The performances became an annual tradition. Aladdin was put on the next year, and was followed by a show whose title – Old Mother Red Riding Boots – suggests a rather tongue-in-cheek concoction based on several children’s stories. For the princesses these productions, with their elaborate costumes and serving soldiers drafted in as extras, were an important part of their lives. The Queen took them as seriously as any indulgent parent, going over the scripts with them, testing them on their lines and cues. A frisson of excitement was added during Aladdin by the presence in the audience of Philip, on leave from the Navy.
This was not the only distraction. Many years after the war, the author A. N. Wilson was to sit next to the Queen Mother at luncheon. In the course of their conversation she recalled that, because during the war she felt her daughters were missing out on culture, a poetry evening was arranged. T. S. Eliot came to the Castle and read his best-known work. Her Majesty recalled: ‘We had this rather lugubrious man in a suit, and he read a poem. I think it was called “The Desert”. And first the girls got the giggles, and then I did and then even the King.’
‘“The Desert”, Ma’am?’ replied Wilson. ‘Are you sure you don’t mean “The Waste Land”?’
‘That’s it. I’m afraid we all giggled. Such a gloomy man, looked as though he worked in a bank, and we didn’t understand a word.’
Wilson repeated this exchange in an article for The Spectator, and faced a good deal of censure for disclosing a private conversation with a member of the Royal Family. Surely no one could object, however, to an anecdote that shows such good-natured humour, and offers such a delightful glimpse of their lives?
Further afield, the Royal Family lost its first member on active service for centuries. Prince George, Duke of Kent – the King’s youngest surviving brother – had been serving in the RAF. Elizabeth had been a bridesmaid at his wedding in 1934. Like numerous other young men in that branch of service, he was tragically killed not in action but in a flying accident. In August 1942, while travelling over Scotland to Iceland aboard a Sunderland flying boat to inspect bases, his plane collided with a mountainside in thick fog. Wartime air travel was highly risky. The King, on two occasions, flew overseas to visit theatres of operations. Both times he returned without mishap, but his family had been extremely concerned.
The Princess’s training for her future role became increasingly serious. Although by 1942 the threat from German bombers had receded, there was to be another Blitz two years later when the V-1 and V-2 rockets began to fall on England. During this, her parents again remained in London. The King was well aware that, by courting danger, he was increasing the risk that his daughter might suddenly become queen, and that she must be as prepared as possible. She was, in any case, reaching young adulthood and it would not be long before she began to assume some royal duties.
For the time being, her only official position was that of Sea Ranger. She had graduated to this after passing out of the Guides on reaching 16. On her birthday that year she went, as did all young women of her age, to a Labour Exchange to register for work under the Wartime Youth Service Scheme. She longed to do something useful, and relished having this experience in common with others of her age, but it was no more than a gesture. The King refused to let her be assigned any form of duty, believing that she was already helping the war effort by keeping up morale through her membership of the Royal Family. He did not want the heir to the throne to be, as it were, out of reach. As the Head-of-State-in-waiting, she must remain close at hand. He found her a position that was more suitable.
Her father appointed her Colonel of the Grenadier Guards. She took the salute at a parade on her birthday, and the Colonel’s Colour that she received was, understandably, the ‘present’ she most appreciated. The previous Colonel, who had just died, had been the Duke of Connaught. Born in 1850, son of Victoria and godson of Wellington, he had been a professional soldier all his life. There can have been no greater contrast with a vivacious schoolgirl – she was the youngest-ever Colonel-in-Chief in the British Army – yet he would have had no fault to find with her bearing or her enthusiasm. The men themselves must have looked upon her appointment as a breath of fresh air.
In the drab and austere war years the regiment, like all others, had had to lay aside the visual splendour that characterised its public appearances in peacetime; nevertheless, she was delighted. The Princess was anxious to do something useful towards the war effort and, though in any case still too young to serve, this gave her a personal connection with an illustrious military unit. She was proud to wear its grenade badge in her hat. There was certainly nothing schoolgirlish about her involvement with the regiment. At the parade she stood ramrod-straight and solemn-faced, and when inspecting the men found fault with details to such an extent that she had to be tactfully asked to show less zeal. It may seem likely that, given her sheltered upbringing, Philip of Greece was the only man she had had opportunity of meeting or getting to know. In fact, Windsor was full of charming and suitable young Guards officers, many of them from families known to her parents, and her connection with the Grenadiers brought her especially close to some of them. She followed their fortunes throughout the war, and was to count some of them – such as Lord Porchester, who became her Racing Manager – as lifelong friends.
And it was at this same age that she discovered the pleasures of racing. She was taken by the King to Wiltshire to watch his trainer exercising horses on the Downs. A lifetime of interest in horses of any sort was suddenly compounded by the sight of these thoroughbreds in training, and added a new dimension to the pony-club affection she had had as a girl. She met a jockey – Gordon Richards – and was introduced to a world of equine specialists and experts whose manner, speech and knowledge she found fascinating. She was, remarkably quickly, to match their expertise. She visited the Royal Stud soon afterwards, establishing a connection that has continued ever since. Her father had been a nominal race-goer; his daughter would make up for his lack of fervour.
A further step was taken towards her future position when Parliament amended legislation so that, as soon as she was 18, she could become a Councillor of State and deputise for the King when his visits to battlefronts took him away from Britain. She would otherwise not have been eligible until she was 21.
Although devoted to her parents and willing to be guided by her elders, Elizabeth possessed a good deal of stubbornness. If she wanted something badly enough she was capable of fighting for it. By the beginning of 1945 the conflict, in Europe at least, was clearly not going to last much longer. She still yearned to have some sort of active role in the war effort and badgered her father to grant his permission to enlist. He eventually yielded and allowed her to join the Armed Forces. As heir to the throne she would have been a prize catch for any of the women’s services, and these had an informal hierarchy of prestige. The WRNS (Women’s Royal Naval Service) was at the top, followed by the WRAF (Women’s Royal Air Force) and the WRAC (Women’s Royal Army Corps). Last in this pecking order was the ATS (Auxiliary Territorial Service), a unit whose functions included the decidedly unglamorous occupation of vehicle-maintenance. Elizabeth joined this – and was to be proud for the rest of her life of the mechanical and driving skills it gave her. She was commissioned as Second Subaltern (lieutenant) Princess Elizabeth, Army number 20873, and attached to No. 1 Mechanical Transport Training Centre near Camberley – a place sufficiently near Windsor to make commuting possible. She was fitted for her khaki uniform, and polished the buttons herself!
This would undoubtedly have been a chance to live a relatively ordinary life, had it been taken. The Princess, however, did not share all the experiences of her contemporaries. On the first day of service she was collected from Windsor by her commanding officer. Thereafter – at the insistence of the King, who had made this a condition – she returned home every evening to dine and sleep, leaving again after breakfast to be driven to camp. Servants pressed her uniforms. Although she shared the duties of her un
it, acting as officer of the day when her turn came, she did not mingle with the others. At lectures she came into the room last and left it first, always occupying the middle of the front row and flanked by senior officers. No one addressed her as anything other than ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Your Royal Highness’, though the girls had little chance to talk to her anyway. Yet she was as curious about them as they must have been about her. Whenever one of them asked a question in a lecture, the Princess would turn in her seat and stare at them, anxious to recognise faces and learn names. A rare and useful glimpse of Royalty from the other side was afforded her, however, when she had to help prepare the camp for a visit by the Princess Royal, her aunt. She later fumed: ‘What a business it has been. Spit and polish all day long. Now I know what goes on when Mummy and Papa go anywhere.’
She completed the course in vehicle maintenance, but in the process she had become obsessed, as people do when a new interest takes up all their time, with technicalities. The fact that her parents knew nothing about these matters may have added to her pleasure in mastering the subject. ‘We had sparking-plugs last night all through dinner,’ her mother famously sighed. The King and Queen attended her graduation, and no doubt were as proud as she was.
As well as learning to repair engines, the Princess perfected her ability to drive. She had already taken lessons in Windsor Great Park, and had been given a Daimler by the King for her 18th birthday. She took her test by driving her commanding officer to Buckingham Palace from Aldershot. This involved negotiating London’s traffic – no small thing even in those relatively uncrowded days – and going twice round Piccadilly Circus.
She began to take a structured, rather than occasional, part in public duties. She acted as hostess to visiting military and political leaders, visited camps and bases, inspected troops, and even travelled in secret to watch a rehearsal for the parachute drop that would take place on D-Day.
As evidence that she had now joined the adult world, Elizabeth was given her own rooms in Buckingham Palace – a bedroom, dressing room, bathroom and sitting room that overlooked the Mall. She was also given two members of staff – a housemaid and footman. Within a few months of her birthday she was to perform the duty of Councillor of State, signing the reprieve for a murderer. She would also attend a luncheon at Guildhall and make a public speech for the first time.
There was some speculation about whether she should have a further title. ‘Princess Elizabeth’ was still associated in the public mind with the small girl surrounded by dogs and horses. Could she not, it was pondered, celebrate her coming of age by being created Princess of Wales? The King, who was a stickler for protocol, would not hear of it. That title was only for the wife of the Prince of Wales. Subjects north of the border asked if she could therefore become Princess of Scotland. There was no such title and the monarch did not consider establishing it. The matter was simply forgotten, and his daughter remained Princess Elizabeth until she became queen.
When the war ended in Europe, the family were together in London. Elizabeth joined her parents, and the Prime Minister, on the Palace balcony on 8 May 1945, dressed in her khaki ATS uniform. That evening with the celebrations still going on, they persuaded the King to let them out into the crowd. Once suitable escorts were arranged, he gave consent. ‘Poor darlings,’ he told the Queen, ‘they have not had any fun yet.’ After dark, she and Margaret went, with several friends and young officers, incognito into the crowd and joined in the celebrations. They went along the Mall into Piccadilly Circus, unrecognised. They also stood in front of the Palace and joined in the calls for the King and Queen. There was no doubt that this summons would be answered. Their parents knew they would be somewhere outside in the sea of faces, and had been told they must appear!
Three months later the scene was repeated when Japan surrendered. This time Elizabeth stood on the balcony not in uniform but in a summer dress, and she filmed the crowds with a movie camera.
Before the war had ended, Princess Elizabeth had furthered the passion for racing that had begun a few years earlier. In June 1945 she attended races at Newmarket for the first time with her parents. The King’s horse, Rising Light, came fifth. Given her long-standing fascination with horses and the impetus this had received from meeting trainers, it was perhaps only to be expected that she would take such an interest in the notion of them, brought to a pitch of beauty and fitness and grace, competing for prizes through their own ability and the skill and empathy of those who rode them. She also experienced the heady sensation of favouring a horse and willing it to win, as well as the pleasure of watching such contests in the company of thousands who shared her enthusiasm – a genuinely democratic crowd made up of all classes, giving her a rare opportunity to participate in a communal activity. Racing had been, of course, a very long tradition in her family – Charles II had been an enthusiastic visitor to Newmarket, and Ascot had been founded by Queen Anne – but no monarch since Edward VII had followed it with great enthusiasm. Now, within a few years, a golden age of royal racing would begin. The Queen Mother was, of course, to become similarly – indeed even more – associated with the sport.
With the war over and the Princess now grown up, there was naturally speculation about whom she would marry. The King was concerned that his daughter had not met enough young men to make a mature judgement regarding her future, and he began to invite to Balmoral, Sandringham or Ascot young blue-bloods who could give her a broader perspective. Although she enjoyed, as any young girl would, the company of sophisticated people of her own age, it became clear that her heart was already committed.
There could be no questioning her affection for Prince Philip. She had kept his photograph on her desk for years and written to him frequently. She had had to worry about him, for he had been in danger on numerous occasions. He had served in the Mediterranean, where his ship bombarded the Libyan coast and took part in the battle at Cape Matapan. In this action, which had put Italy’s surface fleet out of the war, he had manned the searchlights aboard HMS Valiant. He was given a Mention in Dispatches that read: ‘Thanks to his alertness and appreciation of the situation, we were able to sink in five minutes two Italian cruisers.’ He took part in convoys along the east coast of Britain. He crossed the Atlantic, and he was posted to the Pacific where – thanks to his influential uncle – he was aboard USS Missouri to witness the signing of the Japanese surrender. In between, however, he had appeared in London several times on leave, or while his ship was being refitted. Elizabeth was clearly delighted to see him. No one could have mistaken her excitement when she found he was coming to Aladdin at Windsor. Although they had not been together a great deal, they had seen enough of each other to deepen their friendship significantly.
The Princess and Philip were, to a large extent, an attraction of opposites. Not only were their natures very different, his experiences and hers had very little in common. He was not, like many of her friends among the Guards officers, from a background of landed estates and country pursuits. Nor did he have wealth that would have enabled him to keep pace with the lifestyle of the Royals. He shared none of Elizabeth’s passion for the Turf (in later years he was said to disappear into the Royal Box at Ascot and watch cricket on television while the Queen attended to the races). From the perspective of the senior British aristocracy he was an outsider. He was literally homeless, and had nothing to live on except his naval pay, which was £11 a week.
And what were the feelings of the young man himself? Shortly after he had passed out of Dartmouth in the summer before the war began, his uncle contacted an old acquaintance. Vice-Admiral Harold Baillie-Grohman was Captain of the battleship HMS Ramillies in the Mediterranean, and Mountbatten requested that his nephew be assigned to the ship. When the young man arrived, he was invited to the Captain’s cabin to meet his commanding officer. The Admiral was astonished when, in answer to questions about his future ambitions, Philip said: ‘My Uncle Dickie has plans for me. He thinks I could marry Princess Elizabeth.’
‘Are you really fond of her?’ he was asked.
‘Oh, yes, very. I write to her every week.’
The Captain was sufficiently struck by this exchange to write it down verbatim.
In 1941 the diarist Henry ‘Chips’ Channon met Philip at a cocktail party and recorded matter-of-factly: ‘Prince Philip of Greece was there. He is to be our Prince Consort and that is why he is serving in our Navy.’ Gossip and rumour had married them off many years before they became engaged. By the end of the war it was common knowledge throughout the Navy that Philip was to court the Princess. He made no attempt to silence such speculation.
With her role in the Royal family becoming established, and even her hobby now decided upon, it became clear that – in the minds of the Princess and the young naval officer – another important issue had also been settled.
NEW ERA, 1947–1952
‘Poor Lil. Nothing of your own. Not even your love affair.’
With the war over, Princess Elizabeth’s public duties became more routine. She now visited towns and factories rather than camps or troops in training, and often carried out these functions in company with her parents or her grandmother. Although young and undeniably pretty, Elizabeth dressed very much like her mother – they had the same dressmaker – and therefore had a tendency to look older than her years. As an emerging public personality she was the focus of considerable interest, and she was even the subject of a film – Heir to the Throne. It was to be the first of numerous documentaries that would show the public the nature of her life and work.
The years between 1945 and her accession in 1952 were a brief interlude by the standards of a long life. Within this period she experienced apprenticeship, courtship, marriage and children – a chance to know something approaching normality as well as a relative freedom from responsibility.
A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II Page 7