A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II (8 page)

Elizabeth was aged 13 when, in the summer of 1939 and a matter of weeks away from war, she experienced one of the most significant moments in her life. On 22 June she visited Britannia Royal
Naval College at Dartmouth with her parents
and sister. They arrived aboard the Royal Yacht,
Victoria and Albert.
The King was a former cadet and, although he had not
shone there, he was happy to show his family around the buildings and grounds, where his elder daughter was to plant a tree. Elizabeth and Margaret were not allowed to visit the College itself,
owing to an outbreak of mumps, and were instead sent to the home of the Captain (Commanding Officer) where they had somehow to be entertained for several hours. A young cadet, Prince Philip of
Greece, who was the nephew of the king’s cousin, ‘Dickie’ Countbatten, was given the task, and he did not relish the company of two small girls. They played for a short while with
the train set of the Captain’s son, and then Philip suggested they go to a nearby tennis court, where he showed off by jumping over the net. After a tea at which he put away a gargantuan
amount of shrimps, the visit came to an end.
Victoria and Albert
steamed out of Dartmouth Harbour accompanied by a fleet of small craft manned by members of the College. Most turned back
once in the choppier waters of the open sea, but a single boat continued relentlessly to follow until the King became annoyed at the danger in which its occupant was placing himself. Philip –
for it was he – had to be ordered by loud-hailer to return.

This story has passed into legend. It was first recounted by Miss Crawford, who was present. Elizabeth was deeply impressed by Philip’s handsome appearance, his athletic ability and his
brash self-confidence, so much at odds with her own more reserved nature. Whether or not the details are correct, there can be no doubt that at some time in the months and years that followed she
fell seriously in love with him.

‘Who is this Hitler, spoiling everything?’ Princess Margaret had asked. Elizabeth knew, and hated him. She was disappointed when war did not break out in 1938 over
Czechoslovakia and was rebuked by her nurserymaid, Miss MacDonald: ‘
You
don’t know what war is like!’ When it did come the following year, she found out soon enough. Just
over a month later, some 800 men were killed when HMS
Royal Oak
was sunk by a U-boat. Her anguish, and outrage, were genuine: ‘It can’t be! All those nice sailors!’

The Second World War was to cost the young Princess very heavily. It destroyed the house in which she was born, the chapel in which she was christened, the home she had loved for the first
decade of her life. Her parents were almost killed; her uncle was. She herself heard the sound of falling bombs and anti-aircraft fire, and had to go to shelter when enemy planes were overhead. She
saw a doodlebug crash and explode in Windsor Great Park (more than 300 bombs fell there during the conflict). She would perhaps see – and would at least hear –
the
waves of German bombers passing over the Castle on their way to annihilate Coventry. She worried about her father when he put himself in danger by travelling to war-zones, and about her
‘young man’, serving in convoys on the North Sea, the Atlantic and the Pacific. She experienced rationing and shortages (even Royalty had a black line painted round its baths to prevent
overfilling). She suffered separation from her parents.

On the outbreak of war, in September 1939, the princesses were at Balmoral, and remained there. For the time being, their idyll continued. ‘Are we too happy?’ the conscience-stricken
girl was to ask when the war eventually became more serious and more dangerous. Although initially nothing happened, for Hitler was still digesting Poland, there was the danger of air raids. Since
the previous year, when war had almost begun, extensive precautions had been taken to protect both buildings and people. There were air-raid drills, wardens and auxiliary medical services, concrete
shelters, sandbags everywhere. The contents of museums were removed to safety. There was much talk of sending people abroad, too. It was speculated that the princesses might go to Canada to wait
out hostilities.

King George would not consider this. He would not be parted from his daughters, and saw it as important to national morale that the Royal Family stay in Britain. It was decided, however, that
some members should depart from London. Queen Mary went to stay at Badminton, the country house in Gloucestershire, where she was to pass the war years very happily. The girls would live at Royal
Lodge for the time being, for the house should be safe enough from aerial attack, and amid familiar surroundings it was hoped that their lives could retain at least a modicum of normality. The King
and Queen lived largely at Buckingham Palace, feeling that it was important to remain in the capital and share whatever dangers were to come. They spoke to the princesses by telephone at six
o’clock every evening but saw them only at weekends, which
they spent at Windsor. Both the sovereign and his consort practised shooting with rifles and pistols and, when
travelling, the King sometimes carried a sten gun. Should the Germans invade, the Queen declared that: ‘I shall not go down like the others.’ The monarchies of Belgium and Denmark were
trapped by the invaders when German forces overran western Europe in May 1940. Those of Norway and the Netherlands had to flee. The British monarchy was determined to fight. Even Queen Mary toted a
pistol.

And there were some dangerous moments. In September 1940, two days after the start of the Blitz, a bomb fell on the Palace. It did not explode and the King carried on working in his study above
it. It
did
blow up the next day, destroying the swimming-pool that had only recently been built. While this attack might have been random, there was another one exactly a week later that was
intentional. The Palace was extremely conspicuous from the air, and a raider flew calmly up the Mall to drop a total of six bombs, which landed in the forecourt, the quadrangle, the chapel and the
garden. For the King and Queen to stay in London was more than a mere gesture. They were risking their lives as much as any Londoners.

Meanwhile the girls helped collect scrap metal for the war effort and, like all children living in the country at that time, they helped with the harvesting of fruit and vegetables. They made
donations from their pocket money to help the Red Cross. Elizabeth made a gallant attempt to knit items of clothing for soldiers – this was something the aged Queen Victoria had done during
the Boer War – but the experiment was not a success.

After the fall of France in the summer of 1940, there was a real possibility of German invasion. The girls were moved for safety from Royal Lodge into the Castle itself. Britain is a peaceful
country, and its castles had not had to provide shelter against enemies for several centuries. Now, in a sense, Windsor once again became a fortress rather than a palace. Isolated on
its hilltop amid extensive grounds, it was almost impossible for enemy bombers to miss had they wished to make a serious or extensive raid on it. Nearby reservoirs could have enabled a
landing by seaplanes. The Park provided a perfect setting for a parachute drop. Despite its massive walls, Windsor therefore did not always seem very safe and its grounds were patrolled with grim
purpose at night by soldiers and Home Guard.

From behind its battlements the raids on London, or Slough, were clearly audible and would have made a deep impression on the princesses. They must also have felt considerable sorrow when their
old house in Piccadilly was hit. The war would have seemed a very personal matter when their parents’ home, Buckingham Palace, was bombed by the Luftwaffe.

On a number of occasions the sirens sent them down to the Castle’s dungeons, one of which had been prepared as a shelter. The first time this happened, there was sudden concern when the
princesses and their nanny failed to appear. Minutes went by and Sir Hill Child, the Master of the Household, was beside himself with anxiety. Miss Crawford, the governess, called up the stairs of
the Brunswick Tower, in which the girls had their quarters: ‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re dressing,’ replied Elizabeth.

This was taking propriety too far. Child made it clear that in future there must be no such delays. The thought of the heir to the throne being killed because she, or her dresser, felt she
should have her shoes properly tied was something he did not want on his conscience. When the all-clear sounded, however, his natural courtesy at once returned: ‘You may go to bed now,
Ma’am,’ he told Elizabeth, bowing.

With practice, a routine was established. The girls had bunks in the shelter, suitcases packed with both essentials and sentimental treasures, and ‘siren-suits’ – as
popularised by the Prime Minister – to enable them to be dressed in seconds. However successful he was at getting the girls to cooperate, Child was to find their mother more difficult to
convince. The Queen,
when the siren dragged them all out of bed, simply refused to be hurried into behaving in a flustered or undignified manner. She not only dressed completely
for the shelter but did so with deliberate slowness, as a point of honour. After a while she decided not to bother going below ground at all, regarding it as being too much trouble, and announced
that they would take their chances above ground.

Against this background of enemy action, the Buckingham Palace Guide Troop, founded for the princesses and their friends, had transferred to Windsor where they carried on their activities,
though now they were drilled by a Sergeant Major of the Grenadiers. They held a camp in the Park, but there could be no doubt that this was not an ordinary troop – tents were erected for them
by Guardsmen and their food was provided by the Castle pantries. The unit contained a number of evacuee girls from working-class districts in London. Margaret was better at mixing with them than
her sister who, with her trademark shyness already in evidence, found an excuse to sleep on her own in a nearby summer house rather than under canvas. Elizabeth was promoted to Patrol Leader.

On 13 October 1940, Princess Elizabeth, then 14 years old, broadcast to the children of the Empire on the radio programme
Children’s Hour.
Coached in delivery, and with her mother
beating time, the Princess said in a measured and confident voice: ‘My sister Margaret Rose and I feel so much for you, for we too know from experience what it means to be away from those we
love most of all.’ She ended on an upbeat: ‘We know, every one of us, that in the end all shall be well.’ Princess Margaret, at her elbow, was urged to join her in wishing her
audience farewell: ‘Good night, and good luck to you all.’ Its target audience was the juvenile diaspora that had been scattered by evacuation, and especially those fortunate enough to
have been sent to North America – a sad separation but a comfortable exile. It was a well-delivered speech that has remained fixed in the national memory. Together with the talk
she was to broadcast on her 21st birthday, it was among the most memorable of all the hundreds the Queen has given. One who heard it was the South African writer Sarah Gertrude Millin,
who was moved to remark: ‘If there are still queens in the world a generation hence, this child will be a good queen.’

Windsor was a most agreeable place in which to sit out these years of confinement. The Castle and parks were, of course, full of beauty and interest, and were peaceful most of the time. There
were also interesting and talented people wherever one looked, either resident or passing through. Household regiments were rotated throughout the war as they were in peacetime, bringing a changing
series of high-spirited young officers and imposing, respectful Guardsmen. There were courtiers with a sense of fun, such as Sir Hill Child. Although he may have wrung his hands over the
princesses’ slowness in dressing, he took them into the Castle cellars to show them where the Crown Jewels were hidden, wrapped in newspaper.

There were also local teachers who were willing to help maintain morale. One of them, Hubert Tanner, was headmaster of the little local school in the Park. He produced, for Christmas 1940, a
nativity play that was performed by local children, evacuees and . . . the princesses. Both girls delighted in the experience, and the following year a more ambitious undertaking was attempted.
This was a pantomime –
Cinderella –
with sophisticated costumes, and original music by Mr Tanner (who also acted in the productions) that was staged in the Castle’s
Waterloo Chamber. It perhaps goes without saying that the two princesses had the lead roles – but then a major purpose was to train the girls towards confidence in public – with
Elizabeth as Prince Charming and her sister as Cinderella herself. Here Margaret, who all her life would enjoy singing, had her first taste of applause. Her audience was made up of local people,
estate workers, soldiers and the families of Castle staff. Tickets were sold in aid of something called the Royal Household Knitting Wool Fund. Their parents
enjoyed themselves
hugely, the King, who had a simple and hearty sense of humour, laughing loudly throughout. This was precisely the sort of golden memory on which he wanted his daughters to be able to look back. His
own shyness having never left him, he was gratified to see that his heir could appear in public with such lack of inhibition.

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.