by Edna Healey
When the King recovered and began again his tours of workshops, factories and shipyards throughout the country, Queen Mary went too, and the King valued her support. He wrote to her after a particularly gruelling tour of the north – Newcastle, Liverpool and Barrow-in-Furness:
I can’t ever express my deep gratitude to you my darling May, for the splendid way in which you are helping me during these terrible, strenuous and anxious times. Very often I feel in despair and if it wasn’t for you I should break down.38
These tours together brought them close to the people. While other European thrones were rocking, King George V and Queen Mary took the Palace to the country and mutual understanding brought a new stability to the throne.
From the beginning of the war, the Queen was determined that women’s voluntary work should be properly organized. She had learned much from her mother Mary Adelaide, Duchess of Teck, who had worked tirelessly for many charitable organizations.
The war stretched the Queen to the limit, but it also widened her horizons, bringing her into contact with people she would otherwise never have met.
During the war Queen Mary was to entertain Labour and trade union women at Buckingham Palace. This caused some surprise, but in the past she had accompanied her mother on expeditions to the East End of London, where the enormous figure of ‘Fat Mary’ was greeted with affection. As a girl the Queen had helped her mother in her charitable projects and had been much influenced by their friend the wealthy philanthropist Baroness Burdett-Coutts, who had always come to their aid when they were ‘in short street’. Her kind of charity, practical and productive, had made a lasting impression on Princess May.
At the beginning of the war, as she recorded in her diary, the Queen ‘set to work to make plans to help existing organisations with offers of clothing, money, etc’.39 The Red Cross had its headquarters at Devonshire House; the National Relief Fund – backed by the Prince of Wales – was based at York House; and the King allowed the Queen to use the State Apartments at St James’s Palace for her ‘Relief Clothing Guild’. She could now call on her own organization, the Needlework Guild – now called ‘Queen Mary’s Needlework Guild’ – which her mother had run from White Lodge in the old days, and which was now well organized in Surrey and London.
In the first years of the reign the Queen had been mainly concerned with the preservation and conservation of all that was interesting and beautiful in the past. Influenced by Aunt Augusta, she had little patience with, or understanding of, the radical politics that, as she saw it, produced disorder and threatened the throne, although she had also seen the result of blind reaction in other countries and accepted the need for change.
Queen Mary had, however, always been exceedingly brisk in her condemnation of those who would change society by revolutionary or violent means. Her own dedication to the monarchy was total: its protection and preservation came before any personal considerations. Therefore the fiercely republican attacks by some of the early socialists and trade union leaders were deeply offensive. She had not given much thought to political theory, and had been unaware of distinctions between Fabians, Christian Socialists, Marxists – all were equally dangerous.
But Queen Mary was always ready to learn, and on 17 August 1914 an announcement came from Buckingham Palace that a new committee was to be set up of industrial experts and representatives of working-class women unemployed on account of the war. Out of this grew the ‘Queen’s Work for Women Fund’, which was to be a subsidiary of the National Relief Fund. To administer this fund a new committee was set up called the ‘Central Committee for Women’s Training and Employment’, under the Chairmanship of the bright young Lady Crewe. To this the Queen gave her enthusiastic support, and through the work with this committee her horizons were widened, again introducing her to women she would never otherwise have met.
Many unexpected friendships were forged in the war, crossing the boundaries of class and political persuasions, and such was the surprising partnership of Queen Mary and the Scottish trade unionist Mary Mac-Arthur, who was the Honorary Secretary of the new committee. In 1914 the Queen asked Lady Crewe to bring Mary MacArthur to the Palace. Eyebrows were lifted; royal advisers murmured disapproval. Mary Mac-Arthur was the wife of Will Anderson, who, in 1914, was Chairman of the Labour Party: but she was also, as Pope-Hennessy writes, ‘the recognised champion, indeed the saviour of the exploited working women of Britain, the Florence Nightingale of women and children in the Sweated Industries. She had organised the Sweated Industries Exhibition of 1906.’40 Queen Mary would certainly have heard of her work, for, when Princess of Wales, she had toured this exhibition on her return from India. She had surprised her entourage then by her compassionate interest in and knowledge of that world, to them as foreign as the villages of India.
Mary MacArthur came from a well-to-do middle-class Ayrshire family, but she had taken up the cause of overworked and underpaid women. She was only twenty-six when she organized the Sweated Industries Exhibition, but her drive and energy, combined with an irresistible charm, had already made her a leader of the women’s trade union movement. She was the champion of women who stitched night and day to make blouses for 6d. that were sold in Bond Street for 25s., or who sweated over forges in their own backyards to make chains for 7s. a week; and she was the leader of a strike of women jam-makers in Bermondsey. She made the government listen and persuaded it to set up an enquiry into women’s working conditions.
Now she came to meet Queen Mary in her elegant room in Buckingham Palace. Here, surrounded by the Queen’s priceless possessions, unintimidated, the young Scots woman spoke directly, with clarity and common sense. The Queen listened and was deeply impressed. It was indeed a meeting of minds, the beginning of a working partnership that lasted until Mary MacArthur’s early death in 1921.
The trade union leader spoke of the devastating effect of the war on working women, and how voluntary work by well-intentioned ladies was taking the bread from those who depended on piecework in their homes. ‘Do everything in your power,’ Mary MacArthur had told an influential friend, ‘to stop these women knitting.’41 The Queen immediately understood the problem, and that the solution was to provide work not charity.
Mary MacArthur was astonished and delighted at the Queen’s understanding. She returned to the offices of the Women’s Trade Union League in Gray’s Inn Road excitedly, telling her colleagues, ‘Here is someone who can help and who means to help.’ This was the first of many meetings in Buckingham Palace which became known in the Labour movement as the ‘strange case of Mary M. and Mary R.’. Though they kept their differing political attitudes, each recognized the humanitarian aims and practical ability of the other.
‘The Queen does understand and grasp the whole situation from a Trade Union point of view,’ Mary MacArthur told her colleagues. Indeed Queen Mary’s ever-enquiring mind positively welcomed this new chance to expand. She asked for a list of books on social issues and listened patiently while Mary MacArthur, as she said, ‘positively lectured the Queen on the inequality of the classes, the injustice of it, – I fear I talked too much’.42
One of Queen Mary’s friends was asked once what were her chief qualities: ‘humanity and breadth of mind’ came the answer.43 Her friendship with the remarkable trade union leader is a good example of this. Had she not been Queen undoubtedly she would have served on the Committee for Women’s Training and Employment; as it was she gave her patronage, studied all the reports of its meetings and where possible gave her help. Her friendship with Mary MacArthur continued after the war, and helped both King and Queen to understand a little better the Labour politicians who came into power in 1924. Queen Mary would have liked Mary MacArthur to have been given an honour in the post-war lists, but since Mary MacArthur’s husband had been making fiery, radical speeches, this was not thought suitable. As Pope-Hennessy wrote, it was probably on the advice of ‘Lloyd George, who loathed Mary MacArthur and all her work’.*44
During the war
Buckingham Palace welcomed other unusual visitors. The gardens were opened to wounded and convalescent officers and for three days in March 1916 the Queen gave a series of entertainments to 2,000 wounded soldiers and sailors in the Riding School. Queen Mary wrote to Aunt Augusta:
They had tea first in the Coach Houses, members of our family presiding at each table and being helped by the ladies and gentlemen of our household and various friends of ours. The entertainment consisted of various artists, acrobats, conjurers etc. an excellent choir singing songs of which men knew the chorus and sung them most lustily. How you would have liked being present, it was all so informal, friendly and nice.45
It is difficult, however, to imagine Aunt Augusta at home among the lusty singers. The Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz belonged to a world that was passing. The war was breaking down the barriers that had protected her all of her life, which was now nearing its end. Her last years had been sad and isolated as she was among the enemies of her native land. On 6 December 1916, Queen Mary wrote in her diary, ‘my most beloved Aunt Augusta died yesterday morning after a month’s illness … A great grief to me, having been devoted to each other.’
But personal grief, however great, had to be endured silently. The King had other problems. ‘ “G. spent a busy day interviewing ministers,” [Queen Mary’s] diary continues. “Mr. Bonar Law informed G. that he was unable to form a Government & G. sent for Mr Lloyd George & asked him to do so.”46
The war that in 1914 had been expected to be over by Christmas dragged on painfully. Gradually, in spite of xenophobic suspicion, the King and Queen were becoming accepted and respected. For most of the war they stayed in Buckingham Palace, symbols of stability, courage and self-sacrifice.
The King was determined that the Palace should set a good example. When David Lloyd George, his Prime Minister, told him that munition workers were drinking too much and hindering the war effort, he forbade his Household to drink wine, spirits or beer. The American Ambassador, Walter Page, stayed with the King there for a night and was surprised to be given ‘only so much bread, one egg and lemonade’.47
Although, unlike in the Second World War, air raids were infrequent, there were occasional Zeppelin attacks. Buckingham Palace had the rudimentary protection of a wire-mesh net over the roof, but otherwise air-raid precautions were not taken seriously. The sinister, slow progress of a Zeppelin overhead was watched with a mixture of fear and interest. ‘At 8 we heard that 3 Zeppelins were coming,’ the Queen recorded in her diary in October 1915; but at 9.30 p.m. they were still sitting in the Palace
in G.’s room when we heard a distant report (presumably a bomb) so we went on to the balcony when the gun in Green Park began firing and searchlights were turned on … We did not see the Zeppelin but Derek saw it quite plainly from his house in Buck. Gate. We then heard some bombs being dropped and were told later that some had fallen in the Strand and elsewhere, killing 8 people and injuring 34. All quiet by 10.15.48
The next day they visited the victims of the raid, ‘one boy of 17 dying having had his lung pierced by a bit of a bomb. Most sad.’49
The Queen had been for some years involved in the work of the voluntary nursing organizations, including the Board of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, and also she was a County President of the Red Cross. But it was not enough for her to encourage their work and to visit the wounded in hospitals. She was determined to cross the Channel and share the danger behind the battle lines. So, in the summer of 1917, her devoted Lady of the Bedchamber, Lady Airlie, went with the King and Queen to France. In her memoir Thatched with Gold, she described the visit. ‘Sitting in the garden of Buckingham Palace while the King worked in the tent erected there, the Queen explained [to Lady Airlie] that she wanted to see for herself the conditions in the hospitals there.’ They left Dover on 3 July with an escort of destroyers and seaplanes. ‘The ship rolled a great deal, but the Queen walked gracefully about the deck … while I staggered on behind being loudly rated by the King – to the delight of the sailors – for not keeping my legs apart.’50
While the King toured the battlefields, the Queen and Lady Airlie stayed for ten days at the Château de Beaurepaire, near Montreuil. From this base they toured hospitals, casualty stations, ammunition dumps – ‘the Queen’s energy never flagged’. They arrived at the head-quarters of the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps at the same time as a trainload of men just back from the front, ‘covered with mud, bleary-eyed and haggard from fatigue’. There were tremendous cheers as the Queen quietly crossed to speak to them. She and Lady Airlie would have gone to the battle front, twelve miles away, had the King not expressly forbidden it. As it was
The most harrowing sight of our tour was the battlefield … once fertile and smiling now a tumbled mass of blackened earth … we climbed over a mound composed of German dead … Scattered everywhere in the ineffable desolation were the pathetic reminders of human life – rifles fallen from dead hands, old water bottles, iron helmets … The Queen’s face was ashen and her lips were tightly compressed. I felt that like me she was afraid of breaking down. But she did not: and the men appreciated her strength and silent sympathy. Those who returned did not forget.51
When the Queen received wounded soldiers at Buckingham Palace she too remembered. The soldiers who met the King and Queen on the battlefields of France felt the genuine concern and sympathy behind the stiff exteriors. This shared experience was to be remembered in the difficult days ahead.
In 1911, after the Coronation, Prince Edward had undergone the ceremony of investiture as Prince of Wales at Caernarvon. Here, to his embarrassment, dressed in what he described as ‘a fantastic costume … of white satin breeches and a mantle and surcoat of purple velvet edged with ermine’, he listened while Winston Churchill, as Home Secretary, ‘mellifluously’ proclaimed his titles; then he ‘delivered the Welsh sentences’ Lloyd George had taught him. It was at this time that he made a significant discovery about himself: ‘while I was prepared to fulfil my rôle in all this pomp and ritual, I recoiled from anything that tended to set me up as a person requiring homage.’52
He was ‘desperately anxious to be treated exactly like any other boy of my age’. The King understood this, and as part of his training allowed him to go to sea for three months in the battleship HMS Hindustan as a midshipman. But after that, the King and Queen decided he must give up the Navy, which was ‘too specialised’, and take educational trips to France and Germany to ‘learn the languages and study their politics’; and then to his dismay the King told him that he must go to Oxford University, though as he himself said he ‘had neither the mind nor the will for books’.
In France, thinly disguised as ‘Lord Chester’, he overcame some of his shyness, thanks to the care of his grandfather’s old friend the Marquis de Breteuil, who was a ‘bon viveur, a dilettante of the arts and of politics, and as much at home shooting tigers as he was in the exclusive salons of Paris’.
It was with some regret that he left France for Oxford, where he continued to study French and worked to improve his German. But, he wrote, Oxford ‘failed to make me studious’53 – a verdict with which Sir Herbert Warren, President of his college, Magdalen, agreed.
When war was declared he was twenty and he begged to be allowed to serve. He joined the Grenadier Guards, training as an infantry officer. The King and the War Office were most unwilling to allow him to go to France, but he badgered them until they agreed.
He bearded Lord Kitchener himself in his office at Whitehall. ‘ “What does it matter if I am killed?” he asked, “I have four brothers.” ’ The Prince never saw himself, even at this time, as indispensable to the monarchy. It was explained that the threat was not that he would be killed but that he would be taken prisoner. In France the Prince, not satisfied with desk work at Headquarters British Expeditionary Force, frequently walked or cycled up to the front.
On one occasion he was at the front line and, during an attack, he took shelter in the trenc
hes – only to find on his return to his car that it had been shelled and his driver killed. He had seen with his own eyes the horrors of trench warfare, an agony that could never be adequately described to those at home. The first-hand experience of war must be remembered when, as Edward VIII and later as Duke of Windsor, he tried to make peace with the Germans.
Queen Mary was understandably proud of her eldest son, who, in his bright morning, charmed so many other observers. Esher, who saw him at war, described him then: ‘his clear skin is tanned and this throws into relief the unusually bright and clear blue eyes.’54 (Esher, always susceptible to boyish charm and beauty, was more than a little in love with the young Prince of Wales.)
The Queen’s second son, Bertie, was also serving, in the Navy. When war was declared, King George V’s last thoughts on the fateful evening of 4 August had been, ‘Please God it may soon be over … and that He will protect dear Bertie’s life.’55
The mothers Queen Mary met as she toured throughout England with the King knew that, like them, the Queen too feared for her sons’ safety and shared the agony of watching and waiting for that telegram.
On II November 1918 the end of the Great War was celebrated in a wild frenzy of joy. Once again the balcony at Buckingham Palace was the focus of the nation’s enthusiasm as night after night crowds streamed down the Mall calling for the King and Queen.
The Prince of Wales heard the ‘shindy’ from his rooms overlooking the courtyard. As the King and Queen slipped back into the old formal pattern of life, for him Buckingham Palace once more seemed a prison. After an evening of boredom with his parents, he would frequently climb out of the Palace after they had gone to bed. Eventually he persuaded the King to give him York House, at St James’s Palace, as a home of his own. Here Finch, his old friend from childhood, became his major domo, watching over him through his love affairs, and was at his back during his many official visits abroad and at home.
