she wrote neatly in pencil: ‘The Coronation, 12 May 1937. To Mummy and Papa. From Lilibet By Herself.’ It is preserved in the Royal Archives. It describes the noise of the crowds outside the Palace early that morning, and how the sisters – not yet dressed – watched them through the windows. She writes of the carriage-drive to the Abbey, and the splendour, colour and monotony within. She watched, very solemnly (judging by photographs), the whole of the lengthy and complex ceremony, and appeared with her parents and sister afterward on the Palace balcony to greet the crowds. She and Margaret seemed, in their velvet trains and coronets, straight out of a fairy tale.

  Soon afterwards she reached the age at which her contemporaries were beginning secondary school, and her own education took a further step forward. It was arranged that she should take lessons in constitutional history from the Vice Provost of Eton. Henry Marten was amiably professorial, charming and – after teaching generations of boys the complexities of Britain’s past and present – extremely capable. The History of England, of which he was co-author, was a seminal textbook. The Princess visited him twice weekly in company with Miss Crawford, who had no role in this process but that of observer. They sat in his untidy, book-filled study – where he kept a tame raven – while he expatiated on the mysteries of this subject. He had never taught a girl pupil, and had a tendency based on long habit to address her as ‘Gentlemen’. Like her father and grandfather, she was taken exhaustively through that bible of monarchy, Walter Bagehot’s English Constitution. Although published in 1867, it was as relevant as ever, and her son would one day study it in turn. Elizabeth, always diligent, took copious notes on the green-covered exercise books that were used by the schoolboys while her governess was invited by the affable Marten to relax with a novel.

  These sessions may not sound much like a formal education, but they were of immense value. The heir to the throne received, through them, one-to-one tuition specifically tailored to her own circumstances and future from a man who was perhaps the most gifted history teacher of his generation. She studied Trevelyan’s English Social History and G. R. Elton’s Imperial Commonwealth. Her tutor discoursed on disparate aspects of law, on the role of Parliament and on economics. To teach her about international affairs he produced an umbrella that opened into a map of the world. To deal with constitutional matters he invented a sort of jigsaw, each piece of which represented some office-holder or aspect of the state, and made the whole subject comprehensible. He must have won her affection not only for his endearing battiness but because he was a great admirer of her heroine Queen Victoria. With her powerful memory, the Princess retained a lot of what she was taught and she was set homework, which, if it was not good enough, might be marked ‘N’, for nonsense.

  The lessons continued for years. When the Princess was at Birkhall on the Balmoral estate, he posted her lessons to her. Once she was at Windsor after the war had begun, he carried his books up to the Castle and taught her there. Princess Margaret was not offered the opportunity to have tutorials with Marten. It was, she was told, ‘not necessary’. With the return of peace, he was to be knighted for his services. The ceremony took place in School Yard, Eton’s imposing quadrangle, in front of the assembled boys. He deserved this accolade, for he had done his job well. As Queen Elizabeth, his pupil has genuinely impressed advisors and politicians with her absolute command of constitutional matters. She was thoroughly grounded in the things she needed to know.

  Elizabeth was aged 13 when, in the summer of 1939 and a matter of weeks away from war, she experienced one of the most significant moments in her life. On 22 June she visited Britannia Royal Naval College at Dartmouth with her parents and sister. They arrived aboard the Royal Yacht, Victoria and Albert. The King was a former cadet and, although he had not shone there, he was happy to show his family around the buildings and grounds, where his elder daughter was to plant a tree. Elizabeth and Margaret were not allowed to visit the College itself, owing to an outbreak of mumps, and were instead sent to the home of the Captain (Commanding Officer) where they had somehow to be entertained for several hours. A young cadet, Prince Philip of Greece, who was the nephew of the king’s cousin, ‘Dickie’ Countbatten, was given the task, and he did not relish the company of two small girls. They played for a short while with the train set of the Captain’s son, and then Philip suggested they go to a nearby tennis court, where he showed off by jumping over the net. After a tea at which he put away a gargantuan amount of shrimps, the visit came to an end. Victoria and Albert steamed out of Dartmouth Harbour accompanied by a fleet of small craft manned by members of the College. Most turned back once in the choppier waters of the open sea, but a single boat continued relentlessly to follow until the King became annoyed at the danger in which its occupant was placing himself. Philip – for it was he – had to be ordered by loud-hailer to return.

  This story has passed into legend. It was first recounted by Miss Crawford, who was present. Elizabeth was deeply impressed by Philip’s handsome appearance, his athletic ability and his brash self-confidence, so much at odds with her own more reserved nature. Whether or not the details are correct, there can be no doubt that at some time in the months and years that followed she fell seriously in love with him.

  WARTIME, 1939–1947

  ‘Poor Darlings, they have not had any fun yet.’

  ‘Who is this Hitler, spoiling everything?’ Princess Margaret had asked. Elizabeth knew, and hated him. She was disappointed when war did not break out in 1938 over Czechoslovakia and was rebuked by her nurserymaid, Miss MacDonald: ‘You don’t know what war is like!’ When it did come the following year, she found out soon enough. Just over a month later, some 800 men were killed when HMS Royal Oak was sunk by a U-boat. Her anguish, and outrage, were genuine: ‘It can’t be! All those nice sailors!’

  The Second World War was to cost the young Princess very heavily. It destroyed the house in which she was born, the chapel in which she was christened, the home she had loved for the first decade of her life. Her parents were almost killed; her uncle was. She herself heard the sound of falling bombs and anti-aircraft fire, and had to go to shelter when enemy planes were overhead. She saw a doodlebug crash and explode in Windsor Great Park (more than 300 bombs fell there during the conflict). She would perhaps see – and would at least hear – the waves
of German bombers passing over the Castle on their way to annihilate Coventry. She worried about her father when he put himself in danger by travelling to war-zones, and about her ‘young man’, serving in convoys on the North Sea, the Atlantic and the Pacific. She experienced rationing and shortages (even Royalty had a black line painted round its baths to prevent overfilling). She suffered separation from her parents.

  On the outbreak of war, in September 1939, the princesses were at Balmoral, and remained there. For the time being, their idyll continued. ‘Are we too happy?’ the conscience-stricken girl was to ask when the war eventually became more serious and more dangerous. Although initially nothing happened, for Hitler was still digesting Poland, there was the danger of air raids. Since the previous year, when war had almost begun, extensive precautions had been taken to protect both buildings and people. There were air-raid drills, wardens and auxiliary medical services, concrete shelters, sandbags everywhere. The contents of museums were removed to safety. There was much talk of sending people abroad, too. It was speculated that the princesses might go to Canada to wait out hostilities.

  King George would not consider this. He would not be parted from his daughters, and saw it as important to national morale that the Royal Family stay in Britain. It was decided, however, that some members should depart from London. Queen Mary went to stay at Badminton, the country house in Gloucestershire, where she was to pass the war years very happily. The girls would live at Royal Lodge for the time being, for the house should be safe enough from aerial attack, and amid familiar surroundings it was hoped that their lives could retain at least a modicum of normality. The King and Queen lived largely at Buckingham Palace, feeling that it was important to remain in the capital and share whatever dangers were to come. They spoke to the princesses by telephone at six o’clock every evening but saw them only at weekends, which they spent at Windsor. Both the sovereign and his consort practised shooting with rifles and pistols and, when travelling, the King sometimes carried a sten gun. Should the Germans invade, the Queen declared that: ‘I shall not go down like the others.’ The monarchies of Belgium and Denmark were trapped by the invaders when German forces overran western Europe in May 1940. Those of Norway and the Netherlands had to flee. The British monarchy was determined to fight. Even Queen Mary toted a pistol.

  And there were some dangerous moments. In September 1940, two days after the start of the Blitz, a bomb fell on the Palace. It did not explode and the King carried on working in his study above it. It did blow up the next day, destroying the swimming-pool that had only recently been built. While this attack might have been random, there was another one exactly a week later that was intentional. The Palace was extremely conspicuous from the air, and a raider flew calmly up the Mall to drop a total of six bombs, which landed in the forecourt, the quadrangle, the chapel and the garden. For the King and Queen to stay in London was more than a mere gesture. They were risking their lives as much as any Londoners.

  Meanwhile the girls helped collect scrap metal for the war effort and, like all children living in the country at that time, they helped with the harvesting of fruit and vegetables. They made donations from their pocket money to help the Red Cross. Elizabeth made a gallant attempt to knit items of clothing for soldiers – this was something the aged Queen Victoria had done during the Boer War – but the experiment was not a success.

  After the fall of France in the summer of 1940, there was a real possibility of German invasion. The girls were moved for safety from Royal Lodge into the Castle itself. Britain is a peaceful country, and its castles had not had to provide shelter against enemies for several centuries. Now, in a sense, Windsor once again became a fortress rather than a palace. Isolated on its hilltop amid extensive grounds, it was almost impossible for enemy bombers to miss had they wished to make a serious or extensive raid on it. Nearby reservoirs could have enabled a landing by seaplanes. The Park provided a perfect setting for a parachute drop. Despite its massive walls, Windsor therefore did not always seem very safe and its grounds were patrolled with grim purpose at night by soldiers and Home Guard.

  From behind its battlements the raids on London, or Slough, were clearly audible and would have made a deep impression on the princesses. They must also have felt considerable sorrow when their old house in Piccadilly was hit. The war would have seemed a very personal matter when their parents’ home, Buckingham Palace, was bombed by the Luftwaffe.

  On a number of occasions the sirens sent them down to the Castle’s dungeons, one of which had been prepared as a shelter. The first time this happened, there was sudden concern when the princesses and their nanny failed to appear. Minutes went by and Sir Hill Child, the Master of the Household, was beside himself with anxiety. Miss Crawford, the governess, called up the stairs of the Brunswick Tower, in which the girls had their quarters: ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘We’re dressing,’ replied Elizabeth.

  This was taking propriety too far. Child made it clear that in future there must be no such delays. The thought of the heir to the throne being killed because she, or her dresser, felt she should have her shoes properly tied was something he did not want on his conscience. When the all-clear sounded, however, his natural courtesy at once returned: ‘You may go to bed now, Ma’am,’ he told Elizabeth, bowing.

  With practice, a routine was established. The girls had bunks in the shelter, suitcases packed with both essentials and sentimental treasures, and ‘siren-suits’ – as popularised by the Prime Minister – to enable them to be dressed in seconds. However successful he was at getting the girls to cooperate, Child was to find their mother more difficult to convince. The Queen, when the siren dragged them all out of bed, simply refused to be hurried into behaving in a flustered or undignified manner. She not only dressed completely for the shelter but did so with deliberate slowness, as a point of honour. After a while she decided not to bother going below ground at all, regarding it as being too much trouble, and announced that they would take their chances above ground.

  Against this background of enemy action, the Buckingham Palace Guide Troop, founded for the princesses and their friends, had transferred to Windsor where they carried on their activities, though now they were drilled by a Sergeant Major of the Grenadiers. They held a camp in the Park, but there could be no doubt that this was not an ordinary troop – tents were erected for them by Guardsmen and their food was provided by the Castle pantries. The unit contained a number of evacuee girls from working-class districts in London. Margaret was better at mixing with them than her sister who, with her trademark shyness already in evidence, found an excuse to sleep on her own in a nearby summer house rather than under canvas. Elizabeth was promoted to Patrol Leader.

  On 13 October 1940, Princess Elizabeth, then 14 years old, broadcast to the children of the Empire on the radio programme Children’s Hour. Coached in delivery, and with her mother beating time, the Princess said in a measured and confident voice: ‘My sister Margaret Rose and I feel so much for you, for we too know from experience what it means to be away from those we love most of all.’ She ended on an upbeat: ‘We know, every one of us, that in the end all shall be well.’ Princess Margaret, at her elbow, was urged to join her in wishing her audience farewell: ‘Good night, and good luck to you all.’ Its target audience was the juvenile diaspora that had been scattered by evacuation, and especially those fortunate enough to have been sent to North America – a sad separation but a comfortable exile. It was a well-delivered speech that has remained fixed in the national memory. Together with the talk she was to broadcast on her 21st birthday, it was among the most memorable of all the hundreds the Queen has given. One who heard it was the South African writer Sarah Gertrude Millin, who was moved to remark: ‘If there are still queens in the world a generation hence, this child will be a good queen.’

  Windsor was a most agreeable place in which to sit out these years of confinement. The Castle and parks were, of course, full of beauty and interest, and were pea
ceful most of the time. There were also interesting and talented people wherever one looked, either resident or passing through. Household regiments were rotated throughout the war as they were in peacetime, bringing a changing series of high-spirited young officers and imposing, respectful Guardsmen. There were courtiers with a sense of fun, such as Sir Hill Child. Although he may have wrung his hands over the princesses’ slowness in dressing, he took them into the Castle cellars to show them where the Crown Jewels were hidden, wrapped in newspaper.

  There were also local teachers who were willing to help maintain morale. One of them, Hubert Tanner, was headmaster of the little local school in the Park. He produced, for Christmas 1940, a nativity play that was performed by local children, evacuees and . . . the princesses. Both girls delighted in the experience, and the following year a more ambitious undertaking was attempted. This was a pantomime – Cinderella – with sophisticated costumes, and original music by Mr Tanner (who also acted in the productions) that was staged in the Castle’s Waterloo Chamber. It perhaps goes without saying that the two princesses had the lead roles – but then a major purpose was to train the girls towards confidence in public – with Elizabeth as Prince Charming and her sister as Cinderella herself. Here Margaret, who all her life would enjoy singing, had her first taste of applause. Her audience was made up of local people, estate workers, soldiers and the families of Castle staff. Tickets were sold in aid of something called the Royal Household Knitting Wool Fund. Their parents enjoyed themselves hugely, the King, who had a simple and hearty sense of humour, laughing loudly throughout. This was precisely the sort of golden memory on which he wanted his daughters to be able to look back. His own shyness having never left him, he was gratified to see that his heir could appear in public with such lack of inhibition.