A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II

by Michael Paterson

  In her eighties, the Queen remains fixed in habit. She spends the year in the same places, doing the same things (though sadly she has had to give up riding). She likes Earl Grey tea, and German wines but not champagne (both she and Prince Philip only pretend to sip it during toasts). She does not eat pasta because the sauces are likely to be messy, and avoids shellfish because of the possible ill-effects. She likes simple food because she has to eat so much elaborate fare on official occasions. Being of a frugal nature, she expects the leftovers from Palace meals to be utilised for days afterwards. She allegedly does not like facial hair – or waistcoats – on men. She drives herself when she is on private roads within her estates, but does not wear a safety belt (which is not illegal on such thoroughfares) and regularly exceeds the speed limit. On at least two occasions members of the public have been put to flight by Her Majesty bearing down on them, at an estimated 60, and 70, miles an hour where she should have been doing 30. In one of these instances she had her Private Secretary send a note of apology. Her speeding, like her refusal to wear a hard hat when riding, is an oddly rebellious aspect of a personality that is otherwise both cautious and conventional.

  Although members of the Royal Family often feel that press attention is a nuisance, they are well aware that they nevertheless need it. If journalists did not write about them and the public did not read about them, monarchy might die by neglect. The Queen, understandably, likes to know what is being said about her and can be irritated if coverage seems inadequate, just as she likes the applause of the public. After the annual Trooping the Colour ceremony she appears with her family on the Palace balcony, and is greeted by large crowds because the police, controlling the movement of people below, let them into the area in time to reach the Palace railings as she appears. A few years ago she was annoyed with the senior police officer in charge because the crowd was held back for too long and she came onto the balcony to find no one there.

  She is greatly attached to Windsor, Balmoral and Sandringham. This latter, a Victorian building described – with some justification – as looking like a ‘Scottish golf hotel’, is the place in which she can come closest to the life of a farmer’s wife that she coveted as a girl. Her estate grows commercial crops – such as blackcurrants that end up in Ribena – and she is president of the local Women’s Institute, as her mother was before her. Her neighbours and tenants include people whose families she has known through generations. It has often been asked, since her accession, why she does not spend more time in her overseas realms. It was seriously suggested, in the 1960s, that she live for some weeks every year in Canada. The problem is that if she did so, Australia and New Zealand would then ask why she could not do the same there, and the structure of her life would quickly unravel. In London she is in close contact with all her overseas dominions through their High Commissions, and can respond at once to events. The only concession she has been willing to make is to spend part of the month of June at Holyrood in Edinburgh, and this is in any case the country where she goes on holiday.

  When at Buckingham Palace – and that is where most of her time is spent – she awakens at 7:30, when her tea is brought. Her dogs are, meanwhile, being walked in the gardens. She breakfasts an hour later, alone with Prince Philip, and reads the Daily Telegraph. While she does so, a piper plays outside for 15 minutes. This was a tradition started by Victoria, and it is not popular with every member of the Household. As one author put it, ‘it is a sound that inspires no apathy’.

  Her dogs – she has something in the region of 30 corgis – have their own accommodation next to the Page’s pantry. She likes to put their food out herself. She is naturally fond of them, but few members of her staff share this enthusiasm. Corgis can be vicious – biting, fighting and making messes on the carpets – and many pages and footmen over the years have borne the scars of their ill-temper. Although undoubtedly a dog-lover, she does not care for cats. When someone once gave her a Siamese, it was very quickly passed on to a new home.

  Her mornings are given over to administration. Her Private Secretary brings documents that need her signature, as well as a summary of the day’s news and cuttings relating to the Royal Family. She also examines her mail. Her Majesty receives letters at the rate of 2,000–3,000 a day. She glances at the envelopes and chooses 12 or so that she will open. After long years of practice, she has an instinct for finding those that will prove interesting. The ones that need a written reply are passed on to a lady-in-waiting or to her Private Secretary. Some missives are from cranks, many are simply good wishes, a surprising number are asking for help with problems, and, where appropriate, these are sent to the relevant government departments. If the Queen is writing to friends – and she is a regular and disciplined correspondent – she uses green ink to signify that it is a personal letter.

  Her audiences take place at around noon, typically last a matter of 10 minutes or so, and involve making small-talk with a variety of visitors – ambassadors, clerics, academics and senior officers. There is not time to deal with any subject in detail, and the Queen’s reticence has led some of those she received to confess that keeping the conversational ball in the air was a struggle. Once again, however, it is not what she said but the fact that she met with them that is important.

  She normally lunches by herself, or with Prince Philip if he is not busy with his own duties, in the bow-windowed sitting room that faces towards Green Park. She chooses her meals at the beginning of every week from a list of suggestions prepared by the chef, so she always knows what to expect. After lunch she walks with her dogs in the gardens. She likes to be alone, so staff must stay out of her sight. There follows a brief interlude with the racing papers, and then further business, perhaps involving a visit somewhere. Whatever she is doing, she will have finished before five o’clock so that she can have tea, which is her favourite meal. The miniature sandwiches and Dundee cake are the same every day, as are the scones – which she feeds to her dogs. If it is Tuesday she will have her weekly visit from the Prime Minister at 6:30, and this will last until about seven o’clock. If she has no evening engagement, she may dine with her husband and then spend an hour or more with her boxes. She reads every evening a summary of the day’s events in Parliament. After that, she will perhaps watch television or work on a jigsaw. She retires at about 11.

  It remains a paradox that, for all her shyness when making small talk (Blair described her as being both reticent and direct), she is competent, professional and a pleasure to meet. Helen Mirren, fêted for her screen portrayal of Her Majesty, expressed to a Hollywood public her conversion from sceptic to admirer. Those who are themselves accomplished professionals – and perhaps especially if they are in performing or public-relations professions – recognise the quality of what the Queen does, her dedication and stamina and focus.

  She is an extremely accomplished and thoughtful hostess. When she dines with others she is always served first, yet when she finishes everyone else has their plates cleared away. Experienced courtiers therefore waste no time in talking to their neighbours – there will be time for that afterwards – and concentrate on eating. The Queen is aware of the problem, however, and may well have a salad beside her which she will make a pretence of eating in order to allow the other guests more time.

  Those who go to Windsor to ‘dine and sleep’ – short visits by groups of 10 prominent people that involve staying the night – will find that attention to detail characteristic of Royal occasions is evident here, too, and that the Queen is personally responsible for much of it. She will have inspected the rooms in which they are to stay, checking that everything they need has been provided, and she will choose books for their bedside tables. Given an audience of people with whom she has some chance to interact she is far more humorous, vivacious and animated than when merely shaking hands. Given a subject on which to discourse – the Castle and its contents – she is lively, anecdotal and entertaining. Apart from a lifetime’s association with it, she has seriously
studied its contents. It is usual practice, after dinner, to take guests round the Royal Library to show them something of the collections. This is, in fact, much more of a full-blown museum than its name suggests, for it contains many three-dimensional objects, such as a collection of walking sticks, an array of British and foreign orders, the flying gloves worn by Prince Andrew in the Falklands campaign – and a bread roll dating from Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. Items will have been chosen for display because they reflect the interests of particular guests, and there is bound to be something that will capture the imagination, or at least seize the attention, of everyone present. This may well involve more than merely getting a few volumes off a shelf. If a guest has an interest in antique swords or armour, it may take a team of several men to clean, prepare and arrange the necessary heavy and awkward exhibits.

  When her guests at Windsor are fellow Heads of State, management of the event will naturally be just as flawless. Her Majesty will have taken a great deal of interest in the preparation of St George’s Hall for the state dinner, discussing the menu and the flower arrangements and the seating plan long in advance. Once again, the way in which things are done by the Queen and her Household sets a standard for other countries. Ronald Reagan said that: ‘The state visit to Britain is one of the high points of any President’s term of office’ – it is known to have more protocol, more formality, but more splendour and magic than any other official trip abroad, and they expect it to be highly memorable. Another president, Nicolas Sarkozy of France, dined at Windsor in 2008. Bedevilled at home by a reputation for tasteless ostentation, his visit to the Queen was seen by the French media as a litmus-test of his gravitas. If he could pass muster on this occasion, it was implied, he might gain greater respect at home. In the event, he succeeded. The Queen presented him with a stamp album and they talked about this hobby, for her grandfather had also been an enthusiast. Where she has some common ground with a guest, she will make the most of it. How she coped with a visit from Nicolae Ceausescu of Romania and his wife (they came in 1978. He awarded her the Order of Socialist Romania), one cannot imagine, but with a far more welcome visitor, President Reagan, she went riding in Windsor Great Park. (An American photographer, lining up a shot, said to a Household official: ‘Tell the Queen to get closer to Reagan!’ and received the stiff rejoinder: ‘One does not tell Her Majesty to do anything!’)

  Perhaps to her own surprise as much as anyone else’s, the Queen was described as a ‘fashion icon’ while on a visit to Rome in 2002. Of course she is dressed by great designers, but only British ones, and with a deliberate avoidance of the quirks of fashion. Yet the clothing that appeals to other women is sometimes not her official costume but the practical, everyday garments she wears when off duty – these, after all, are not only comfortable and practical but comparatively affordable and easy to obtain. In Stephen Frears’ 2006 film The Queen, much of the story is set at Balmoral. Her Majesty, as portrayed on the screen, dresses in the outdoor garments appropriate for a Scottish autumn. A world away from Deeside, amid the sophistication of Manhattan, shoppers wanted this same look. The Daily Telegraph announced that the film had caused a run on the Barbour jacket: ‘New Yorkers want to dress like the Queen,’ announced the paper, ‘or, to be precise, they want to dress like Helen Mirren playing the Queen.’ The manageress of the company’s outlet was quoted as explaining: ‘The first thing [customers] say is: “Have you seen The Queen?” Then they say they want the jacket that the Queen is wearing.’ The Beaufort, one of several variations on the classic Barbour design, was the one in question. The very ordinariness of Her Majesty’s everyday wardrobe is without doubt a means by which other women can identify with her. One, viewing the film at a London cinema, was heard to exclaim: ‘I have a dressing-gown just like that!’

  Her handbags are much commented upon. She apparently has about 200 of them, which is not surprising in view of the range of outfits she possesses. Whatever she keeps in them it is not money, or a credit card, or a passport. One thing she does carry is an S-shaped hook – the sort one sees in butchers’ shops – for hanging her bag on the edge of a table when she is dining. She will also have glasses, a fountain pen and a make-up case that was a gift to her from her husband when they married. Perhaps she has, in addition, family photographs and keys. She is said also to have crosswords cut out of newspapers, to beguile the time for a few minutes between engagements, and a notebook with information about people she is to meet.

  Royal observers have noticed a code of signals with her handbag that tell her entourage what her reactions are. The bag on her left arm, with her gloves held in her right hand, is said to indicate that she is happy with proceedings. If she places the bag on the floor during a dinner it is a signal that she is bored by her companion and should be rescued. When stopping to talk to someone during a visit, she will drop the bag to one side to indicate that she is going to move on.

  And the Royal Family too has moved on. Prince Charles appeared in public with Mrs Parker Bowles for the first time in 1999. Six years later the couple were married in a civil ceremony at Windsor, and the Queen attended. The next generation have, despite a certain amount of traditional grooming, had the chance to make their own way. Her grandsons William and Harry both took jobs in the Army that were demanding and dangerous and in which their royal status, far from helping them, has been a liability. Both have thus gained the respect of a public that continues to be resentful of privilege. William has, in any case, been far more free to live a normal life than any of those who preceded him as heir to the throne. Earning his way into university and in the Services, he has lived in anonymous flats, washed his own dishes, ordered take-aways, browsed in supermarkets, queued at cashpoints and walked the streets unrecognised, clad in the everlasting, jeans-and-trainers uniform of youth. When younger, he was more often photographed in sweatshirts than in a suit. William’s courtship has been in keeping with this spirit of egalitarianism. He met a young woman just as any other student might have done. Once married, he even postponed his honeymoon through having to return to work. There has been no matchmaking, no vetting, no audible disapproval from any ‘old guard’ of courtiers. His experience has been significantly different from his father’s, let alone that of his grandparents.

  The Queen, who granted permission for him to marry, is aware of how this new generation of royalty fits the spirit of the times. Although his choice of wife has been dictated entirely by affection, it reflects the pattern in monarchies throughout Europe. In this bourgeois age, in which power is in the hands not of aristocrats but of businessmen, Royal Families have allied themselves with the middle class. Young members of the Royal Houses of Spain, Norway, Denmark and the Netherlands have without exception married people who work for a living. Royalty owes its survival to an ability to adapt, to reinvent itself, to remain old-fashioned without being left behind. As Princess Margaret once shrewdly observed: ‘We can fit in with life as it is lived in our country at any given moment in time.’

  Fifty years ago the Royal Family was described, by Malcolm Muggeridge, as being ‘like a soap opera’. This is as true as ever – the comment has been made innumerable times since – and it is by no means necessarily a term of abuse.

  Soap operas are hugely popular. Their fans number in the millions. People empathise with, sympathise with and emulate the characters. The public does not like the fictitious families to be too perfect, or always happy and successful. There must be tension, conflict and weakness in order to add excitement and keep blandness and boredom at bay. The plots must contain familiar elements without becoming tediously predictable. Where there are crises to overcome and problems to solve, viewers are assured that the lives they see on the screen are much like their own – or perhaps worse, which encourages a feeling of relieved complacency. Like any soap opera, old characters depart and new ones are introduced. In Windsor, as in Walford, children grow up, problems are resolved, disasters are averted or survived, and the story continues. There are financ
ial crises, generational differences and tragic deaths. It is not, in fact, that the Royal Family is like a soap opera but that a soap opera is like them. Theirs is the story of all of us, writ large. They are what we would like to be, or perhaps don’t want to be, but they are a mirror-image of us. The ups and downs of the Royal Family ensure interest. If there were no interest, they would be in danger of extinction.

  Despite her age the Queen continues to be busier than anyone her years should expect to be, and is actually becoming more so. In 2010 she carried out 444 official engagements, of which 57 were overseas. In 2011, because of her grandson’s wedding and her husband’s 90th birthday, her diary was even fuller. Her historic visit to the Irish Republic in May served to underline both her personal magnetism and her continuing value as a symbol of goodwill. When she laid a wreath at a memorial to Irish patriots, her hosts were deeply touched. ‘All Ireland missed a heartbeat,’ reported the Irish Independent, ‘when they saw her take a step back and bow her head.’ She won more respect for beginning a speech with some words in gaelic. Those who met her described Her Majesty as ‘full of life, full of fun’, and a young woman gushed, with regard to the Queen and the Duke, that ‘for their age, they’re really bubbly and chatty’. Her gestures will have been premeditated and her speeches written for her, but the making of them was what counted, and by showing a warm, spontaneous nature during less formal moments, she added a further dimension to Anglo-Irish relations. ‘Britain’s ultimate diplomatic weapon’ indeed.

  In July 2009, Her Majesty – like her father King George and her great-grandmother Victoria – instituted a medal bearing her name. The Elizabeth Cross is not, like the others, an award for gallantry. It is not given to those who perform heroic deeds but to those – and there are sadly a great many of them – whose next of kin have been killed on operations or by acts of terrorism. Perhaps the biggest class of recipients will be the wives of servicemen, and the design is therefore distinctly feminine. A brooch rather than a medal, it has no ribbon and is modest in size. It will prove a highly suitable monument to a reign that has witnessed such tragedy in Northern Ireland, the Middle East and Afghanistan.