The Queen’s House

by Edna Healey

  At the beginning of the meal The Queen reads her formal speech of welcome. She is too experienced, and too cautious, to attempt off-the-cuff remarks, although she has been known to inform her guests that she does not normally dine in such state. The visiting head replies, outlining his government’s long links with Britain.

  Then the tinkle of silver on porcelain dies away as, in startling contrast, the distant wail of bagpipes heralds the entrance of twelve enormous Highlanders, kilts swinging, bagpipes skirling. They march twice around the tables. ‘Terrifying!’ a foreign diplomat exclaimed to the present writer on one occasion. ‘Not even in the war have I seen anything so barbaric.’15 This breeze from the Scottish moors shakes the chandeliers, and is a reminder that The Queen is descended, through her mother, from the ancient kings of Scotland. Like George III, George IV and Queen Victoria, she is also proud of her ancestry, which goes back beyond the Hanoverians to the sister of Charles II and the Stuarts.

  The Queen also hosts working dinners at the Palace. For example, a large dinner party was given for the G7* Summit in the State Dining Room. It was followed by a firework and laser display in the courtyard, watched by guests through the Green Drawing Room windows. On this occasion James Galway played the flute: did he remember the Gainsborough portrait of George Ill’s miraculous flautist, Johann Christian Fischer, who so enchanted Fanny Burney?

  On such occasions it is impossible for The Queen to talk at any length with any of her visitors. But in 1956, encouraged by Prince Philip, she began a series of small luncheon parties to which a cross-section of people, distinguished in their various professions or trades, are invited and with whom The Queen is able to talk freely and informally. Such luncheons are usually limited to eight guests and are held sometimes in the Bow Room overlooking the gardens, but more usually in the neighbouring smaller 1844 Room.

  Besides the thousands of distinguished men and women who come annually as guests or to receive their medals at the Palace, almost 30,000 members of a wide cross-section of the public are The Queen’s guests at the three garden parties held in July each year, where bishops, ambassadors and foreign potentates mingle with mayors, midwives and voluntary workers. The invitations, or rather commands, are sent out from the Lord Chamberlain’s office. In the past, morning dress or uniform was de rigueur for men, while ladies wore afternoon or national dress – with hats. In recent years there are fewer top hats and now the invitation even indicates that hats need not be worn, to the disappointment of ladies who enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime extravagance. Guests, in all their finery, begin queuing outside the Palace gates before they are opened at 3.00 p.m.

  The royal garden parties were started by Queen Victoria in 1868 – and were a rare opportunity for the public to see her in the years after the death of Prince Albert. There were receptions in the gardens during the reign of Edward VII and even during the First and Second World Wars. King Edward VIII, as has been seen, was bored by them. However, they became a regular feature in the time of King George VI. Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother, who has inherited a love of gardens from her mother, the Countess of Strathmore, was responsible for clearing the soot-blackened Victorian shrubberies and initiating the spectacular 175-yard-long herbaceous border, which, in its full high-summer beauty, is much admired. She is also proud that, during her time as consort, a shoot of an original mulberry tree was planted and has become established.

  The Queen takes a great interest in the Buckingham Palace Gardens and in 1961 she planted a curved avenue of Indian horse chestnut trees. There is a characteristic memento from the reign of George IV – the massive Waterloo vase that stands on the lawn. The piece of Carrara marble was presented to King George IV when Prince Regent by the Duke of Tuscany in gratitude for British aid in the Napoleonic Wars. It was carved by Richard Westmacott.

  In 1958, when The Queen discontinued the tradition, started by Queen Victoria, of the presentation of débutantes, an additional garden party was added to the original two. Unlike King Edward VIII, The Queen has never cut short the party because of the weather, even when, as happened in July 1996, a thunderbolt struck a tree and injured some guests. In 1997, the year of their Golden Wedding anniversary, The Queen and Prince Philip invited to a special garden party couples from all over Britain who, like them, in this year celebrated fifty years of marriage.

  Guests arrive at the main gates, cross the gravelled courtyard, enter the Grand Hall and ascend the steps to the Bow Room. Here they can admire the porcelain Chelsea service in glass-fronted cupboards, sent as a present by Queen Charlotte to her brother the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. As they move through the open doors, they can pause on the broad terrace and look down over the camomile lawns to the sweeping curves of the four-acre lake. Queen Charlotte would have seen not a lake but a formal tree-lined canal, laid out in the French manner for the Duke of Buckingham. In the reign of King George IV, William Townsend Aiton of Kew Gardens, encouraged by Nash, had remodelled the garden, hollowing out a romantic serpentine lake. The spoil from the excavation was used to make the mound which still exists at the end of the garden. The summer house that Prince Albert had built for Queen Victoria was demolished between the wars.

  Guests may pause on the terrace, look down to the north-east and imagine, beyond the herbaceous border, Pepys and Evelyn in the time of Charles II, strolling through the mulberry gardens to feast on mulberry tarts. They may look up and admire the grace of Nash’s garden frontage, the delicate carvings in Coade stone above the windows and the elegant urns on the terrace.

  Times and fashions have changed, but during Queen Elizabeth II’s reign the ritual remains the same as in Queen Victoria’s day. The Queen, Prince Philip and members of the royal family emerge on the terrace at exactly 4.00 p.m. and progress through a lane of guests to the tea tent reserved for the privileged at the end of the lawn. Two military bands take it in turn to play while guests take tea or stroll through the grounds and admire the herbaceous border.

  At six o’clock the bands play ‘God Save The Queen’ as the royal family takes its leave. Then gentlemen ushers, in morning dress with a distinguishing flower in their buttonholes, quietly but firmly shepherd the guests towards the exits.

  As the kaleidoscope of colour coalesces, shifts and changes, the robes and saris of Commonwealth and overseas guests glow brilliantly among the flowery dresses on the green lawns, a reminder that on this occasion, as on so many others, The Queen and Prince Philip at Buckingham Palace are hosts to the world.

  The most spectacular ceremony during The Queen’s year is undoubtedly that of Trooping the Colour, which takes place each June on Horse Guards Parade and is enjoyed by thousands of spectators lining the route from the Palace along the Mall. The ceremony had its origin in the early eighteenth century, when in time of war the guards and sentries for the royal palaces were mounted on the parade ground and ‘trooped’ the colours of their particular battalion, slowly carrying them through the ranks so that soldiers could recognize and rally to them on the battlefield. In 1749 it was ordered that the parade should mark the monarch’s official birthday, and from the reign of King George IV it became an annual event – much enjoyed by Queen Victoria, especially when she watched Prince Albert, a skilled horseman, riding with her troops for the first time.

  In 1914 King George V placed himself at the head of his guards and rode down the Mall to Buckingham Palace behind the massed bands. The troops who were to provide the King’s guard at the Palace rode into the forecourt and the King took up his position in the centre gateway, and took the salute as the rest of the troops marched by and back to their barracks.

  King George VI introduced the custom of the RAF fly-past at the end of the Trooping, when he appeared with the rest of the royal family on the balcony.

  The Queen first rode on parade in 1947, when, as Princess Elizabeth, she appeared as Colonel of the Grenadier Guards. It was the first birthday parade after the Second World War and the Princess was in the blue uniform of the WRAC. In 1951, whe
n the King was ill, she took the salute in his place and since then has done so every year, except 1955, when the Trooping was cancelled because of the National Strike. Rain or shine, she rode side-saddle at the head of her troops wearing a stunning scarlet tunic and a tricorn hat with a plume, designed by Aage Thaarup. From 1969 The Queen rode her well-trained horse, Burmese, until 1986; she now rides to the saluting base in a phaeton.

  There was one occasion when The Queen feared she might have to cancel Trooping the Colour. On 28 May 1972 the Duke of Windsor died of cancer at his home in Paris. Ten days earlier The Queen had visited him, knowing that he was near death. His body was flown back to Britain on 31 May to lie in state at St George’s Chapel, Windsor. His funeral was to be held on 5 June at the Frogmore burial ground, a spot he had chosen himself with a space prepared for his wife, the Duchess of Windsor. The Queen invited her to stay at Buckingham Palace before the funeral, though her visit coincided with the Saturday planned for Trooping the Colour. However, The Queen insisted that a ceremony she valued so highly should not be cancelled. Her Private Secretary, Martin Charteris, came up with a solution. The Trooping went ahead but included the playing of the Lament by the pipes and drums of the Scots Guards.

  The Duchess of Windsor watched from the Palace window as The Queen rode out. Those watching with her will never forget the strength of the Duchess’s grief and regret. It was almost as though she said out loud, ‘All this might have been mine.’ In a memorable photograph she is seen, a sad-eyed old lady wearing a string of pearls, peering through the window of a room on the first floor of the Palace.

  Palace Security

  During her reign The Queen has received many thousands of invited guests at Buckingham Palace, and she has also had uninvited visitors.

  Security at the Palace is very tight and for obvious reasons is not discussed. But gone are the days when King Charles II could dine in public and Pepys and Evelyn could walk unchallenged in the Privy Gardens at the Palace of Whitehall. The Queen, Prince Philip and their family accept the dangers in their position, yet they know that, however efficient the protection, it is difficult to guard against attacks by madmen.

  The most obvious sign of Palace security is the guard outside Buckingham Palace. When ‘they’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace’, not only Christopher Robin and Alice are there to watch. Hundreds of tourists gather every morning at 11.30 a.m. to see the ceremony.

  Since 1660 the sovereign has been guarded by troops of the Household Division, first at the old Palace of Whitehall and then, after 1689, at St James’s Palace. When Queen Victoria moved into Buckingham Palace in 1837, the Queen’s guard remained at St James’s Palace, but a detachment was detailed to guard Buckingham Palace.

  The Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace lasts about forty-five minutes. The new guard forms up in Wellington Barracks on Birdcage Walk and marches with its band to the forecourt of Buckingham Palace, where the handing over of the guard and changing of sentries takes place. So, sometimes, does a confrontation of regimental mascots. The new guard marches to St James’s Palace behind its corps of drums, leaving the detachment at Buckingham Palace. The old guard returns to Wellington Barracks with the band.

  The public should not be misled by the toy soldier appearance of the men on guard. They may well have just returned from dangerous service in Northern Ireland or overseas and will go back after their spell of duty on guard.

  Even though The Queen is guarded, on the morning of 9 July 1982 an unemployed Londoner, Michael Fagan, managed to get into the Palace and reach The Queen’s bedroom. She awoke to find her curtains being drawn back and a bare-footed young man standing there. Thinking it was a window-cleaner The Queen called, ‘You are in the wrong room.’ To which came the chilling reply, ‘Oh no, I am in the right room.’ He came and sat on the end of her bed, holding a broken glass ashtray. The Queen’s repeated attempts to alert her security guards failed. Her page, who normally kept watch outside her door, had taken the corgis into the garden; one of her maids was in the next room and heard nothing. While the man babbled incoherently about family affairs, The Queen got out of bed and crossed the room to pick up her dressing gown. As she later told friends, she drew herself up to her full height and told him to get out. He refused. The Queen then persuaded him to go with her to a nearby pantry in search of the cigarettes he demanded, confronting an astonished maid, who is reported to have said, ‘Bloody hell, ma’am, what’s he doing here?’ At last her security guards arrived and Fagan was overpowered and led away. The Queen was not amused: for once she was very angry indeed.

  There are other exits and entrances which are permitted. For many years it has been the custom for mother ducks to lead their young broods from the Palace lake, across the road, to the wider expanse of the lake in St James’s Park. On one occasion an unaccustomed sound of hilarity was heard from one of the Private Secretary’s rooms. Upon investigation The Queen was discovered catching a flurry of ducklings, gently scooping them up into a waste-paper basket. She had been walking in the gardens, had seen a mother duck and brood who had obviously decided to take a short cut through an open door, and had come to their rescue.

  The Palace as Home

  Buckingham Palace is not only a splendid setting for The Queen as Head of State: it is also her home for some part of each year.

  There she brought up her four children, who now have their own households, apart from Prince Edward, who lives in Buckingham Palace. It has also been the scene of many happy private occasions. The Prince of Wales, for instance, has organized some memorable concerts at Buckingham Palace at his own expense. In 1763 Queen Charlotte had given King George III a surprise birthday party: on 22 October 1992 her descendant, Prince Charles, gave another surprise celebration, this time for the eightieth birthday of the great conductor Sir Georg Solti. Lady Solti, who helped to plan this memorable occasion, remembers:

  Solti thought we were going to the Palace for a small dinner party. We were ushered into the first drawing room to find nobody there, but shortly afterwards fourteen members of the royal family appeared and we all stood around having drinks. Then the doors were opened and all was revealed: 300 guests and a concert in the Throne Room. We told Solti it was to be a short concert of military band music. It was in fact an amazing line-up of stars. The two highlights were a performance of Wagner’s Siegfried Idyll, by representatives from all over the world of the orchestras that he had conducted during the previous year, and the fugue in the Finale of Verdi’s Falstaff in which many of his singing friends took part, including Placido Domingo, Kiri Te Kanawa, Birgit Nilsson and Hans Hotter. After which there was dinner in the Picture Gallery, Throne Room, Green Drawing Room and White Drawing Room. A very grand private house had come to life for the occasion. I shall always remember helping myself to chicken salad at the buffet underneath the wonderful van Dycks. The organization was impeccable yet the atmosphere was informal.16

  On this night excerpts from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro were played in the place where the composer himself had performed for Queen Charlotte when he was a little boy of seven; and Handel, whose music had so inspired King George III and Queen Charlotte, would have been delighted to hear his song Where E’er you Walk’ so beautifully sung.

  Throughout the centuries Buckingham Palace has sometimes chilled monarchs and their guests, but again and again music has warmed its marble halls. In 1842 Mendelssohn had written, ‘The only friendly English house, one that is really comfortable, and where one feels at ease … is Buckingham Palace.’ So too, Lady Solti was deeply conscious of ‘a feeling of love from the people who live in it’.17

  Another notable occasion was a particularly splendid dinner and concert for the eightieth birthday of Yehudi Menuhin. That night each of the State Rooms echoed with the music of Lord Menuhin’s students and hundreds of guests sat down to a banquet in the Picture Gallery – the first time it had been used in this way since Queen Victoria’s day.

  The Price of Palaces

&nbs
p; Inevitably the recent adverse publicity surrounding the younger members of the royal family has given ammunition to those who would like the monarchy to be drastically reformed or indeed abolished altogether. Complaining voices have been heard throughout the ages, particularly in the last years of George IV and Edward VII. After the abdication of King Edward VIII there were many who seriously considered it was time to draw a line under the institution of the monarchy.

  During Queen Elizabeth IP’s reign, it has not only been that hammer of the royal family, William Hamilton MP, who voiced loud criticisms. In August 1957 the then Lord Altrincham roused royal supporters to fury with an article in the English and National Review criticizing The Queen and the composition of the Court. In a television interview he said he hoped to bring about a change. The Queen, he claimed, was surrounded by people of ‘the tweedy sort’, and he advocated ‘a classless and Commonwealth Court’. He was supported in the columns of The Times by the nineteen-year-old Lord Londonderry, who could not believe that anyone, ‘however moronic’, would sit back and have fed to him the idea that the monarchy was a ‘sacrosanct head of the family that parades benignly and sedately in front of their loving children whenever they are wanted to, flashing their toothpaste smiles, displaying their latest hairdos and exhibiting their deplorable taste in clothes.’18. The journalist Malcolm Muggeridge joined in the chorus of disapproval.

  But louder voices were raised in defence of The Queen. Lord Altrincham had his face slapped in public: the Archbishop of Canterbury pronounced him ‘a very silly man’ and the town of Altrincham dissociated itself from the noble lord. In October the BBC withdrew invitations to Lord Altrincham and Malcolm Muggeridge to appear on Any Questions and Panorama.