A Brief History of the House of Windsor

by Michael Paterson

  Christened Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, she was named after three generations of her female ancestors, not quite in reverse chronological order. Elizabeth was her mother, Alexandra her great-grandmother and Mary her grandmother. Like so many successful monarchs, she came to the throne by accident of circumstances. When she was born, on 21 April 1926, her father was the Duke of York and second in line to the throne. His elder brother was young, athletic, vigorous and widely popular, especially with women. It was unthinkable that he would not marry, and highly likely that he would have children – indeed the pressure to do so would be overwhelming. It looked then as if Elizabeth’s future would go in one of two directions. The first possibility was that she would spend her life as a second-rank royal, a cousin of the immediate royal family. She would perhaps marry a member of the British aristocracy as her aunt had done (Princess Mary, her father’s sister, had become Viscountess Lascelles). Thereafter, if there were enough members of her uncle’s family to cover the necessary range of public duties, she would fade from sight to live a quiet life on her husband’s estates as a duchess or countess. Catching a glimpse of her now and again among the royals at some state event, people might ask: ‘Now, which one’s that?’

  Alternatively, she might go abroad. Though as we have seen the age of dynastic marriages had ended, the princess would still have been considered a considerable catch by members of other royal houses. The First World War did not entirely bring an end to the Age of Kings. Parvenu sovereigns would have welcomed an alliance with a dynasty as ancient and prestigious as Britain’s, as would families who had lost their thrones. The idea of Princess Elizabeth as consort in a Balkan country is not as fanciful as it first seems, for in the event she was to marry a member of the Greek royal family.

  Whether she was destined for a life of public duty or comparative obscurity, Elizabeth was brought up in an atmosphere of formality. Her grandfather was king. He was surrounded by splendour and protocol, and had to be treated with deference even though he was openly affectionate and indulgent with her. Her father and mother were often involved in official duties. She saw from her earliest years the respectful manner in which visitors to their home would speak to them. She herself was saluted by sentries whenever she passed them, and was bowed to by people to whom she was introduced. She was treated throughout her childhood as if she were an honorary adult – not a person to be ignored, patronized or scolded, but one who was respected, taken seriously, and her sayings or foibles filed away in memory. In addition, there could be no ignoring the attention she received from all over the world. When her parents went on a tour of Australasia, they brought back more than three tons of toys that had been given her (most were donated to hospitals). Her image – she had appealing golden curls – appeared on a Canadian stamp and on the cover of the American magazine Time, and a section of Antarctica was named after her. Not the kind of things that happen to ordinary children.

  As a result, she grew up with a precocious seriousness. She had few playmates of her own age, and was never to go to school. She would have become accustomed, as she walked in Hyde Park with her nanny or rode her bicycle in the little garden behind her parents’ London home, to being stared at and photographed. She was acutely aware of a gulf between herself and other children of her age, for she was not allowed to meet or talk to those she saw when out in public. It was made clear to her that, because of her parents’ – and more significantly her grandfather’s – position, she must always act with dignity. She was continually being noticed, watched and judged. Her behaviour was more important than that of other children. When a sister, Margaret Rose, was added to the family in 1930, Elizabeth began to develop a sense of responsibility for her younger sibling that further increased her natural earnestness. The girls became extremely close, and would remain so all their lives. The fact that they had few experiences of the outside world meant that they would always have more in common with each other than with anyone else. Added to this was the fact that their parents preferred their company to that of any outsiders. The family was thus extremely – unusually – close.

  The girls’ lives were not, of course, an imprisonment, either physically or emotionally. They were constantly meeting people of importance – prime ministers, archbishops, senior figures in Church and State – either at their parents’ homes or at the residences of their grandfather. They had the run of Buckingham Palace gardens, which were just across the road. They also had the gardens of Royal Lodge, Sandringham and Balmoral to explore while staying there, and their home provided a secure, extremely loving environment. Both parents adored them and, though they lived in a top-floor nursery, as was customary for the children of upper-class families, there was no question of their being banished from sight or left in the impersonal care of servants. The family always had meals together. The duke and duchess, who did not like Society and spent as much time at home as possible, saw the girls for hours every day and took the closest interest in their activities. They deliberately set out to give their daughters the happiest possible childhood. Their mother ensured that they read the same books she had loved as a girl, and that there were picnics and games and frequent outings.

  The duchess also organized their schooling, teaching them some subjects herself. A young Scotswoman, Marion Crawford, was engaged in 1933 to superintend their general studies, because their parents never considered sending them away to school. ‘Crawfie’ became a vital component in the girls’ education. She planned their lessons and taught them in the schoolrooms at the big town house in Piccadilly or – because they worked on Saturday mornings too – at Royal Lodge in Windsor. Sometimes history was taught in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, which was the former bedroom of Queen Elizabeth, and objects could be summoned from the Royal Collections to illustrate particular subjects. Elizabeth found this enchanting, and had already developed a fascination with the two great female sovereigns from England’s past: Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria.

  It was Queen Mary who devised the curriculum that the girls were taught. She and their mother saw no point in wasting time on subjects that would be of no practical use to them, so that arithmetic received scant attention. They had lessons in French but not in other languages. They were required to be familiar with current events, and therefore subscribed to the Children’s Newspaper. They had to learn copious amounts of history, and to study the Bible. They must also learn poetry, since this helped train the memory and gave them a feeling for the sound and rhythm of words. The school day was deliberately kept short. Each lesson lasted only thirty minutes, and there were none in the afternoons. There were no examinations, or any other measures of progress. It was a very limited education that would not have equipped them for any career in the wider world. Many years afterward, when Elizabeth’s children were entering higher education, Margaret said to her: ‘You and I would never have got into university.’

  Miss Crawford also took them on walks and accompanied them – sometimes with Queen Mary, an authority on art and furniture – on expeditions to museums or galleries. On one such outing they travelled by Underground to Tottenham Court Road and had tea at the YWCA, the only time during their childhood that the princesses needed to hand over money to pay for something. Though they undoubtedly found this chance to live an ordinary life for a few hours fascinating, they were recognized on the return journey and so crowded in on by curious onlookers that they had to be rescued by their detective.

  By nature, Elizabeth (she was called ‘Lilibet’ in the family – a name that is still in use – owing to attempts in infancy to pronounce her own name) was obsessively correct and meticulously tidy. Miss Crawford later told stories (and was ostracized by the family for betrayal of confidence) of the princess neatly folding the paper in which presents had been wrapped, and getting up again after being put to bed to ensure that her shoes were properly arranged beneath it. These are doubtless true, but she also had an engaging sense of fun. Nevertheless, she was always ‘the serious one’. While Marg
aret was from the beginning comical, mischievous and spoiled – for her father admired her rambunctious and confident nature, which contrasted so much with his own – Elizabeth always displayed a highly developed sense of responsibility.

  She acquired very early the passion that was to dominate her life. She loved horses. She and Margaret had a collection of toy ones, but there were many opportunities for the girls to become familiar with the real thing. They visited the Royal Mews in London and the stables at Windsor. When she was little more than four the king instructed his stud-groom, Owen, to teach his granddaughter to ride. Knowing the English to be a horse-loving people, he saw it as useful for the members of his family to be associated with them. Elizabeth responded with immediate fascination and an enthusiasm that has never lapsed. She began with a pony before progressing to larger mounts. She was to be remembered as saying 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 also acquired a lasting affection for corgis and the family obtained its first one – Dookie – when she was seven.

  The princesses learned to swim at the Bath Club in Mayfair, and a troop of Guides was founded at Buckingham Palace. (Margaret, at first too young to be a Guide, was a Brownie.) The members of the troop were a mix of upper-class daughters of their parents’ friends, and the children of Palace staff. Margaret, the less shy of the princesses, enjoyed the communal aspect of their activities; Elizabeth was more aloof. When the troop went camping at Windsor, she found an excuse to sleep on her own elsewhere.

  As was the case with their parents, the girls led a placidly enjoyable life until the abdication of their uncle in 1936. They were aware of the stress that their parents were undergoing but did not grasp the seriousness of the situation until the day itself. Elizabeth saw a letter that had been left in the hall of their town house, addressed to ‘Her Majesty the queen’. ‘That’s Mummy now, isn’t it?’ she asked. Both sisters went on to realize the further implication of this. ‘Does that mean,’ Margaret asked her sister, ‘that you’ll be the next queen?’ ‘Yes,’ was the answer, ‘some day.’ ‘Poor you,’ replied Margaret.

  From then on Elizabeth’s life took a new direction. There could be no possibility now of a country life spent among dogs and horses, or of marrying into another country’s ruling dynasty in a subordinate role. She represented the future of her own country. She had already grown up to be familiar with courtly protocol and good manners – her grandmother had seen to that – but now she was to be trained specifically for the task ahead. Ten might seem a little young for such an education, but her father’s coronation provided a useful opportunity. The king made sure that she learned the meaning of every part of the service, as well as the names and functions of all the officials who took part. The entire event was then, of course, brought to life before her eyes on the day itself. Even as children, Elizabeth and Margaret were already accustomed to appearing in public and waving from balconies and carriages. Some aspects of being royal did not need to be specifically taught. They could be learned just by watching and copying those around them.

  The princesses were still too young to play much of a part in state occasions, though Elizabeth made a speech in French to welcome René Coty, France’s representative at the coronation. Her education advanced considerably when it was arranged that she should have lessons with Henry Marten, Vice-Provost of Eton, to learn more about the subjects that would be important to her: geography, constitutional history and law. If she were in London or Balmoral she would take her lessons by post, writing essays and sending them to him. When at Windsor – for she lived at the Castle for the duration of the war – she travelled twice a week, accompanied by Miss Crawford, to the School to have lessons with Marten where she sat in his book-filled study, writing notes while he lectured. She was also required to write essays which, if they were not satisfactory, he would mark with an ‘N’ for nonsense. These tutorials were as valuable for Elizabeth as a course at university would have been. It must be emphasized that she was a diligent and extremely willing pupil. She had never rebelled against her destiny, or been – like her father – panic-stricken at the thought of succeeding to the throne. All her life she had been willing to learn, to take advice, and to profit from the opportunities given her. She wanted to be queen and she wanted to do well at it. She was as eager to learn her job as others were to teach her. If we are ever tempted to see her as lacking in formal ‘book learning’, we must remember that she received from Marten the best education of its kind available to anyone in Britain, and that it was specifically tailored to her needs and personality.

  On the cusp of the Second World War, in June 1939, Elizabeth and Margaret accompanied their parents on a visit to Dartmouth Naval College. Present there was the king’s second cousin, Louis Mountbatten, who made a point of introducing his nephew Philip, a cadet. There can be little doubt that Mountbatten, a man of considerable ambition both for himself and for his family, put his handsome nephew on display in the hope that Elizabeth would be impressed. If so, he succeeded beyond his highest hopes. Philip himself was detailed to entertain the girls, a task he did not relish. He did so by showing off on a tennis court and then eating more shrimps than anyone else at tea. When the royal party took its leave, sailing out of Dartmouth harbour in the royal yacht, a number of the young men accompanied them in smaller boats. As the yacht gained the open sea, the smaller craft turned back – except for one, which ploughed on. It was Philip’s. The king thought him a fool for carrying on into dangerous waters, but his daughter, it seems, thought the gesture wonderful.

  With the outbreak of war, the girls were ‘evacuated’, though this merely meant they were sent to live at Windsor Castle. The cellars were an effective air-raid shelter, and they continued with their routine of lessons and leisure, albeit with the addition of wartime activities like collecting scrap and knitting for the troops. Elizabeth made a broadcast to the children of the empire on the BBC programme Children’s Hour. An appeal to youthful listeners throughout the world to keep their spirits up, it moved some adult listeners to tears.

  The king and queen remained in London but travelled to Windsor at weekends. On the first night that the air-raid siren sounded, the girls were reprimanded for taking too long to dress before going to the shelter. Their mother was to make a point of dressing slowly, to show that she would not be hurried by mere bombs, and after a few alerts decided that, in fact, she would not go down at all, as it was too much bother.

  At sixteen Princess Elizabeth, who longed to do something for the war effort, was appointed Colonel of the Grenadier Guards. She might have been young but she took the post with utmost seriousness, showing such strictness in her first inspection that she had to be asked to be more merciful. In April 1944 she reached the age of eighteen, and was obliged like every young woman to register for war work. At first her father would not let her enlist in the Forces, considering her royal duties sufficient national service, but he allowed himself to be persuaded. She joined the ATS (Auxiliary Territorial Service), an organization with considerably less glamour than the Navy or Air Force could offer women. She was to train as a motor-mechanic. The king stipulated that she must live at home, and so she did – driven to the camp each day. She did not mix with the other junior officers, who had to address her as ‘Ma’am’, and who stood to attention when she entered a room. She did, however, wear overalls as they did, and learn the mysteries of the car engine. She passed her driving test after successfully taking her commanding officer from Aldershot to Buckingham Palace, via Piccadilly Circus. Shortly afterward – the European conflict ended in May 1945 – Elizabeth wore her uniform to appear on the Palace balcony with her parents. By her next such appearance, when Japan surrendered in August, she was in a print dress.

  Throughout the war her friendship with Philip Mountbatten had deepened into serious affection. They had become better acquainted during visits he had made to Windsor, and had written to each other every week.
It was clear that Elizabeth’s liking for him was no mere schoolgirl infatuation. Neither he nor she has ever talked publicly about their feelings for each other, but their attraction was mutual and genuine, despite the zeal and energy – indeed interference – with which Mountbatten was pushing his nephew toward marriage. Elizabeth’s parents were unsure about this potential son-in-law. He was personally likeable, his overwhelming confidence a stark contrast to the king’s – and Elizabeth’s – shyness. He was a member of Greece’s royal family, which made him more or less socially suitable. He had been educated in Britain and had served in the Royal Navy. Nevertheless he was seen by courtiers as bumptious and disrespectful. Extremely handsome, he was popular with women, and it was feared he might not prove to be a faithful husband. His foreign connections could pose difficulties, for the recent practice of royalty choosing their spouses from within the United Kingdom had proved so popular that to depart from it might risk arousing public hostility. (In fact the one foreign marriage made by the family since 1917 had also been with Greece, when the Duke of Kent had married Princess Marina.) Far more seriously, Philip’s sisters were all married to Germans, some of whom had very tainted recent pasts.

  The British people did not at first take to Philip. His friendship with their princess had been an open secret for years, to the extent that their marriage was considered extremely likely, if not certain. When he appeared with her at a Mountbatten wedding it provoked a frenzy of speculation. An opinion poll showed 40 per cent of respondents as being opposed to him, on the grounds that he was foreign. He was known to be virtually penniless, and indeed homeless, spending his leaves from duty staying with relatives. The only clothing he seemed to own was his uniform. A wartime photograph of him in a naval cap but sporting a full beard, which the princess had treasured, was published to howls of derision. He looked like the mate off a tramp steamer.