by Anne Edwards
The cruise on the Ophir, an Orient liner chartered by the Admiralty, was Prince George’s first important independent constitutional command. The Yorks set sail on the afternoon of March 16. The King came aboard, inspected the crew, and lunched with his son and daughter-in-law. Tears were shed when they returned with him to the Royal yacht Victoria & Albert to say goodbye to the Queen. The two women exchanged final words about the children’s special habits, and when Princess May returned to her suite aboard the Ophir she broke down and sobbed. But within a few minutes she had regained control, and, taking her husband’s arm, went back up on deck. With the light just beginning to fade, the Ophir cast off and moved slowly out across Plymouth Sound, preceded first by the Trinity House Yacht and next by H.M.S. Alberta. Immense crowds lined the shores on both the Devon and Cornish sides, and “one could see handkerchiefs waving as far as the eye could reach.” Several bands could be heard playing above the cheers of the people on the shore and on the many small boats that had accompanied the Ophir.
By nightfall they were well on their way, steaming south en route for Gibraltar. “I detest the sea,” Princess May wrote Mlle. Bricka. From the first night she suffered seasickness, and unfortunately the malaise was to remain for most of the journey.*
Nothing could have pleased the Queen more than to have small boys to entertain once again. She was in her element with most children but enjoyed small boys more than little girls. Quite promptly their parents’ strict regime for them at York Cottage was set aside, and Helena Bricka, plump and rather elderly now, could do little about it. The children were moved close to their grandparents and allowed free run of whichever home or castle they happened to be visiting. Lessons were at a minimum, being thought rather inconsequential by Alexandra. So unconcerned were the grandparents over the lapses from schoolroom routine that on taking the children to Sandringham for a two-week stay, they left poor Mlle. Bricka behind in London, according to their eldest grandson, “lest she spoil the fun.”
When the Ophir reached Gibraltar, there was a letter waiting for the Yorks from their second-eldest son—who was six at the time:
MY DARLING MAMA AND PAPA
We hope you are quite well and not seasick. Did you have a big wave when you went through the Bay of Biscay? We send you love and a lot of kisses,
From your loving
Bertie
No mention was made by the Queen to Princess May of the change in the children’s lives. In fact, their studies were grossly neglected because King Edward, with his jovial bonhomie and enjoyment of life, and with formidable recollections of his own early strict instruction, discouraged lessons as constituting an unnecessary inhibition of fun.
Bertie was his grandfather’s favourite, and the King would dash off short notes to him when he was gone for only an afternoon or evening. In the Royal Archives at Windsor, several of these survive, of which the following is an example:
My Dearest Little Bertie
You have written me a very nice little letter. How fortunate that Bland [a footman] caught Papa’s parrot that had flown away or else he might have been shot! ... Now that the weather is fine again you might have to play golf!
Ever your devoted Grandpapa, EDWARD R.
Mlle. Bricka wrote Princess May that the children were being kept away from her classroom, and that David, being the eldest, would suffer the greatest loss in his studies and that she found this terribly upsetting, but as the Queen had sanctioned his absence, she did not know what to do. Princess May wrote immediately to her mother-in-law, who replied in a flurry of underscores and exclamations that she thought it “the only thing that could be done as we all noticed how precocious and old-fashioned he [David] was getting—and quite the way of a single child!—which would make him ultimately ‘a tiresome child.’ ”
In lieu of the schoolroom, the Queen took the children to every special exhibition and tournament that was presented. She was delighted on an excursion to Virginia Water when “little David caught his first fish and danced about with joy,” and was exceedingly proud—feeling it showed a good heart—when he turned around to the sailor helping him and said, “You must not kill him; throw him back into the water again!” Disappointed in all but one of her adult children [George], Alexandra was taking advantage of what she surely thought was a second chance at contributing to children’s formative years.
At each colony visited, Princess May successfully coped with official receptions on landing, addresses received and replied to, deputations met, Durbars and meetings with native rulers and chiefs, receptions of local officials and their wives, visits to new works and famous buildings and beauty spots, the laying of foundation stones, inspections of hospitals, reviews of troops, investitures, presentations of colours and medals, openings of trade and other exhibitions, and banquets—always at her husband’s side and always without any trace of impatience or fatigue (which he often displayed).
On board the Ophir, and except for Princess May’s malaise de mer, the Yorks had a relaxed and happy time with old and tried friends; her brother, Prince Alexander of Teck (Alge), was aboard, as well as her husband’s former tutor, Canon Dalton. For Prince George, memories were revived with each coastline they neared. From his days as a young midshipman he knew the Mediterranean intimately from Gibraltar to Suez. And whenever he fell in with ships of the fleet, he would welcome old shipmates aboard.
The tour vastly changed the Yorks’ formerly vague notions of life in Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. They were surprised to see these countries’ admirably disciplined armies. The same was true of the civil services and industry. In Australia, they found the educational system producing results that England might envy. In whatever colony they visited, they were conscious of the great loyalty to the Crown possessed by all classes, creeds, and races. The Empire was still mighty, and Queen Victoria was firmly believed wholly responsible for it. She was a legend, thought to be invested with divine qualities by some. Few of her subjects had been old enough at her death to recall another monarch. Her reign had seen the development of many of the colonies from settlements to modern nations. On this tour the Yorks came to realise how widespread Grandmama’s influence had been, and learned to attach a new importance to the private lives and examples of those called on—as Princess May defined it—“to assume the power and symbolism of her great office.” The impression went deep and remained indelible in her mind. She would never again be quite the same person, at least in her outward behaviour, and she no longer could abide a lapse from any of her family in what she considered “the proper Royal attitude.”
Princess May’s confidence had been severely undermined by her mother-in-law’s domineering attitude. But the wild reception she received wherever they went (and she was far more popular with the people than her husband), the obeisance that she had previously seen given only to the Queen, gave her a sense of her own power that she had not had before. Prince George disliked speechmaking and was dreadfully nervous when surrounded by huge crowds of people. As the tour progressed, he leaned more and more on his wife, later confiding to her that “I could never have got through it without you,” and that it was she whom the people had loved and come to see, not he. At home, Alexandra might well have strengthened the ties to her grandchildren, but she was further losing her grasp on her son.
The tour ended on November 1, when the Ophir dropped anchor in a choppy sea just off the Isle of Wight. The Royal yacht, Victoria & Albert, its standard flying smartly to show Their Majesties were on board, came within a hundred feet and also dropped anchor. The King and Queen, with the four children and their nannies, then got into a steam barge from which they were to have boarded the Ophir. But the sea was too rough. David came scrambling between the King’s legs to have a first look at his parents, who had just appeared at the top of the ladder. The wind was blowing hard and they could not descend, but they were close enough for the children to see them. The three eldest appeared instantly relieved. The King, still the practical joker, h
ad warned them to be prepared for a shock. Their parents, he had reminded them in a perfectly believable way, had been exposed a long time to the fierce tropical sun, and in all probability their skins had turned black. The children were horrified, and the excitement of being reunited with their parents had been mixed with apprehension. David, years later, was to recall his terror at “the drastically altered state in which he would doubtless find them.”
Both ships then headed toward Portsmouth. They steamed slowly up the Solent and before long were “surrounded by pleasure boats and steamers crowded with enthusiastic people who cheered themselves hoars[e].” As the Ophir drew closer to shore, both sides of the harbour were thick with people, and despite a strong wind the cheering was “simply deafening with the bands ashore, and our band playing ‘Home Sweet Home’ it made a homecoming never to be forgotten.”
The Yorks soon joined the King and Queen and the children aboard the Victoria & Albert for a tearful reunion. The baby, little Harry, who was not yet walking or talking when his parents had left, was doing both. He did not recognise his parents and set up a squall when his mother went to lift him. Princess Mary clung to her grandmother’s skirts. Princess May fought back her injured pride at this rejection by her own children. David, however, stepped forward, and then Bertie followed him, and they were warmly embraced by both their parents. By the time they had reached London most of the first awkwardness was gone; but from that point on, the children, because of their long stay with their grandparents, had some means of comparison and found something missing in their home life. To Bertie especially, who feared his father and was so awkward with his mother, the change was the most disastrous. Only a short time after his parents’ return, he began to have trouble with his speech, and within six months he was stuttering quite noticeably.
On the King’s sixtieth birthday, November 9, 1901—just nine days after the Yorks had returned from their eight-month journey—Prince George was at last created Prince of Wales, and Princess May was finally Princess of Wales. On January 16, 1902, they came up to London for the opening of Parliament. Prince George records the change in their status simply in his journal: “May and I went in our Glass Coach and we had an escort”; but Princess May took time to sit for her first portrait as Princess of Wales and proudly wore all her decorations. Inside Parliament, they ceremoniously took their places in the chairs of state placed for them below the dais of the Throne and facing the members of the House. Afterward, they both attended the King’s reception at Windsor. Lord Salisbury, whose lengthy premiership was now drawing to a close, took Prince George aside, and the two had an extended private talk. King Edward was making sure that his son would not suffer the inactivity and sense of uselessness he had felt as King-in-waiting. From this day forward, Prince George was sent the Royal boxes and kept apprised of all the key issues in the nation.
Glass coaches and Royal boxes were not the only changes that took place in the York-cum-Wales household. Their staff was greatly increased, and they were given Marlborough House (which required much renovation) and the use of Frogmore at Windsor. Prince George was forever moaning that “the Windsor climate” was never very beneficial to him. With each notch up the Royal line of succession came new residences owned by the Crown. Most were old and antiquated, with draughts, bad heating, endless corridors, and hopeless plumbing. Kensington Palace and St. James’s Palace provided London homes for numerous Royalties at the same time—each family having a wing or section for itself, and yet with cousins and aunts and uncles and in-laws within a courtyard’s distance. Privacy was difficult to obtain, particularly since servants intermingled. The shadow of the last occupant (who had either gone up in line to the Throne or had died) hovered over each new resident. Princess May was first obliged to occupy her grandmother’s apartments at St. James’s. Now she was moving her family into Marlborough House, a home strongly identified with the former Princess of Wales. The two women’s tastes were quite disparate. Whatever changes Princess May made could be found not only offensive but insulting to her mother-in-law.
His own awareness of how close he stood to the Throne also changed Prince George’s ideas about his sons’ education. A major upheaval took place in the nursery. “The feminine suzeranity that had ruled there was suddenly terminated when one evening Bertie and I were told that a man named Frederick Finch would wake us up next morning and thenceforth we should be under his care,” David later wrote. Prince George’s plans were for his sons to be raised along precisely the same lines that had been laid down some thirty years earlier for himself and Prince Eddy; they were to be taught at home by tutors until old enough to join the Royal Navy as cadets. So, along with the introduction of Finch, a tall, gaunt, solemn stranger with a large moustache named Henry Peter Hansell entered their lives as a tutor.
David had the least inhibitions at the time and had to be constantly reprimanded for small infractions of the rules set down by Finch and Hansell and the strict study and dress standards set by his father. The new Prince of Wales believed young boys should wear only kilts or sailor suits. “I hope your kilts fit well,” he wrote David at Balmoral. “Take care and don’t spoil them at once as they are new. Wear the Balmoral Kilt and grey jacket on weekdays and green Kilt and black jacket on Sunday. Do not wear the red Kilt until I come.”
The two older boys saw their father every morning when the family was together. These meetings generally took place when Prince George would lead a military march—often twice—around the grounds of Sandringham and with little regard to weather. At their other homes, they would walk an equal distance. Upon learning that Princess May was once again pregnant, Prince George was overheard to say, “Well, soon I shall have a regiment.”
They also expanded their staff on the female side at this time. Princess May brought in as Lady-in-Waiting an old friend from her childhood, Mabell, Countess of Airlie, whose husband had just been killed in the Boer War. The position was prestigious, but it also carried with it great dedication and sacrifice, which might not in all cases have made up for the prestige of the title. A Lady-in-Waiting served for three months in the year. Princess May was now to have four ladies (she had had two),* as well as a private secretary. The duties of a Lady-in-Waiting were partially secretarial (personal correspondence only), and she was also expected to accompany the Princess of Wales wherever she went, and to keep her company when her husband might be engaged and no social event scheduled. In Princess May’s case, the Lady-in-Waiting would read to her, or they would simply chat. She also ate meals with the Royal Household. Yet honour though the appointment might be, it also demanded the lady (who held a position in the aristocracy) desert her own comfortable home and her family (in some cases a husband and children) for the often austere and damp accommodations of the Royal residences. Lady Airlie had to sleep in that cubical room over the kitchen in York Cottage, as did the other ladies when in waiting at York Cottage—a matter of duty, of course, but it represented a great sacrifice.
After much persuasion, Lady Airlie finally entered the Princess of Wales’s Household on March 1, 1902, feeling very new to her surroundings but “comforted by the fact that it was St. David’s day, which seemed a good omen.” Princess May received her in her sitting room at York House, “formally—almost coldly.” Lady Airlie did not know what to make of Princess May’s attitude. A short time later, when all the servants had gone and they were alone together, Princess May, however, put her arms around her childhood friend and kissed her on both cheeks, eyes full of tears. “Dearest, dearest Mabell, I can’t tell you how much I have felt for you [because of her husband’s death] and how glad I am that you have come to me. I will try to make you happy.”
Lady Airlie observed that the new Princess of Wales had to cope with the drastic changes in Court life that had taken place during the eight months she had been away. Now, with the period of deep mourning over, the Edwardian Court appeared to her vulgar and flamboyant, and according to Lady Airlie, “Money was the passport to society. A
lmost anyone who had enough of it could procure, sooner or later, an invitation to the splendid Court Balls at Windsor and the evening receptions at Buckingham Palace. Princess May’s appreciation of restraint and dignity made her recoil from this ‘surfeit of gold plate and orchids’ as she once called it to me. Although she was the wife of the heir to the throne, the tact which always veiled her force of character enabled her to keep aloof and to lead within the framework of her public role a private life of quiet domesticity ... Queen Alexandra, temperamentally cast in a lighter mould, had the faculty of skimming easily over the surface of life and ignoring things which she disliked. Nothing seriously perturbed her. Princess May would have been deeply distressed if she had annoyed her husband; Queen Alexandra serenely pursued her own way.”
The private differences between the Queen and Princess May were never to be dissolved, but as the summer of 1902 approached, the younger woman was able to push them aside for the time being. She was three months pregnant with her fifth child and could still appear in public. June 26 had now been set as the date of the Coronation, and she would attend it as Princess of Wales.
Footnotes
*Christopher Hibbert in The Court at Windsor (fn p. 240) writes that “some of them [the rugs) were new for Queen Victoria, unable to part with anything that she and Prince Albert had shared, had had the furnishings accurately copied when it became necessary to replace them,” Still, she hated the replacements. A servant wrote that on one occasion while the Queen was away from Windsor “an armchair in her private sitting room was restuffed and recovered. Her Majesty at once ordered it out of her sight on her return, saying it was ‘too smart.’ ” The Queen also passed the same verdict on the gates and railing that divide Castle Hill from the South Terrace when the tops were gilded in her absence. An army of painters was summoned, and by the time the Queen left the castle for her afternoon drive, all traces of the garish display had been removed.
