A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II (11 page)

Why was the King so intent on secrecy? There were several reasons. First of all, Elizabeth was not yet 21, and the King wanted her to have passed that milestone – to have officially left
childhood for adulthood – before the question of her marriage was made public. Secondly, the man she wished to marry was not a British citizen, although he had served in the British Forces.
He was in the process of becoming naturalised, but even his Royal connections could not speed up the wheels of bureaucracy, and his papers had not come through until 7 February – after the
time the tour had begun (somewhat absurdly he was, through Hanoverian descent, eligible for automatic citizenship all along). Thirdly, the King was a doting parent who did not wish to part with his
daughter. He had so greatly valued the compact little unit that was his family that he dreaded its breaking up, and he was to some extent putting off the moment of parting. Fourthly, he wanted to
be sure that Elizabeth was certain. Because of her high public profile there could be no mistakes. If she became engaged and then met someone she liked more, there would be very
considerable embarrassment. He felt it better if nothing was said for the present. He wanted his daughter to have several months in which to search her heart and see if her fondness
was genuine. He knew that the young people wrote to each other continuously and that the public already considered them a couple, but still he resisted. Once the family was home a decision could be
made.

Following the First World War, the then Prince of Wales had made extensive tours of the Empire to thank its member states for their contribution. Something of the same order was envisaged after
the Second World War, but not as a sweep through an entire hemisphere or chain of countries. On this occasion the Royal Family would visit only one Dominion – South Africa – and all of
them would go. The sovereign himself was suffering the stress of recent years. He needed a rest, and the voyage to the Cape would provide it. His daughters, who had never been outside Britain, were
old enough to be shown to his peoples.

For the occasion, Elizabeth and Margaret were given an allotment of extra clothing coupons. Despite the wartime restrictions still in place, it was expected that Royals always be immaculate and
wear a variety of costume. One formal dress each would not have sufficed.

They sailed aboard HMS
Vanguard
, the Royal Navy’s largest battleship. Elizabeth knew the ship. She had attended its launching when its completion was rushed to enable it to take
part in the expected invasion of Japan. The Princess was photographed wearing a feminine version of a sailor’s cap with the ship’s tally on its band. She and Margaret were also
photographed skylarking with young officers on deck, and practising shooting with their parents, lying prone and aiming rifles. Photographs published at home showed the Royals relaxing like any
other family on a cruise and the King, whom his subjects were accustomed to seeing in naval uniform, appeared in shorts and knee-socks. As always with the Royal Family,
however,
there was work to do. In this case it was necessary to rehearse speeches and phrases in Afrikaans, and to study the country’s history and culture. The voyage was pleasant – the seas
became increasingly warm as they travelled south, and they were escaping a particularly nasty winter at home – but it was not idyllic. Elizabeth was a poor sailor, and suffered on the way
through the Bay of Biscay. ‘I, for one, would gladly have died,’ she wrote afterward. The Princess who during the war had pondered: ‘Are we too happy?’ felt guilty at being
under balmy skies while her father’s subjects were suffering sub-zero temperatures, as well as a coal shortage, and her letters home were filled with commiseration and enquiries about
conditions. She showed especial concern for the elderly and for those who could not afford adequate heating.

In April, the Princess celebrated her 21st birthday. Her hosts, the government of South Africa, presented her with a necklace of 21 diamonds – which she was shortly to wear at her wedding.
She marked the occasion by making the second important radio address of her life, and she prepared for it with customary diligence. She wrote the rough draft during a day’s relaxation on the
coast. While the King and Princess Margaret swam in the sea, she worked on it under a canvas awning, ignoring the temptation to join them. Later, aboard the royal train, she went over the speech
and rehearsed it with her sister as audience. It was very simple: ‘I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service
of the great Imperial Commonwealth to which we all belong. But I shall not have strength to carry out this resolution unless you join in it with me, as I now invite you to do. I know that your
support will be unfailingly given. God bless all of you who are willing to share it.’ The ‘great Imperial Commonwealth’ was to get smaller. Before the end of the year, India was
to become an independent republic. Burma would, within two years, sever all connections with Britain, and South Africa itself would
eventually leave the Commonwealth for an
entire generation. Nevertheless, the speech was highly impressive. The words were tidied up by the King’s Private Secretary but the sentiments had been her own. They were sincerely held and
have guided her ever since. They have been frequently quoted, and indeed make up the Queen’s most well-known speech. The young woman who had been thrilled by her namesake’s address to
the troops at Tilbury had now uttered stirring and memorable words of her own. It is said that she herself was moved to tears when reading the final draft.

And there were noble gestures as well as words. In Basutoland she and Margaret inspected several hundred Girl Guides. Afterward she asked if they had seen all of those who had come for the
event. Apparently they had not, for there was a busload of leper girls nearby. The Princess immediately asked to meet them. Taking Margaret, she went over and greeted them, making a point of
walking round the bus so that they were seen by everyone.

When the Royals arrived home, Philip was forbidden to appear among the welcoming party, for his presence would have sent an immediate signal to the public. Still living on his naval
officer’s pay, he had been saving up for an engagement ring, but in the event his mother provided the necessary jewels from family sources, including her own ring. The result was an
arrangement with a solitaire diamond that had five smaller diamonds each side, set in platinum. The princess was given this at the beginning of July and wore it from then on. The wedding ring
itself would not prove a financial setback, for the people of Wales donated one made from Welsh gold. The date was set for 20 November 1947. The
actual
engagement had been long – over
a year – but the official one was to be short.

‘Philip of Greece’ had now become Lt Philip Mountbatten. His uncle’s desire to see the family name linked with that of a reigning dynasty had very nearly been fulfilled.

It was felt by both the Palace and the Labour Government that the wedding should take place at St George’s Chapel, Windsor. The country was still in a process of
painful economic and material recovery from the war, and a low-key ceremony was considered in keeping with the times. As arrangements began to be discussed in the press, however, it quickly became
clear that Parliament and the Royal Family had misread the national mood. After years of drabness and hardship the public longed to have spectacle again, and they wanted the bands and bunting they
had not seen since the Coronation a decade before. The chapel, set in the Lower Ward of Windsor Castle and some 20 miles from London, was far too inaccessible and much too small for the crowds that
wanted to join in the celebrations. These were quickly re-planned for Westminster Abbey. Expectations built up to such an extent that the wedding became a major state occasion. The Palace had to
ask the Ministry of Food for extra rations to feed the foreign guests who would be coming.

There was a palpable yearning for splendour. This was to be the first time since 1939 that the coaches and colourful ceremonial uniforms – so vital a part of Britain’s life and
self-image – had been seen. It was more than a wish for something to look at, however. The bride and groom were both attractive, wholesome and personable. They featured heavily in the
illustrated press, and something of a cult built around them. She was the nation’s daughter. He looked like a film star, and the public had now accepted him. Moreover, they knew she had set
her heart on him and had won him in spite of widespread disapproval (not least their own). This was a fairy tale that promised a happy ending. There was a rising tide of goodwill and popularity and
expectation.

For her dress, Princess Elizabeth was granted a hundred additional clothing coupons, while each of her bridesmaids had 23. Norman Hartnell, who had already once outfitted her for a wedding (when
she was bridesmaid to the Kents), produced
12 designs from which she could choose. She selected a pearl-white satin dress with a 15-foot train that fastened to the shoulders. It
was embroidered with drop-pearls, seed-pearls and crystals, and had appliquéd orange-blossoms and star-flowers.

She wanted the music at her wedding to be memorable, and put much effort into this. The Abbey organist sent suggestions, and some were accepted, but her own memory provided other possibilities.
She did not have a well-known bridal march, but opted for a piece by Parry from Aristophanes’
The Birds.
She requested ‘Praise My Soul the King of Heaven’, her favourite
hymn, and ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd’ in its Crimmond setting. For this, she favoured a descant that she had once heard in Scotland. No copy could be found anywhere but she sang it
and Doctor McKie, the organist, wrote it down. It was eventually traced to a composer in Stirling who had written it for an Edinburgh girls’ school.

There were to be 2,000 guests. Although a number of these were official, a surprising percentage were not and – apart from relations (Philip’s sisters were not asked, because they
were all married to Germans and feelings were still raw so soon after the war) many were there through appreciation of mundane services rendered. Their names had been found in letters, lists,
diaries, or acquired by word of mouth. They included the stationmaster from Wolferton, the stop for Sandringham, the schoolmistress from Birkhall, the riding-instructors from Elizabeth’s
childhood, the young women who had made her wedding dress, and an American lady who had sent parcels to Philip throughout the war.

The event was to have film coverage, or rather cameras were to be positioned
outside
the Abbey. The service itself would be broadcast, but there was disquiet among some clergymen that it
might be listened to by people drinking in public houses!

Presents poured in from all over the world. The Royal Family could not accept gifts other than from personal friends, and normal procedure would be to return them with a letter
of thanks. The King, however, was so touched by his people’s generosity that it was decided to keep them. They were put on display at St James’s Palace and the public
queued in droves to inspect them. At the suggestion of the Princess, a reception was also held for the donors. In total, 1,347 gifts were received – half the number that would be offered to
her eldest son some 34 years later – and 20 of them came from Queen Mary alone. Some gifts have been in storage ever since. The largesse included a refrigerator, Purdey shotguns, and a
Rolls-Royce that was a present from the RAF, as well as over a hundred pairs of nylon stockings – still a considerable luxury at the time – and numerous ration coupons. Some things
could not be exhibited: the racehorse given by the Aga Khan and wittily named Astrakhan by Elizabeth, or the lodge presented by the government of Kenya.

Philip was also busy with preparations. He went, unobtrusively, to Lambeth Palace where in a brief ceremony conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury he converted from Greek orthodoxy to the
Church of England. He was also spoken to quietly, but extremely firmly, by one or two of his elders. Churchill, no longer premier but still wielding immense prestige, ensured that he realised the
importance of the step he was taking. The King spoke to him in the way any future father-in-law is likely to do. In this case, he laid stress on Philip’s tendency to flirt, and on his
reckless driving. Interestingly, this latter gave the Princess an experience in common with many girls of her age. Her young man drove with impatient abandon. He had once put his sports car in a
ditch and on another occasion, when with Elizabeth, had a contretemps with a taxi. She had wailed that this was not his fault but that her parents would not believe it. The King’s concern was
understandable. While every parent would worry about his daughter ending up in an accident, the implications in this case were very serious indeed.

The groom had lost his Greek citizenship, and his title, when naturalised. He was now simply Lieutenant Philip
Mountbatten, RN. Shortly before the wedding, however, the King
made him Duke of Edinburgh – a title last used by one of Queen Victoria’s sons – and he was installed as a Knight of the Garter. His fiancée had herself received the Garter
a week earlier. Her father had been determined that she should precede her husband in membership, since she would in due course become head of the Order.

The evening before the wedding he had a bachelor party at the Dorchester hosted by his uncle. He stayed the night at Kensington Palace and the next day left for the Abbey with the best man,
David Milford Haven. If he suffered any pre-wedding jitters, he did not let them show. Nor did he have a cigarette, as he might normally have done. He had been a smoker, but had now promised his
wife-to-be that he would give up as a wedding present, and as far as is known he never touched another one.

There was a near mishap for the bride. When dressing at Buckingham Palace on the morning, she could not find the pearl necklace – a present – that she intended to wear. It transpired
that it was still at St James’s Palace where it was on display. Her Private Secretary, John Colville, had to be sent at once to fetch it. He arrived with no written authorisation, and was not
known to the staff guarding the collection. Using all the charm and persuasiveness at his command, he managed to retrieve the necklace and get it to the Princess just in time.