A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II

by Michael Paterson

  Despite an affectionate marriage, the Queen and Prince Philip were often apart, especially as his own sphere of activity expanded. In 1956 he went, with his wife’s blessing, on a voyage on Britannia that lasted four months. He had missed the active life of the Navy, and this was an opportunity to revive something valuable from his past. After opening the Melbourne Olympics he wandered the Southern Hemisphere, visiting a number of British territories that, because of their intense isolation, did not see Royalty from one reign to the next: the Falkland Islands, Tristan da Cuhna, St Helena. He travelled almost 40,000 miles. This meant, of course, that he was away from his growing children and missed Christmas with them. He was also absent throughout the Suez Crisis, when he could have been a steadying public presence. His long maritime odyssey also fuelled rumours that his marriage was in difficulties, though it was probably approved by the Queen as compensation for his lost naval career and as a break from Court ritual. His Equerry and general assistant, Michael Parker, was to be sued for divorce on their return – this news leaked and obliged him to resign his position before the voyage even ended – and neither man was in a hurry to get back. Philip finally saw the Queen again in Portugal, where they were making a state visit together. It was known that he had grown a beard at one point during the voyage, and when he was reunited with his wife aboard an aircraft he found that she, and her ladies-in-waiting, were all sporting false whiskers. Her Majesty, in spite of this, does not like facial hair, and he would have been unlikely to keep his beard.

  Amid the stresses of her new role, she found enormous pleasure in escaping to the world of the Turf. Since her wartime encounters with this (in 1945 she began her regular annual attendances at Ascot) she had been edging closer to serious involvement, and in 1949 she had taken the first step. She and her mother, who had a similar wish to dabble in racing, had been persuaded to purchase between them a steeplechaser called Monaveen. Although soundly recommended and initially successful, Monaveen died during a race and, while her mother remained devoted to steeplechasing, the Princess decided to abandon ‘the sticks’ for flat racing. Only after the death of the Queen Mother in 2002 would her daughter take over her ‘jumpers’.

  She had introduced personal racing colours; scarlet and with purple hoops on the sleeves, and a black cap. These were given up when she succeeded because she then inherited the Royal colours, which had first been adopted by the Prince Regent: purple body with gold braid and scarlet sleeves. Black cap with a gold fringe (Princess Anne would revive and use the old colours when riding in a race in 1987). She began to regularly attend race-meetings and, since her husband did not share her enthusiasm, she was often in the company of Henry Herbert, Lord Porchester. ‘Porchie’ was to become her closest male friend. She had known him since they were both at Windsor during the war, and they had met at debutante parties. His knowledge of the Turf was an inspiration to her, and in 1969 she would appoint him her Racing Manager – a post he continued to hold even after he succeeded as seventh Earl of Caernarvon. They would speak on the phone very frequently – often daily – and his calls were put through immediately by the Palace switchboard. Another who shared her passion was Winston Churchill, her Prime Minister during the years of her reign. Himself a successful owner, he could talk knowledgeably with her about horses once more weighty matters had been dealt with at their weekly audiences.

  Given a thoroughbred as a wedding present, she had begun what would become a lifelong career as breeder and owner. When this fascination had matured, the means to further it already existed, in the shape of the Royal Stud. Moved to Sandringham from its out-of-the-way setting at Hampton Court, this blossomed under the patronage of the new Queen. She had begun to take a close interest in horse breeding, for she found that this was a field that favoured her strengths. A lifetime’s experience in the saddle, as well as long years of listening to stable-talk among experts, had given her an impressive ability to judge a horse’s temperament and to assess its potential. Although she would never ride in a race herself she began, in 1954, a tradition during Ascot Week of visiting the course on horseback early in the mornings to ride round it, accompanied by some of those who stayed with her at Windsor for the event. She could therefore sometimes add to her knowledge of horses a personal experience of the track. Although she has horses trained and bred – she usually has about 40 in training – she does not bet.

  Her retentive memory was as useful for memorising horses’ pedigrees as it was for grasping the essentials of a government proposal, and she quickly accumulated a very extensive knowledge. She kept – and still keeps – in her study a book containing the pedigrees of many thousands of horses, and she decides which stallions and mares will be mated as well as choosing, before the start of each flat season, the races in which each of her horses in training will compete. She has always kept these records up to date herself, and it can be assumed that poring over the lists of names and statistics has been an important part of the pleasure she derives from doing so. As with the gun dogs that she breeds at Sandringham, so with the horses born and nurtured in her stables. The process takes time, patience and considerable expertise but produces long-term satisfaction and no doubt brings a welcome sense of calm to a very crowded life.

  During the 1950s and early 1960s she enjoyed considerable success as an owner. Her first win as Queen was at Newmarket in May 1952, and 1954 was her best year. She was leading owner, as she would be again in 1957. Her horse Aureole won the Coronation Cup as well as the King George VI Stakes, the Queen Elizabeth Cup and the Hardwicke Stakes. He was champion sire in 1960 and again the following year. Her Majesty, though obviously in possession of good resources and good advice, is not in the same league of wealth as a number of billionaire owners, and it is not to be assumed that her horses will triumph as a matter of course. She has, for instance, never had a Derby winner. Nevertheless she is extremely proud of the victories they have won, and during Ascot Week she hosts a luncheon at Windsor for which the table is always decorated with the trophies she has won in the past.

  The Queen had retained a great deal of her father’s style in the way she reigned. There were no immediate alterations, although the monarchy became – in small ways – more informal during the 1950s. A small but characteristic change was that palace footmen no longer wore in their hair a white ‘powder’ concocted from flour and water, stiffened with soap and starch. It was difficult to mix, took a long time to apply, smelt unpleasant and when outdoors (think of the weather at the Coronation) ran in the rain. Prince Philip, who considered it ‘unmanly’, saw it as epitomising the sort of nonsense the monarchy should be throwing overboard. The Queen, always considerate towards her servants, no doubt won their gratitude when she put a stop to it in 1955.

  In the same year, the rules that effectively barred divorcees from the Royal Enclosure at Ascot were modified. Public attitudes to divorce were changing as a result of its increasing frequency, for many wartime marriages had not survived the years of peace. This was not, however, a complete climb-down on the part of the Court. The Enclosure was being rebuilt and the new one would accommodate more people. Within it was a small area – the Queen’s Lawn – in which the old rules still applied.

  The quaintly pleasant custom of Royal Bounty, dating from Victoria’s reign, was discontinued in 1957. The sovereign had paid £3 and £4 to the parents of triplets and quads respectively, provided that they were all healthy and their parents were married. Another form of Royal bounty was the giving of Maundy money. This – a symbolic annual gift to the poor from the sovereign – was a moribund ancient custom revived by George V and held only in London, on the Thursday before Easter. In 1957 the Maundy service was held at St Albans Abbey, and in subsequent years at Durham, Carlisle, Coventry, Ely and other places. As a means of making the monarch visible to a wider range of her subjects, it proved a great success.

  The Levees, which had been such a fixture of previous reigns, had already gone. They had ended with the outbreak of war and it was d
ecided not to revive them. These had been occasions on which people of suitable social or professional standing could apply to attend St James’s Palace in formal ‘Levee Dress’ (civilian men wore a black velvet tailcoat and knee-britches). Here, they shuffled in line towards the throne, bowed to the sovereign and passed on. In their place – and this was a noteworthy innovation – was instituted a series of regular luncheons, at which people who had made some contribution to national life were invited to meet the Queen and Prince Philip informally – if anything that involves footmen and bowing can be described as informal. These began in May 1956 and early guests included the editor of The Times, the Bishop of London, the Headmaster of Eton, the managing director of Wembley Stadium and the chairman of the National Coal Board. Although most of them were Establishment figures, the guest list has been highly varied over subsequent years and has brought the Queen in touch with a range of important opinion. They continue during the months of March, May, June, October and December, and they take place on Tuesdays or Thursdays. There are 12 people there, of whom seven are guests. The others are Her Majesty, Prince Philip, the Master of the Household, the Deputy Master and a lady-in-waiting. Those who have attended these testify to the Queen’s ability as a hostess to put her guests at ease. They are carefully chosen and matched. The Queen will have read about them in advance, as usual. She knows that for some of them it is difficult to relax in such company or surroundings and she is very good at chairing conversation and ensuring that everyone is involved.

  Another casualty of the 1950s was the presentation of debutantes at Court. It was announced in 1957 that the custom was to end the following year. This had been a much more important occasion than the Levees. Presentations were the major event of a young woman’s ‘coming out’, something enjoyed, hated or viewed with impatience by the girls themselves, and cherished by their mothers. It had been said that Prince Philip, who attended the presentations, only smiled at the ugly ones. With the ending of presentations at Court a major headache for London’s drivers was removed. For generations, afternoon traffic in the Mall had been held up by the crawling line of vehicles taking the young ladies and their parents to the Palace. A related change was that Trooping the Colour – which, by tradition, had always been held on the second Thursday in June – was moved in 1958 to the second Saturday, so that it would no longer add to weekday congestion. One wonders if there was any connection between the Queen’s wartime experiences of driving in the London rush-hour and this consideration for motorists!

  Presentations were replaced by an additional Palace garden party, which was added to the two already held each summer. These had been instituted in the 1860s by Queen Victoria, and for almost a century only members of Society attended them. Queen Elizabeth decided that a wider circle of people should have the opportunity, and invitations have since then been issued to organisations, companies, schools, the Civil Service and regiments. About 9,000 people at a time (90 per cent of those invited accept), the men clad mostly in rented finery, spend the hours between four and six in the afternoon wandering the Palace gardens, listening to band-music or crowding the avenue that is cut through the crowd to allow the Queen and her husband to pass. There are three tents in the grounds: one for the Royals, one for the public and one for diplomats. There is another garden party, held in June, at Holyrood in Edinburgh, where the procedure is the same. Guests devour a tea (they consume 20,000 sandwiches) provided by Lyons, the caterers, and in the early years were offered strawberries and cream as well, although this was given up as too expensive. An American, impressed by the custom, once commented that at home, ‘Presidents only do this sort of thing when they’re running for re-election, and then you know they want something from you.’ The Queen does not need her people’s votes, yet she gives hospitality anyway. It has proved a most successful innovation.

  And yet another change was the televising of the Christmas broadcast. These were begun, on wireless, by George V in 1932. His son had hated them and so did his granddaughter. The speeches were made live on the afternoon of Christmas Day, and understandably ruined the holiday for the sovereign, who could not relax until they had been got over with. Elizabeth did not want to go on television – knowing that she has limited gifts as a public speaker and has difficulty injecting into her scripted words any sense of spontaneity. She gamely did it anyway, as she has ever since, although at least from 1960 it was possible to pre-record it.

  The upbringing of the Queen’s children was from the beginning different to her own experience, and this too was an innovation. Although if either of them walked past a sentry he would present arms, they did not receive the same level of deference that their mother had known. The Queen told Palace staff that they need not bow and curtsy to her children until they were older, and need not address them as ‘Royal Highness’. Their Christian names would be used instead.

  It was also a novelty that Prince Charles started school as an ordinary pupil, first at Hill House in Chelsea and then at his father’s old prep school, Cheam. The press staked out this school and for a short time besieged it with cameramen. Such attention had not, of course, been a problem in previous reigns when royal children had been educated out of sight behind palace walls. The Queen had to summon Fleet Street editors and ask them, in exchange for a single press opportunity at the school, to leave Charles in peace. The point of sending him to school had been to give him some chance to experience a normal education. The interest it provoked, however, threatened to negate any advantages. The public expectation was in any case that the Queen’s children would go to school like other people’s, even if their education was private. The notion of royal children being taught at home, as the Queen and Princess Margaret had been only 20 years earlier, now seemed absurdly out of date.

  These changes may seem cosmetic – mere tinkering at the edges – when seen in context of the reign as a whole, but at the time they were noticed and appreciated as evidence that the monarchy was updating. The notion of a new and young sovereign, assisted by a husband who was known to be keen on technology and innovation, and somewhat impatient with flummery, was welcomed by much of the public. It fitted the age of jet engines and space exploration. Members of the public, questioned on their attitudes to the monarch, were often impressed: ‘She’s done away with a lot of the pomp and ceremony,’ said one. ‘She’s a lot more modern in her ideas and a lot more democratic.’ Another commented that: ‘Nowadays royalty are very different. They’re one of us.’

  Another innovation of the decade was the advent of outright criticism of the monarch. Attacks in the press on the King or Queen had been commonplace in Hanoverian times, and had also been directed at the eldest son of Queen Victoria both before and after he became King. George V had been characterised as ‘dull’ by the writer H. G. Wells and, while there could be little arguing with this, his worthiness and sense of duty endeared him to the public. The misdemeanours of Edward VIII were largely unreported and his successor, George VI, was extremely popular. There was thus no recent precedent for personal attacks on the monarch, and Queen Elizabeth was dutiful and conscientious enough not to merit strong criticism. Nevertheless she had from the beginning of her reign courted rebuke by leaving her children for long periods while travelling abroad. She was known to put duty before family, and therefore this was to be expected. However it was also known that, on the night Prince Charles was rushed to Great Ormond Street Hospital for an emergency appendectomy, his mother had stayed at home in bed.

  This was mere sniper-fire in comparison with the broadsides that were suddenly to come, although the attacks were not directed at the Queen’s personality or her attitude to her role, but were intended as friendly advice. Lord Altrincham, writing in 1957 in the National and English Review, blamed her advisors for the public image she projected as ‘a priggish schoolgirl’ whose cut-glass, public speaking voice was ‘frankly, a pain in the neck’, and her speeches – none of which expressed thoughts of her own – were ‘prim little sermons’: ‘
Like her mother she appears unable to string even a few sentences together without a written text.’ He went on to say, in words that have been remembered ever since: ‘The personality conveyed by the utterances that are put into her mouth are those of a priggish schoolgirl, captain of the hockey team, a prefect and recent candidate for confirmation.’ Ironically, Elizabeth had only ever been the last of these. He also castigated her Court for its snobbish remoteness and – in a foretaste of one of our own age’s most tiresome preoccupations – its lack of ‘diversity’. The author was appealing to the Queen to soften her image, but his views provoked a furious backlash from monarchists. The town of Altrincham in Cheshire dissociated itself from him and asked that his title be removed. He was also attacked in the street.

  A similar tone was taken by the editor and broadcaster Malcolm Muggeridge in an article for the Saturday Evening Post. This was, of course, an American publication, and the British therefore did not initially have easy access to the text. They read quotations in their own press, and were so infuriated that Muggeridge was inundated with threatening and abusive letters. He had, as well as seeing the monarchy as obsolete and snobbish, described the Royal Family as a ‘kind of soap opera’, a notion that has since become entirely commonplace and, it might be argued, has contributed to its popularity.

  Although there was no official reply to the charges, there were lessons to be learned by the Palace about dealing with the press. Access to the family by the media was controlled very strictly. The Palace Press Officer was Commander Richard Colville, a former naval officer with a bluff, quarterdeck manner. He considered the family’s private life – and indeed many aspects of their official life – to be none of the public’s business, and earned the nickname ‘the abominable no-man’ for his repeated refusals to answer questions or confirm information: ‘That is a private matter. I can’t help at all.’ He was to be the last such official employed by the Press Office. There would soon be a change of attitude.