by Sue Corbett
They were married in Westminster Abbey on April 26, 1923. It was the first marriage of a sovereign’s son for nearly half-a-century, and popular enthusiasm vindicated the decision to hold it in Westminster Abbey rather than in the privacy of a Chapel Royal. Queen Alexandra attended — one of her last public appearances — as did her sister, the Dowager Empress of Russia. The Archbishop of York preached a somewhat wordy sermon. In the afternoon the couple drove away to Polesden Lacey, which had been lent to them by Mrs (Maggie) Greville, who later favoured the Royal Family with substantial legacies.
Before there was any question of her becoming a royal personage, Elizabeth had been described by an observer, at a British Embassy ball in Paris, in these words: “The most charming sight there was Lady Elizabeth Bowes Lyon, a bewitching little figure in rose colour, which set off her lovely eyes and dark eyebrows to perfection. She seemed to me the incarnation of fresh, happy, English girlhood.” (She would have corrected the word “English”.) It was not expected, in 1923, that a royal duchess should necessarily become an active public figure. All the same, Elizabeth began to undertake engagements in her own right. The first were modest enough, connected with local organisations or charities that friends persuaded her to support. But national presidencies and patronages followed.
Her most important work at this time was done out of the public eye in helping her husband to fight his natural handicaps. Her easy, relaxed temperament was balm to him, and the change in his bearing was soon noticed. With her encouragement he set about tackling the worst obstacle to his performance in public, his stammer. Visiting the Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue in 1926, he began a course of treatment which certainly improved, though it could never completely eliminate, what had seemed to be an insuperable problem.
She fitted well into the tightly knit family circle of King George V, who astonished other members of his family by treating her unpunctuality — particularly at meals, where it would normally have driven him to fury — as a venial fault. She was fond of him and, unlike his own children, never afraid of him.
During the winter of 1924-25, she accompanied her husband on a visit to East Africa and the Sudan, which was largely recreational, but broadened their horizons. On safari in Kenya she was no mere spectator of the Duke’s marksmanship, but did a lot of shooting herself with a 0.275 Rigby rifle.
The birth of her first daughter on April 21, 1926, was a highly popular event. The child was given her mother’s first Christian name, which could also be seen as a gesture to England’s, though not Scotland’s, past. The second daughter, Margaret — or Margaret Rose, as she was always known at the time — was born four years later, on August 21, 1930.
At first the Yorks could hardly compete with the dashing Prince of Wales as a royal attraction. He was the star, while they were essentially only members of the supporting cast. In 1927, however, they had an opportunity to shine on their own, when they went on a world tour which included state visits to New Zealand and Australia. For a time during their visit to New Zealand the Duchess was out of action with a throat infection, but this was almost a blessing, however disguised. It pleased her that the Duke was able to cope on his own, and that the undiminished enthusiasm with which he was greeted relieved him of the suspicion that the crowds had previously turned out to see only his wife.
In Australia, the Duchess’s good humour and informality made a strong appeal. She bore the turbulent welcome of crowds as cheerfully as she bore the extremes of temperature. At a ball at Government House, Melbourne, she insisted on dancing with a man whom she had met as a wounded officer at Glamis during the war.
After this tour the couple returned to a more settled existence. Their first married home had been the White Lodge in Richmond Park, but in 1927 they took up residence at No 145 Piccadilly, which remained their London address until they moved to Buckingham Palace. In 1931 the King gave them the Royal Lodge in Windsor Park, which was expanded and done up for their benefit; it became their favourite home.
As the years passed and the Prince of Wales remained unmarried, the prospect that their elder daughter might one day succeed to the throne came to seem less remote. But any idea that the Duke of York might be called to it himself was still beyond the wildest speculation. With George V’s death in January 1936, however, the crisis which produced this result became imminent. Already aware of the new King’s attachment to Wallis Simpson, the Yorks soon realised that it was much more than a passing affair: that he was, in fact, determined to marry her, and that if he could not marry her as king, he would abdicate forthwith.
The Yorks were genuinely distraught, he doubting his capacity to do the job of monarch, she anxious on his behalf and not at all wanting him to be exposed to such a test. But when it became apparent that the British and Dominion governments would not accept Mrs Simpson as queen, or even as the king’s morganatic wife, Edward bowed to constitutional necessity and promptly abdicated. In his farewell broadcast he made a graceful reference to his brother and to the happy family life that he enjoyed.
So far as the State was concerned, the transition was perfectly smooth. The constitutional crisis ended the moment Edward signed the instrument of abdication, and the fairy-story appeal of the monarchy was doubly enhanced: by the Yorks’ brave assumption of office for duty’s sake and by Edward’s renunciation of it for love.
But the new King and Queen did not see it that way. In their view, Edward had let the monarchy down, and the woman who had inveigled him into doing so was beyond the pale. As a result, a family feud developed and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor (as the former king and his wife became) entered upon a life of exile, with the duchess denied the title “Royal Highness” to the end of her days. Queen Elizabeth’s relentless disapproval of the Duchess of Windsor arose from the belief that the duchess’s behaviour had imposed an intolerable strain on King George VI and had eventually contributed to his early death.
The new king, though much improved since his marriage, was still painfully conscious of his limitations and inadequacies, more especially by comparison with his elder brother. When he told Queen Mary that Edward was abdicating, he broke down and (in his own words) “sobbed like a child”. The new Queen accepted her destiny with a serene self-confidence. In her first letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury she wrote: “I can hardly believe that we have been called to the tremendous task and (I am writing to you quite intimately) the curious thing is that we are not afraid”. It was certainly true of her, and her courage was vital in sustaining the King.
She made few public appearances between her husband’s accession and the Coronation on May 12, 1937. In this she acquitted herself with dignity and reverence, and people were touched also by her air of youthfulness. She was the youngest queen consort since George III’s wife, Queen Charlotte, had been crowned in 1761. As the crown was placed on Queen Elizabeth’s head, Winston Churchill (who had been a staunch and romantic supporter of Edward VIII) turned to his wife, his eyes full of tears, and said: “You were right; I see now the ‘other one’ wouldn’t have done.”
With the dark clouds of war gathering on the horizon, Neville Chamberlain’s policy of appeasement was tried and failed. Queen Elizabeth and her husband were enthusiastic supporters of the policy, to the extent of appearing with Chamberlain on the balcony of Buckingham Palace after his return from signing the Munich agreement, even though the agreement was to be the subject of a party vote in the House of Commons. This extraordinary constitutional lapse escaped censure because the royal couple were reflecting overwhelming popular sentiment at the time.
Earlier in 1938 they had paid a successful state visit to France, which had to be postponed from June to July because of the sudden death of Queen Elizabeth’s mother. In Paris the Queen chose to wear white as a mark of mourning, and her all-white trousseau was much admired, as was her appearance for the first time in crinoline dresses inspired by Winterhalter portraits of the young Queen Victoria. She also benefited, then as later, by being able to
converse with a fair degree of ease in French.
In the spring and early summer of 1939 they undertook a more ambitious journey, first to Canada and then to the United States. After landing at Quebec in mid-May they travelled across Canada to the Pacific coast, everywhere evoking loyal demonstrations. Returning eastwards they made history by entering the United States, at Niagara, on June 9. In Washington a senator congratulated the King on being “a great Queen-picker”. While staying with the Roosevelts at Hyde Park the Queen was able to talk to her daughters in England by transatlantic telephone, a novel experience for both her and them.
At about this time Sir Harold Nicolson wrote of her in his diary: “She really does manage to convey to each individual in the crowd that he or she has had a personal greeting. It is due, I think, to the brilliance of her eyes. But she is in truth one of the most amazing Queens since Cleopatra.”
During the Second World War she came into her own, more especially, of course, after the fall of France, when invasion seemed imminent. At this time a number of people sent their children out of the country, and the possibility of sending the princesses to Canada was, in fact, discussed. But the King and Queen decided firmly against it, realising that in a supreme national emergency it was quite wrong for children of the rich and privileged to be made invidiously safe; also that it was desirable, in any case, for their family to stay together.
The Queen’s attitude was summed up in words that are, justly, the most famous of her life: “The Princesses would never leave without me, and I couldn’t leave without the King, and the King will never leave.”
The Queen Mother visiting The Times offices at Wapping, with Richard Williams (left) and Charles Wilson, then editor (far left), showing her around
The children lived at Windsor during the war, which meant that their lives were considerably more at risk than those of many children from poor families, who were removed to remote parts of the country. The King and Queen normally slept at Windsor, but drove into London for the day. Buckingham Palace was hit several times by bombs, which enabled the Queen, as she put it, to “look the East End in the face”. The East End of London and other blitzed areas were able to look her in the face when she and the King visited them after raids. Her combination of glamour, serenity, friendliness and genuine sympathy made her uniquely effective in lifting people’s spirits.
She did not, however, go around wearing any of the uniforms that were available to women in the war effort, though she could have worn any or all of them if she had wished. Her essentially feminine nature recoiled from the somewhat Amazonian connotations of a uniform, and she continued to dress in her usual style.
But in 1943 “Chips” Channon detected a change in her walk, which may have been associated with the slight amplification of figure that came to her in middle age. As she entered St Paul’s for a service to celebrate the victory in Tunisia, she was, he wrote, as ever “gracious and smiling”, but also “leaning back, a new walk she has acquired.”
She and the King were sympathetic towards sovereigns and governments in exile. In particular, they treated General de Gaulle with an understanding and consideration that he did not, as a rule, receive from the British Government. Their kindness was handsomely acknowledged in his memoirs, and in later years he never failed to show special regard for the Queen Mother in her widowhood.
They were unable to return President Roosevelt’s hospitality, because he did not visit Britain during the war. But Mrs Roosevelt stayed at Buckingham Palace in 1942 and suffered acutely from the cold there, since there was limited electric heating even in rooms with windows patched-up after bombing. She was also served simple wartime food on gold and silver plates, perhaps a studied attempt to emphasise the truth that the royal family had submitted themselves to all the rigours of wartime austerity.
The Queen also had the bulldog courage of that slightly unrealistic type which the British people are not ashamed to display in moments of dire peril and have no aversion to seeing reflected in their leaders. Thus she practised with both .303 rifle and .38 service revolver in the grounds of Buckingham Palace, telling Sir Harold Nicolson, who had expressed surprise at this martial activity from one so diminutive, “Yes, I shall not go down like the others,” referring, perhaps not entirely fairly, to the capitulation of the monarchs of the continent in the face of the German onslaught.
The victory of Labour in the 1945 general election restored the monarchy to its normal position of unchallenged prestige. Churchill, who in spite of himself had in some ways eclipsed the sovereign, was replaced by the uncharismatic Clement Attlee. Yet Attlee was no less of a traditionalist than Churchill, and he and his colleagues showed, like Ramsay MacDonald and the first Labour Government, that they yielded to none in reverence for the throne.
Queen Elizabeth was not the one to contemplate making any unnecessary concessions to the spirit of the age, and shrewdly judged that virtually none were, in fact, necessary, since politicians and press were equally reluctant to demand any. The prewar royal routines, including some that were beginning to seem out of date even then — such as the presentation of debutantes at Buckingham Palace — were brought back without significant modification.
Between February and May 1947 the King and Queen toured the Union of South Africa. The visit was stage-managed by the country’s illustrious prime minister, Field-Marshal J. C. Smuts, who must have hoped that it would serve to counteract the appeal of the Nationalist party. Although it was embarrassing for the royal family to have to leave Britain en route for a land of sunshine when the British people were experiencing one of the worst winters on record, with the added misery of fuel shortage, the tour went ahead on firm ministerial advice and was, on the face of it, a triumphant success. The Queen’s part in it was from first to last outstanding, and when speaking to Afrikaners resentful of England she would sometimes imply, a little speciously, that as a Scotswoman she could understand their feelings.
Soon after her arrival in Cape Town she returned to the family of President Kruger a family Bible of his that had fallen into British hands during the Boer War. And at Bloemfontein she called on the octogenarian widow of President Steyn of the Orange Free State. But along with such conciliatory gestures to former enemies, she also showed to the full her appreciation of those South Africans who had fought beside Britain in two world wars, more especially wounded veterans.
Travelling in a white and gold train, the royal party visited Southern Rhodesia and the three British protectorates of Bechuanaland, Basutoland, and Swaziland, as well as most parts of the South African Union. They saw all the sights of the region, including the Victoria Falls and any amount of wildlife, and it meant much to the King and Queen that they had their daughters with them on such a spectacular trip.
Before they re-embarked for home (they travelled both ways by sea, in the Royal Navy’s most modern battleship, HMS Vanguard), the Queen received an honorary doctorate from Smuts himself as Chancellor of the University of Cape Town. In acknowledging it, she made her only speech of the tour, in which she listed the qualities to which academics should aspire as honesty, justice and resolve, all needing to be sustained by religious faith. The speech was highly praised. However, conversation was her natural medium, and her supreme gift was for putting people at their ease in informal talk.
In July 1947 the King and Queen announced the engagement of their elder daughter, Princess Elizabeth, to Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten, and the wedding took place in Westminster Abbey on November 20 with a show of pageantry that brightened the rather dreary postwar scene. Within a year the Queen was able to celebrate the birth of her first, and perhaps favourite, grandchild, Prince Charles.
Meanwhile, she and the King had celebrated their Silver Wedding, on April 26, 1948. Publicly, the day was marked by a service at St Paul’s, followed by a 20-mile drive through the streets of London in the afternoon. In the evening she and the King appeared on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, and were repeatedly called back by an enthusia
stic crowd.
But in November the King was diagnosed as suffering from incipient arteriosclerosis and a projected tour of Australia and New Zealand had to be postponed. In the event, it never occurred, because the King’s health, never robust, was entering an irreversible decline. In September 1951 he was found to have lung cancer and his left lung was removed. He seemed to recover from the operation, while looking much aged. But during the night of February 5-6, 1952, after a day’s shooting at Sandringham, he died in his sleep.
His death left Queen Elizabeth a widow in her early fifties, faced with the challenge of adapting herself to a new life. Beyond question, she was profoundly sad to lose her husband. Despite her initial reluctance to marry him, she had become a most loving as well as a most devoted wife, and they were a very close couple. All the same, the task of supporting him had been quite a strain and inevitably involved some cramping of her own style. Now that she was alone, it was some compensation for her loss of private happiness that her public role became less difficult and demanding.
Without wishing in any way to stand in her daughter’s light, she showed no desire to withdraw into the traditional reclusion of a dowager. The title that she chose for herself, Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother — with its curious and somewhat unyielding repetition of the royal title — had an unmistakably assertive ring. She remained a star, as she had been as queen consort — the more so, perhaps, for being able at last to perform on her own.
And she continued to live in style. In London her residence was Clarence House. Out of London she had the use of her old home, Royal Lodge, at Windsor, while on the Balmoral estate Birkhall was placed at her disposal. In addition, she soon acquired a dilapidated castle overlooking the Pentland Firth, did it up and renamed it the Castle of Mey — visited, at most, for a few weeks every year. Later, another castle, Walmer, was added to her residences, when, in 1978, she became Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports in succession to Sir Robert Menzies.
