by John Matson
Prince Eddy’s twenty-first birthday on 8 January 1885 was celebrated at Sandringham in the grand style. After he had been given his presents:
…he received addresses and deputations in the Ball Room, to all of which he made very suitable replies and did it very well, in a simple manner, without appearing nervous. All the retainers, headed by Beck and Jackson, passed by in procession and gave him hearty cheers, and then Sanger’s Circus shuffled past, before a performance which we attended after luncheon and which was given by the Prince to the labourers on the Estate and children of the several schools hereabouts… Dinner at 8.15 in uniform. At which I gave Eddy’s health, who replied very nicely, though in but very few words. The day finished with a great Ball, 600 invitations, the Gentlemen in uniform, which looked extremely well, in the new Ball Room, which lights up extremely well.81
While the Princes were away from home, a problem arose in the nursery. A ‘Mrs’ Walkley (‘Mrs’ was a courtesy title, normally accorded to housekeepers and senior female staff) was suspended from her duties and sent away by the Princess of Wales; it seemed that she had a drink problem and was disobedient. After her departure from Sandringham a number of items belonging to the Prince and Princess were missed and later found in her home. Such difficulties were common in Victorian mansions with many domestic staff; later, as we shall see, there were problems, though of a different nature, at York Cottage, but Mrs Walkley had inspired affection in the children, and there is a tone of genuine regret in the Princess’ firm letter:
Sandringham, Norfolk
January 25th,1881
My dear Walkley,
I have long intended to write to you but I have had so much to do lately that I could not find time – I am very glad to hear from yr letter that you are feeling better. I am sure the quiet atmosphere does you good – the Children are all well. We miss you and often speak of you. Partings are always so painful! I hope you will now settle down comfortably with yr parents to whom I am sure you will be of great help and comfort. But I must ask you now, my dear Walkley to send for all your things from Marlborough House without delay otherwise I shall be obliged to ask Mrs Dodds to forward them to you directly – you see dear Walkley as you have now left our service, it would be much better for you to have all yr things and not to leave them at Marlborough House to be disturbed by others so pray have this done at once. Later in the year I will ask you to come and see us but at present it would be too painful as it would only involve fresh parting – so goodbye dear Walkley – let me hear again what yr future plans are and how you are getting on – With the Children’s best love, Yrs sincerely
Alexandra81
* HRH The Duke of Cambridge was also Commander-in-Chief of the British Army.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HOUSE PARTY
The restless nature of the Prince of Wales demanded constant occupation, and he liked nothing better than to fill his house with friends. There was an easy conviviality during the daytime, followed by dinner, and activities and entertainments in the evening, and he exerted his considerable charm to ensure the comfort and contentment of his guests. The big house was often full to overflowing, and it was not long before the Prince gave Humbert orders for a ‘Bachelors’ Cottage’ to be built beside the lake to the south of the house.
Visitors arrived by rail which was an essential adjunct to the house parties, and without which the estate would have remained seriously isolated from the capital. Three classes of carriages ranged from the opulent to the open-topped and primitive, but facilities improved steadily over the period with the advent of dining cars. Special trains provided remarkably good value for the money, even as late as the 1930s. The Great Eastern Railway’s account for operating Royal trains over a year between St Pancras and Wolferton amounted to £513 for the passengers and £10 for parcels.
It was a long-established tradition that the Royal family spent Christmas at Sandringham; it was continued by King George VI and into the reign of the present Queen. After the Second World War, the branch line to Hunstanton, like so many others throughout the country, could no longer be considered viable. Freight was not carried after 1965 and in the following year the Royal train went no further than King’s Lynn. The last train to run was the 10.29 a.m. ‘Up’ on 3 May 1969. The need for economy and the age of the motor car had finally triumphed.
Guests arriving at Wolferton Station were driven up to the house in carriages, finding themselves put down in the porte-cochère. Their luggage, comprising many trunks and smaller pieces, was brought up on carts to the house, where the unpacking was done by valets and ladies’ maids. At this time the ladies wore gowns reaching to the ground; their hats, too, worn throughout the day but discarded for dinner, were becoming larger and more elaborate. Many brought riding dress, for the Princess was a keen horsewoman, and heavy warm clothing for walks on the estate and following the guns. Gentlemen too brought changes of costume for the activities organised by the Prince. Entering the house, guests often discovered the family in the Saloon, a fine, lofty room, which was the social centre at that time of day, and were liable to find themselves placed on the weighing-machine just inside the door, next to a large baboon which held in its outstretched paw a salver for visiting-cards. They were often taken to their rooms by their host or hostess who would stir the fire for them and see that all was in order. Bishop Magee wrote that after a long journey by train he arrived:
…just as they were all at tea in the entrance hall and had to walk in all seedy and dishevelled… and sit down beside the Princess of Wales, with Disraeli on the other side, and sundry lords and ladies around the table… I find the company pleasant and civil, but they are a curious mixture. Two Jews… an ex-Jew… a Roman Catholic… an Italian Duchess; a set of young Lords and a bishop…
Later, ‘we are all to lunch together in a few minutes, the children dining with us.’82
This juxtaposition of disparate characters occasionally worried the Prince’s neighbours and, sometimes, even fellow guests who were more accustomed to conventional gatherings. Czar Nicholas II encountered people at Sandringham the like of whom he scarcely believed to exist, and it was noted that he tended to avoid them as much as possible. They were carefully chosen, however, for their ability to entertain and amuse the Prince – and for the similarity of their interests. Reuben Sassoon, one of three brothers who were deriving immense wealth from their industrial empire in India, was well-known for his fascination for the turf; Baron Hirsch, owner of enormous estates in the Balkans, had constructed a railway through his lands to Constantinople; the Rothschilds and Sir Ernest Cassel were financiers. Their wealth was a source of envy to the Prince, who often had reason to be grateful to them for financial advice and, on occasion, relief from temporary embarrassment.
His demand for entertainment was insatiable; whilst he was punctilious in returning hospitality and sensitive to the necessity of entertaining as a duty, the spectre of boredom lurked and required constant vigilance: woe betide the luckless lady seated beside the Prince at dinner if his fingers began to drum on the table; it was an infallible sign of a wandering attention and she would not be invited again. Other regular visitors included the Marquess of Hartington – heir to the Duke of Devonshire and nicknamed ‘Harty-Tarty’ – as well as the Duke of St Albans, Christopher Sykes, and the Marquis de Soveral, the Portugese Minister in London. Universally popular, de Soveral, called ‘the blue monkey’ on account of his complexion and blue-black hair and vivacity, was an excellent talker and always welcome at receptions, even by the husbands of his mistresses. The Prince once forgot to invite him, only rectifying the omission at the last moment, and on his arrival told him that he knew he need never wait for an invitation; de Soveral instantly replied, ‘I was just setting out, Sir, when your telegram arrived.’
The arrival in the vicinity of the Maharajah Duleep Singh provided an agreeable diversion from the more conventional circle around the Prince. In 1849, after an uprising, the former ruler of the Punjab, whi
ch he had inherited in his infancy, found that his territory had been annexed by Britain, which had sent troops to his aid. In return for a generous pension, the young man surrendered his rights and settled in England. Queen Victoria was much interested in him, as she was indeed in all things Indian, and he was soon in Royal favour. Still in his early twenties, he purchased the 17,000 acre Elveden estate in Norfolk, with Government money, and became a welcome visitor to Sandringham. He spent freely, transforming his house into an oriental palace; and his engaging personality and dark good looks ensured his success with women. At race meetings his appearance added a touch of oriental glamour to the scene. But by 1880 he had exhausted his resources; he was encumbered with a wife and six children, and unable to extract an increase in his allowances from the Government. He settled for a time in Paris, subsequently moving about Europe, until his death following a fit, at the early age of fifty-five.
In 1883, Lord Sandwich noted some fifteen guests who attended the Prince’s birthday celebrations at Sandringham. There were shoots every day, ‘and he received innumerable presents from all sorts and kinds of people, and there was a ball, which lasted until 4 a.m.’
The ladies were constantly changing their clothes – and dressing could be a lengthy operation. These periods of seclusion provided a welcome relief from the interminable conversation and gossip, and from the constriction of the tightly-laced corsets by Worth, which made the ‘hour-glass’ figure popular even before the new century. In this exclusive circle everybody knew everybody else; many were related to each other. It was a society that enjoyed immense wealth and unique privileges over everybody else and took them for granted. It was a society carefully designed to perpetuate itself, for one of its prime functions was to provide opportunities for matchmaking. Noble blood there was in plenty and mothers shrewdly calculated how to secure it for their daughters. They met each other at Chatsworth and Holkham, Studley Royal and Mentmore Towers; at the races at Ascot, Epsom and Newmarket; on the water at Henley and Cowes and on the promenades of Biarritz, Nice, Cannes and Paris. Their enormous houses were a statement of wealth and power, often derived in the previous century from the extraction of minerals, especially coal and iron to meet the demands of the huge expansion of the Industrial Revolution, and also the sugar plantations of the West Indies. Newcomers were admitted only after the most minute enquiries into their backgrounds and breeding, interrogations proceeding ruthlessly behind a front of friendly, enquiring smiles. The rules governing etiquette were strict and comprehensive; gaucheries were not lightly overlooked and could end in ostracism. To be labelled ‘encroaching’ was social death; on the other hand ‘a pretty-behaved girl’ would be sure to find herself a guest at other, almost exactly similar, occasions. Previously, of course, she would have been ‘Presented’ at Court; which was the essential first stage towards acceptance. It was a circle diminished almost to extinction by its sheer extravagance – and by the impact of the First World War, after which things would never be the same again; social barriers had been penetrated and the cost of maintaining their vast houses had become prohibitive. Servants were fewer and were aware of their scarcity value. Only too often, large estates lacked an heir; the entire coterie of wealthy, intelligent and aristocratic young men surrounding Lady Diana Manners, daughter of the Duke of Rutland, was destroyed on the Western Front in 1914. In the aftermath of the Second World War the class which for many years had dominated society was further eroded by the crippling effect of high taxation, scarcity of luxuries and lack of staff still willing to enter domestic service. All this resulted in the demolition of many great houses.
Although dinner, at which the ladies wore their tiaras and the men stiff-fronted shirts and their orders and decorations, was an elaborate affair, it was not the lengthy meal one might have expected. The Prince ate rich food voraciously but drank little. He worked his way steadily through as many as twelve courses and then asked why there was no cheese. Apart from an increasing girth he appeared to suffer no ill effects. After the ladies had withdrawn from the table, it was not long before the gentlemen met them again in the drawing-room, for the Prince found himself at a disadvantage in the company of men who had often been at the same schools and came from the same background – though the social background of his guests could sometimes be diverse in the extreme. When the fingers drummed and the heavy eyelids drooped, it was time to move. Besides, the Prince had arranged everything for the evening’s amusements with his customary care. There was music, cards and billiards – after Teulon’s conservatory had been converted – and dancing, and the bowling alley was in constant use. There were frequent tours of the house, for the Prince was never happier than when he was escorting his friends round his property, either in or out of doors. Often, the Prince retired to play cards with a few select friends; baccarat, which was at that time illegal, was among his favourite. The Royal couple became known for the late hours they kept: one exhausted visitor noted, ‘We were in the bowling alley until two o’clock this morning.’83 Guests were not expected to retire until after their host and hostess. Once, General Probyn, elderly and unwell, had sought the refuge of his bed, only to be summoned downstairs as his presence had been missed. On this occasion the Prince apologised for troubling the old gentleman. Those who knew the ropes found ways and means of catching up on their sleep.
The mornings started quietly enough. Mr Asquith described the extraordinary care lavished on guests in the Edwardian era. While staying at Lord Rothschild’s he was awakened by the sound of a maid laying the fire at the end of his bedroom, just as a trolley was wheeled in by two footmen.
‘Will you take tea, coffee, or a peach off the wall, Sir?’
‘Tea, please.’
‘Indian, China or Ceylon, Sir?’
‘Indian, please.’
‘Milk, cream or lemon, Sir?’
‘Milk, please.’
‘Jersey, Hereford or Shorthorn, Sir?’84
The Prince was an early riser but other members of the Royal family did not generally appear until midday. Breakfast was at ten o’clock, when an abundance of dishes were available on the sideboard, from which everyone helped themselves. Porridge could be eaten standing, to be followed by bacon, eggs, kidneys, spare ribs, kedgeree or kippers from the row of chafing dishes. Guests who had been to Sandringham before were aware that they could be in for an active morning, and a full and satisfying breakfast was a good start to a cold day in windswept Norfolk. The long dining-room table had been replaced by smaller tables, so that the guests could sit where they wished – there was a pleasant informality at this time of day.
Sometimes the Norfolk Hunt met at Sandringham, and ladies and gentlemen arrived for their stay with riding habits and hunting attire in the massive trunks which accompanied them. Not so very many years had passed since the earliest days of steeple-chasing, and the younger men and some of the ladies, including the Princess, were often hard and adventurous riders.
In the afternoons there was always something to do. The Prince was unhappy if anyone was unoccupied, but he could be satisfied by being told that a visitor would be watching some activity, perhaps ice-hockey on the lake, or later, during his reign, walking round the golf-course with the players. The thought of an afternoon spent with a book distressed him, and one was encouraged to be out and about. When the ladies returned from watching the gentlemen’s afternoon sport, they changed from their warm tweeds, so necessary for winter, into elegant tea-gowns. And so the round continued until it was time to dress for dinner. The house-parties generally lasted three or four days; there was much hospitality to be repaid, and often the carriages rolled away down the drive to Wolferton Station, returning later to collect another houseful of visitors. You had to be on your toes, for ‘Sandringham time’ was half an hour ahead of the rest of the country: you had to leave the Hall at 2.30 p.m. in order to catch the 2.15 p.m. at Wolferton. The Prince had copied the idea from Lord Leicester at Holkham, who was among the first of the daylight-saving exponents. Q
ueen Victoria was indignant when she first encountered the phenomenon during her visit in 1871. ‘It’s a wicked lie’, she declared roundly, and as a special concession, the clocks were put back to Greenwich Mean Time for her second visit.85
