by John Matson
The Princess was intellectually incapable of understanding her new daughter-in-law and, taking their cue from their mother, the Wales sisters voted her dull and uninteresting. Princess May, whose virtues had been so widely extolled at the Big House, was no longer spoken of as ‘sweet May’, but ‘poor May’. At Windsor, Princess Victoria was heard to say to a dinner guest: ‘Now do try to talk to May at dinner, though one knows she is so deadly dull.’153 Princess May’s reserve was unlikely to be broken down by the superficiality of the Wales family and their habitual chaff must have been trying to the newcomer during the settling-in period of her marriage.
Part of the problem was, of course, the proximity of York Cottage to the Big House. The Duchess’s Aunt Augusta, the Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, with a sharp eye and sometimes acid tongue, wrote: ‘I am sorry their Country Quarters are so near Sandringham, it mixes them up so entirely with the present Wales surroundings.’154 Yet there were many bright times: some re-arrangement of furniture and family photographs to be hung; and the Duchess made the happy discovery that her husband enjoyed reading aloud, a practice that he had learned in his childhood and was to continue until his accession. Despite these inauspicious beginnings and much that they found contrary in each other’s nature, Princess May’s intelligence, restraint and sense of duty, and Prince George’s affection and charm came to their rescue. He was to write some months after their marriage: ‘…I have tried to understand and know you, & with the happy result that I know now that I do love you darling girl with all my heart…’154a The problems were acknowledged by Princess May in a letter to her husband written a year after their honeymoon:
I sometimes think that just after we were married we were not left alone enough & had not the opportunity of learning to understand each other as quickly as we might otherwise have done, & this led to many little rubs which might have been avoided. You see we are both terribly sensitive & the slightest sharp word said by one to the other gave offence & I fear neither you nor I forget these things in a hurry.
Princess May’s parents first visited the Yorks four months after their wedding, after the Duke and Duchess had gone to Osborne for Cowes week and thence to Balmoral. Princess Mary Adelaide, that lady of vast proportions, large ideas and an income wholly inadequate for her needs, saw at once that York Cottage was far too small for the couple, and spoke to the Princess of Wales: ‘She was most sensible about the adding on to York Cottage,’ she wrote. The end product, designed by the Norwich firm of Beck, was the three-storied wing. Of course, more furniture was required and some re-arrangement would be necessary, in which the Princess of Wales determinedly took a hand. ‘Motherdear, sisters and Charlotte (Knollys) lunched with me today… Mama afterwards moved the furniture in the drawing-room,’ wrote Prince George, ‘which gives ever so much more room, & I think looks much prettier, of course if you don’t like it… we can move it all back again in a minute.’
To this charmingly naïve appeal the Duchess replied with much tact and perhaps just a tinge of irony: ‘I am so glad Motherdear tried to arrange our drawing-room she has so much taste, & it certainly looked much too stiff, only I thought that as the Scotch furniture has not come, it was scarcely worth while to waste a lot of time arranging it when it will have to be moved.’155
Despite such early setbacks it is clear that the Duchess had already thoroughly justified Queen Victoria’s high opinion of her. Even at the time of her engagement the Queen wrote: ‘Let me say how much I rejoice at your becoming my Grandchild & how much confidence I have in you, to fill worthily the important position to which you are called.’156
It is evident, then, that the marriage of this very dissimilar couple, which the public had followed with such rapt interest and enthusiasm, was attended by considerable difficulties. Until she married into the Wales family she could only guess at the problems most likely to beset her, and it is to her great credit that she was able to inspire love and devotion in a man who all his life had been accustomed to the uncritical praise and artless frivolity of his family, or to the bluff heartiness of a Naval wardroom. In this, the veneration in which she held the monarchy and her own assessment of her high calling came to her aid, enabling her to overcome a certain diffidence in her nature, though there remained a reserve, even a shyness, which persisted even in old age. Indeed, her whole life was spent under constraint: if she was not wilting from the embarrassment of her mother’s heartiness and awful size, she had to endure the lightweight amusements and artlessness of the Waleses. If she was never wholly at ease indulging in the revelry at the Big House, she remained true to her training and inclinations, inspiring in her husband an enduring love, admiration and loyalty.
CHAPTER NINE
FALLOW YEARS
In the first year of his marriage the Duke of York contrived to reconcile the diverse charms of Sandringham and all it stood for and his new life of domesticity. His days were carefully regulated and ordered; his responsibilities outside the Cottage were only such as were designated to him by his father, and he was as much a gentleman of leisure as any wealthy landowner. When he succeeded Prince Eddy as heir presumptive to the Throne, he understood that he would ultimately have to relinquish his commission in the Navy. He had been conscientious in his training and an affable and gregarious shipmate, and he might, in other circumstances, have risen to high rank through his own merits. His career in the Royal Navy was interrupted by official duties, although it did not effectively terminate until 1898, following a brief period in command of H.M.S. Crescent. There must have been times when he wished he could have remained at sea despite a tendency to sea-sickness. His loyalty to the Service was undiminished; while still a bachelor he wrote to a friend: ‘I hope you will put your son in the Navy, it is the best school going & we want as many as we can get. I am just off to Portsmouth to pay the “Melampus” off and then I am going to Germany for a couple of months to study German…’
The period following his marriage to Princess May has been described as ‘years of inanition’ but, although as Duke and Duchess of York they lacked a clear occupation and had few official commitments, they were not entirely idle. His was the life of a country gentleman, taking a keen interest in every aspect of the Sandringham estate and with responsibilty for one of the small outlying farms. His special care, with his father, was the management of the game preserves in preparation for the all-important shooting season. He also began at about this time to pay more attention to politics and to study the constitution as one who, in all likelihood, was destined to become King. Meanwhile, the Prince of Wales pursued his accustomed round of Royal duties and personal pleasure, deputising more frequently for the Queen who, lame and with diminishing eyesight, was quietly withdrawing from public life. Her Diamond Jubilee in 1897 brought widespread loyalty and enthusiasm, but it was noticed that on arriving at St Paul’s Cathedral for the commemoration service, she did not leave her carriage
At the Cottage he would give the Duchess her breakfast, when she was laid up after her confinements, at 9 a.m., have his own at half past and be away by 10 a.m., for he hated to miss a day during the shooting season. In the evening he saw to any business matters which required his attention, visited the nursery, and returned to the Duchess. Later he would look over his stamps or play billiards with a member of his Household, and retire early to bed. During the summer months the Duke, always deferring to his father’s wishes, occupied himself by visiting the plantations and outlying areas of the estate and interesting himself in the rearing of the game birds. On Sundays he joined the party from the Big House on a tour of inspection taking in the stables, kennels and dairy. If the Duchess were visiting relatives, or absent abroad with her mother, the couple corresponded regularly.
There were, as might be expected, some difficulties with the in-laws on both sides. The Waleses’ proximity was a disadvantage from which there could be no escape. On the other hand, the visits of the Duchess’smother, Princess Mary Adelaide, sorely taxed the Duke’s good na
ture. She was for ever ‘running in and out’ of York House in St James’s Palace and showed considerable lack of tact when visiting the family by not giving the couple time to themselves. The Duchess could only concur with the justice of her husband’s criticism: ‘We could hardly ever be alone without being interrupted,’ she agreed, and would see what she could do when he asked her in a letter to ‘try and mention it in a casual sort of way’.157
The truth was that the Tecks missed their daughter greatly – her father himself was becoming more difficult and eccentric, and there was little sense of direction in her mother’s life without ‘our May’s companionship’. By Princess Mary Adelaide’s own account, it seems that something was said by the time the Duchess’ second child, Prince Albert (later King George VI) was born on 14 December 1895. She was not invited until the baby was three weeks old. On this visit to York Cottage she wrote: ‘In the afternoon I walked or wrote till tea-time, which I took with May in the boudoir remaining with her until George came up from his tea, when I discreetly retired and wrote in the sitting-room downstairs till dressing time.’158 There was nothing to be done about the Waleses, though; they, and Prince George, were on their own territory and it would have been inconceivable to try to alter the Princess’s ways – and impossible to achieve any kind of success. Princess May had to endure these ‘little rubs’, which she did with all her customary good sense. As we shall shortly see, the effect of these boisterous incursions into their privacy was to make her withdraw further into herself, creating an air of reserve which her in-laws entirely failed to understand or alleviate.
The Duke and Duchess of York’s first child, Prince Edward (later King Edward VIII) was born at White Lodge, Richmond, the home of the Duchess’ parents, on 23 June 1894. But this was not an ideal arrangement, and the Duchess’ subsequent confinements all took place at York Cottage. Prince Albert himself chose to arrive on a date that seemed startlingly inauspicious – precisely thirty-four years after the death of the Prince Consort, and sixteen years after that of Princess Alice. ‘I am afraid dear Grandmamma,’ the Duke wrote apologetically, ‘that you were rather distressed that he was born on the 14th that doubly sad day to you and all the family, but we hope that his having been born on that day may be the means of making it a little less sad to you.’159 The aging Queen did not visit Sandringham but remained at Osborne to comfort her bereaved youngest daughter Beatrice (Princess Henry of Battenburg), whose husband had recently died abroad, but replied graciously, hoping that: ‘it may be a blessing for the dear little boy, and may be looked upon as a gift from God.’ She welcomed her grandson’s invitation to be a godmother. ‘Most gladly do I accept being Godmother to this dear little boy, born on the day his beloved Great Grandfather entered on an even greater life. He will be specially dear to me. I thank you lovingly for your kind letter & will write again soon but I must end now to save the post. V.R.I.’159a
The new Prince joined his brother, Prince Edward, in the Night Nursery, one of two rooms on the first floor set aside for the children. A swing-door in the passage separated them from their parents’ rooms: it was an age when, in general, it was recommended that children should be seen but not heard, and often were not even seen for much of the day, being in the care of a nurse. The Duke of Windsor wrote:
When there were only three of us children, Bertie, Mary and myself, we all slept in this one room with a nurse. There we were bathed in round tin tubs filled from cans of water, brought upstairs by servants from a distant part of the house. Our windows looked out over the pond, and the quacking of wild duck that lived there supplied a pleasant pastoral note at dawn and dusk.160
As the family increased, additions were made to the Cottage which was already notable for its eccentric architecture. The Duchess had nevertheless contrived to give an air of ‘cosiness’, which must have been very welcome to the young children.
During these seemingly empty years spent, not unprofitably, in raising a young family, the Duke and Duchess of York were often apart on their respective commitments. Princess May’s mother was failing: she needed her much-loved daughter’s attendance when she made the last round of visits to her haunts in Europe; the Duke of York was summoned in haste to St Petersburg by the Prince and Princess of Wales to attend the funeral of Czar Alexander III of Russia, but the couple disliked being separated. Princess May accompanied her husband to Wolferton station. Goodbyes at railway stations are never easy, and this parting was no exception. ‘That saying “good-bye” this morning was awful,’ she wrote, ‘& I did it so badly too, for I felt so miserable. Anyhow I know you understood what I felt & what agony it was having to take leave. It poured so heavily that we had to return in the closed carriage…’ The scene can easily be imagined: the rain sheeting down, and dripping heavily from the pine trees lining the road; the coachman muffled, the horses splashing through the mud, swinging into the grounds of the ‘Big House’ and drawing up at the Cottage at the end of the drive. ‘After lunch it rained so… that we gave up going out,’ continued Princess May’s letter, ‘& sat all together in the little sitting-room & Victoria stuck in photos in your book and mine, while Harry (Princess Maud) read & I wrote and read etc. We all felt very chippy and wretched.’161
On 22 January 1901, Queen Victoria died at Osborne, her Isle of Wight home. In her eighty-second year her death could not come as a surprise: her health had been failing over the past year; but she had become an institution – to the family as much as to the nation. The children of the Duke and Duchess of York were not greatly affected: ‘Great-Grandmamma’ inspired awe and respect but, despite their occasional visits to her at Windsor, Osborne and Balmoral, she had remained for them a somewhat remote figure. Now the change in their situation was considerable. The Prince of Wales succeeded his mother as King Edward VII and, in November of the same year, the Duke and Duchess of York became the new Prince and Princess of Wales, and as such they must now be called. It was not, however, necessary that the pattern of life at York Cottage should be much altered. The Prince, now heir apparent, studied the constitution with rather more zeal, but the family followed the King and Queen on their annual round; Frogmore when they were at Windsor; Abergeldie at Balmoral; York Cottage at Sandringham; Marlborough House when they were at Buckingham Palace, and with them on board the Royal yacht at Cowes. There were times when the Royal children remained behind at York Cottage when their parents were elsewhere. Such an occasion was the State visit to India of the new Prince and Princess of Wales; during their absence work suffered, as the children were happily indulged by the grandparents. ‘It was quite impossible for me to hold an examination as they returned so late from Sandringham,’ Mr Hansell complained. Surely we can hear echoes of Mr Dalton in a previous generation. Visiting their grandparents in the Big House was one of their recurring delights, and in the evenings they would survey the glittering scene: dukes and duchesses, bankers and lords of the turf mingled in evening dress, the men wearing their Orders and decorations, the ladies their tiaras and jewels. There was the hum of conversation, the strains of Gottlieb’s orchestra and the aroma of cigars – a world away from the cramped confines of York Cottage, and the austere atmosphere of the schoolroom.
With the inevitable increase in their public commitments, the new Prince and Princess of Wales were obliged to enlarge their household. King Edward and Queen Alexandra were, of course, obliged to move from Marlborough House to Buckingham Palace. The Queen held out desperately for her old home which had been their London residence for forty-eight years; no wonder she was reluctant to move – she felt ‘she was being torn away’ from it. In the course of the re-arrangements to her household, the Princess of Wales invited the Countess of Airlie, whom she had known since childhood, to become one of her additional ladies-in-waiting. When Lady Airlie hesitated, for her husband had recently been killed in the Boer War and she was still in mourning, the Princess kindly encouraged her by outlining her duties:
I propose having four ladies who will each do duty for thre
e months in the year, say a month at a time, and I propose that the ladies should arrange the dates of their waiting among themselves. The principal part of the writing would be done by my private secretary, the ladies only doing my private charities and so forth.162
Lady Airlie had been worried lest her duties with the Princess should coincide with her sons’ school holidays. The Earl’s death had left her with a considerable Scottish estate to manage but the Princess’ thoughfulness dispelled her doubts and made it possible for her to accept. She was to remain a lady-in-waiting and companion to Queen Mary for over fifty years. Her arrival at York House in St James’ Palace is revealing:
The Princess received me in her sitting-room… formally – almost coldly, I thought – but when we were alone together she put her arms round me and kissed me on both cheeks. Her eyes were full of tears… ‘Dearest, dearest Mabell, I can’t tell you how much I have felt for you, and how glad I am that you have come to me.’… As the Princess had no afternoon engagements we had tea together and talked of old times. It was then that I began to understand the subtle change in her. Even as a girl she had been shy and reserved, but now her shyness had so crystallised that only in such moments of intimacy could she be herself. The hard crust of inhibition which gradually closed over her, hiding the warmth and tenderness of her own personality, had already begun to form.
