The Royals may regret allowing access to their lives through the medium of television, but what else could they have done? Public curiosity about them, as their children grew up, was increasing anyway. The eroding of deference would have happened regardless of whether or not the public could watch them having a barbecue. The result would have been the same, and quite possibly worse. What was to happen would have happened. It was the spirit of the times.
Less than two weeks after the screenings, public attention was again focused on Royalty. Prince Charles, whom his mother had created Prince of Wales in 1958 when he was a schoolboy at Cheam, was now 21 and was to be formally invested as Prince at Caernarvon Castle. This event, the most important ceremony since the Coronation, was an opportunity for Wales to stage a big state occasion. In charge of the arrangements was Antony Armstrong-Jones, who had been created Earl of Snowdon on his marriage to Princess Margaret and was now also Constable of Caernarvon Castle. He had a flair for architectural design – he had provided an imaginative aviary for London Zoo – and established within the castle ruins a strikingly simple but grandiose setting. On the greensward – for the ceremony was entirely out of doors – was a plain circular dais. It was of Welsh slate, as were the three thrones for the Prince and his parents. It was protected from any inclement weather by a swooping canopy but, because the ceremony had to be visible to television cameras at different angles, this was made of transparent Perspex, held up by what looked like giant spears. Striking and very contemporary, but with just the right historic echoes, it looked remarkably like the stage-set for one of the Shakespeare history plays, and was, in fact, created by a theatrical designer. A simple and very modern gold chaplet was made for the Prince – again, this looked rather like a prop from a school play – and he wore the uniform of the recently established Royal Regiment of Wales. Snowdon himself, who would be present in his official capacity, neither had nor wanted any Court costume, and designed for himself a simple but effective suit of dark green velvet.
The ceremony itself was somewhat contrived. For centuries, Princes of Wales had been connected to the Principality in name only. They had assumed their title in London or Windsor without any formalities. Only in 1911 when George V’s eldest son (the Duke of Windsor) had been invested had the Welsh Cabinet Minister, Lloyd George, suggested making a public spectacle of it. In 1969, as in 1911, most Welsh were delighted, but this time there was resentment from a noisy element of nationalists, the Free Wales Army, which threatened to disrupt what they saw as the celebration of an alien dynasty’s presence in their country. There were bomb threats and even explosions – one device blew off a boy’s leg, another killed the man who was setting it. Security was tight as the Royals and government officials and the public descended on the small town, but the weather held, the crowds were enthusiastic, the extremists did no damage that day, and 1 July 1969 entered history.
The decade therefore ended with a flourish for the house of Windsor. They had provided their people with a great set-piece event, and they had increased their popularity by exposure through the media of television. They might have had grounds for complacency.
But in that last year Prince Philip triggered something of a crisis. Interviewed on television while in America, he dropped the bombshell of announcing that the following year the Royal Family would go ‘into the red’, for the Queen’s Civil list allowance of £475,000 a year had not been increased since she came to the throne. He was to follow this by remarking that: ‘We may have to move into a smaller home.’
In immediately following years, finance was to play a bigger role for the Royals – and generate more controversy – than anything else.
JUBILEE, 1970–1980
‘She could not believe that people had that much affection for her.’
In many ways this was a decade best forgotten. For the first time large-scale terrorism became a feature of British life, and the level of both viciousness and destruction was altogether shocking. The Ulster troubles, dormant for a generation, had re-surfaced as a direct result of International Human Rights Year in 1968. Catholic campaigning against Protestant discrimination had escalated, by the following summer, into virtual civil war, and made it necessary for troops to back up the police in keeping order. Not since the previous Irish conflict in the 1920s had a part of the United Kingdom seemed so much like the Wild West. Gunshots and explosions were a routine nighttime sound in Belfast and Londonderry. With huge amounts of illegal weaponry in the hands of extremists, bombings, shootings, kidnappings and assassinations became so commonplace as to merit only brief media interest. Judges, policemen and indeed anyone linked with the British Government was at daily risk of murder. The British Army’s peacekeeping role was effectively the same type of ‘police action’ that had occupied it for 40 years in Palestine and Cyprus and Aden, and this seemed similarly thankless and unwinnable. The new wave of terrorism, so much nearer home, brought to British cities a degree of violence and carnage not seen since the Blitz. The IRA clearly had the resources and determination to mount a lengthy campaign, and what added an element of despair for the public was the knowledge that there was no feasible solution or hope of an end. As a result there was an ugly, fearful edge to life. People went about their business with a grim determination to carry on, braced for horror and loss.
Industrial relations were to reach their worst level since the Depression. Strikes and shortages were frequent, lengthy and widespread. Trade unions were seen to hold the whip-hand and to bully and victimise the rest of the public. Many people’s memories of the 1970s are of power cuts, militant strikers, bombs and rampant inflation. Britain’s economic woes became so acute that the Government was obliged to seek a bail-out from the International Monetary Fund, a thing no major developed country would expect to do. To images of families dining at home by torchlight at the time of the three-day week were added those of piled-up, uncollected rubbish during the ‘winter of discontent’ and of plane-loads of foreigners arriving to strip the shelves of British shops because the exchange rate was so much in their favour. These years were symbolised by the youth cult of Punk, a deliberate and anarchic ugliness that suited Britain’s status as the Sick Man of Europe.
The Royal Family was naturally not immune to these conditions. As always their position at the top of the British Establishment made them vulnerable. As a target for terrorists they had a great deal to offer – to kill one of them would guarantee headlines and vast international attention, which is what terrorists want. The loss of one might so horrify the British people that their government would be pressured into conceding defeat. They were not difficult to track, since their movements were listed each day in the Court Circular, and specific events were often announced long months in advance. They did not hide, and were frequently in front of crowds that would give cover to an attacker. When going on horseback to and from Horse Guards for Trooping the Colour the Queen could hardly have been more conspicuous – seated above the heads of the crowd and moving at walking pace. No American President would dream of being so exposed in public, yet the Queen would countenance no significant compromise. She utterly refused to allow anything that gave the impression she or her family were cowed. The only noticeable concession she was to make was in the matter of visits to Northern Ireland, in that these were not reported until they were over.
The Royals were a security nightmare but once again the quiet, dogged courage with which the Queen and her family continued their routine of visits and speeches and ceremonies was resoundingly impressive and reassuring. ‘So long as she’s carrying on as usual,’ people seemed to feel, ‘things can’t be that bad.’ Her Majesty was, after all, something of a veteran in terms of terrorism. There had been IRA bomb threats in her childhood. During the 1950s there had been rumblings of danger from Cypriot activists (near Balmoral, of all places!), and there had been threats from the separatist zealots in Quebec and Wales. Unfortunately, an attitude of business as usual was not always the safest policy, and before t
he decade was over one senior member of the Family would have been murdered by the IRA.
It was highly ironic that, just as the threat to their personal safety reached unprecedented levels, the Royals also came closer to the people than ever before. 1970 is remembered as the year of the first ‘walkabout’, a custom that permanently changed the way in which the monarchy was seen by the public, and which the Queen herself saw as the beginning of a new relationship with her subjects. The term was associated with Australian aborigines and used to describe a period spent wandering in the Bush. In this context it meant that the sovereign, and often her family, travelled short distances on foot and stopped to talk to members of the crowd. These are now commonplace, and expected. We are also accustomed, through television, to seeing the Royal Family close up. It is therefore difficult to imagine the impact of this custom on those who were present on the first occasions. The notion of being only inches from the Royals, perhaps catching their eye and being asked a question, of being able to give a bouquet or to have your picture taken talking to them, was a major innovation.
The first walkabout took place in Wellington, New Zealand, in March that year, though the Maltese claim that the Queen made precisely the same sort of informal progress in the streets of Valetta during a visit three years earlier. In Wellington the Queen and Prince Philip, with Charles and Anne, were due to attend a function at the Town Hall. They arrived by car, but instead of simply being driven to the entrance and leaving onlookers with no more than a glimpse of waving glove, they disembarked in the square outside and walked – slowly, for long minutes – all the way round the building to its front door. In the process, thousands of people saw or photographed them, hundreds called out greetings, scores shook their hands and dozens spoke with them. This was no more a spontaneous event than anything the Royals do when on duty. It had been suggested, and planned, by the city authorities as a way of involving local people more closely in the event. The second one took place a few months later in Coventry, and it too was a huge success, setting a pattern that has been followed ever since both at home and overseas. Naturally the royal party would divide a crowd between them, walking on different sides of a street. This was much the same thing they were already doing when meeting the guests at a Palace garden party. It was an effective way of ensuring that onlookers felt some sense of contact with them, though it could be unfortunate if people were audibly disappointed with the one they got.
In a sense, this new form of encounter between sovereign and people was asking for trouble. It made life extremely difficult for security staff to have the Queen moving slowly through crowds and pausing all the time, for they could never anticipate when someone would catch her eye and cause her to stop. It is a tribute to those who look after her safety that they have been able to carry on with their task – and remain unobtrusive – in spite of it. The manner in which the Family behaved was much as usual: the Queen smiled politely and accepted bouquets. Philip and Charles made quips. Royals usually tend to ask the same sort of things: ‘How far have you come?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Did you pick these yourself?’ ‘Do you live near here?’ ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’
That these questions are often bland does not in any way make them trivial. By necessity they must be easily answered, to save the need for lengthy explanations. It is not rudeness that makes such conversations brief, but fairness. Given the demands on her time, if she spent five minutes talking to one person another half-dozen would not get to meet her, and she must therefore spread herself as thinly as possible. Contact, interaction, a few seconds of fellowship between monarch and subject, are all that is required. For those who meet the Queen is it the fact that she spoke to them, not what she said, that matters.
Her Majesty is not bored by these encounters. For one thing each occasion is different, each crowd made up of new people. For another, she enjoys the chance to see her subjects close to, and is genuinely interested in hearing where they have come from. Although she accepts bouquets from numerous well-wishers, she never seems burdened. After holding one for a few minutes she will discreetly pass it on to those who accompany her, and bystanders become used to the sight of a man in a suit juggling bunches of flowers. There are always at least four people following her – her Private Secretary, her Equerry, her protection officer and a lady-in-waiting. Her Majesty, like all Royals, will never give an autograph, just as the Palace will never accede to requests for a signed photograph. The Queen is not a celebrity and does not behave like one.
This is not to say that she will not oblige people in other ways, if possible. When she was still a Princess and was to visit South Wales a woman wrote to say that, on the day, she would stand in a particular spot – a hilltop at Barmouth in Merionethshire – and wave a white tablecloth. Unbeknown to her entourage, Elizabeth was looking out for her as she was driven through the town. Spotting the cloth, she stopped the car and spent several minutes talking to her. Well aware of the trouble people often take to see her, she will make herself as visible as she can.
Her appearance is always similar. Although naturally the cut and colour of her outfits will vary, the basic elements remain constant, and there is a reason for everything. The most important point is that she should be conspicuous. She must stand out in a crowd so that those who have come to see her will not be disappointed. Even if they glimpse her only as a tiny figure in the distance, they will recognise her and be able to go home feeling they have ‘had their money’s worth’. This is why she wears suits and dresses and hats of a uniform colour, often a pastel shade such as pink or pale yellow or orange. It was Queen Mary who began this practice of dressing in pastels, so the Queen is the third generation to do so. On occasions when she has been with other royal ladies – her mother, sister or daughter – each of them would be dressed in a different colour so that distant crowds could distinguish them. The shade of her costume may well, of course, be chosen to reflect her circumstances. If she is visiting the Irish Guards, for instance, it may be assumed that at least something she wears will be in ‘St Patrick’s blue’, the colour of their regimental hackle.
The Queen is always formally dressed in public. She wears accoutrements – a hat and gloves – that by the 1970s were rarely still seen on ladies. Those she meets on official visits will be dressed up, and she cannot look less elegant than they do. She always wears gloves because she must shake hands with dozens if not scores of people at a time, and they are often white so that her waving hand will be visible to distant onlookers. To avoid bruising on these occasions, her handshake is deliberately limp and she keeps her little finger out of the way. For this reason, too, she wears no rings on her right hand. On her left she has only her wedding and engagement rings, and her gold and platinum watch, a gift from France, is always worn outside her glove on her left wrist.
Her skirts are carefully tailored to ensure that they never blow in the wind, and must allow for the fact that she is often seated on platforms above others. Her hats should not have brims so wide as to hide her face, and must not be so flimsy that a gust of wind will carry them off. The style she favoured during the 1960s and 1970s was therefore the kind of head-hugging ‘helmet’ shape that could be put on and forgotten. In later decades she would conspicuously favour brimmed hats with high, flat crowns, and these too make her noticeable. Her hairstyle is the result of careful planning. Until the 1960s she had a side-parting and a looser, more girlish look. By the time she reached her forties she had the swept-up, tight and tidy arrangement she has retained ever since. Inconspicuous yet familiar to the public from her portraits on banknotes, this is such a part of a national image that to change it would seem almost like redesigning the flag. For practical reasons her hair must not be liable to blow in the wind, fall in her eyes, get out of place or hide her face. Its style must also make it possible to put on a wide variety of hats, including the crown, quickly and without difficulty.
Accessories – shoes, bags, hats – are designed to be interchangeable so that the
y can be worn repeatedly. Her hats, especially, can be reinvented by adding or removing bows. Her shoes are high-heeled – they give her additional height – but they must be suitable for the vast amount of standing she is obliged to do. Even her posture is therefore a matter not of natural inclination but of forethought and training. As one author commented: ‘The Queen is on her feet more than the most hard-worked nurse.’ She is well-practised in standing and – adopting a posture with her feet slightly apart and her weight therefore equally balanced – she can remain thus for hours without drooping, looking tired or otherwise showing the strain she must feel. Her footwear must also enable her to step over awkward things such as ship’s cables and get up and down a gangplank. She carries a handbag. Early in her reign this was often of the ‘clutch’ variety – small and without a strap. She quickly learned that this was a liability for it permanently occupied one of her hands, and she replaced it with the type that can be hung from her arm, enabling her to accept flowers, carry an order of service or shake hands.
When she is on official business, she must be accompanied at all times by another small bag that is not noticed by the public (her lady-in-waiting usually looks after it). In it are the things she would need in an emergency – spare gloves, spare tights, barley sugar to clear her throat. Since she cannot look in the least untidy she, or her staff, must be able to undertake running repairs whenever necessary. When Prince Charles was a very small boy accompanying her by car to an engagement, he jammed a half-sucked sweet into the finger of her glove moments before she was to appear. Replacements were produced within seconds. The Queen’s gloves, of which she has scores of pairs, are infinitely washable and can also be dyed, which enables them to be worn with any number of other outfits.
A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II Page 15
