by Anne Edwards
The King personally gave his daughter a sapphire and diamond necklace with matching earrings and a pair of Purdey guns; and with the Queen, he gave her a ruby and diamond necklace, a pair of diamond drop earrings and two rows of magnificent pearls.
Margaret appeared to be one of the only practical members of the family for she gave the bride and groom a set of twelve engraved champagne glasses and a fitted picnic case. (To her sister alone she presented a plain, fitted, casket-shaped silver inkstand.) And from Lord and Lady Mountbatten had come a cinema, with large screen, projector and two leather chairs. The rest of the gifts were an eclectic lot ranging from fine antique china, crystal (Steuben from President and Mrs. Truman), Persian rugs, paintings, books, enough antique furniture to fill a wing at Buckingham Palace, other curious and rare antiques, lengths of cloth (rationing was still in effect), nylon stockings, American towels and bathmats from Mrs. Roosevelt (who also attended the wedding), an electric foot warmer and four full-length fur coats—mink, beaver, rabbit and silver fox. But the most controversial present was a fringed lacework cloth made out of yarn spun by Mahatma Gandhi on his own spinning wheel. It looked to Queen Mary like a loincloth and she was incensed enough about it to demand it be removed, an order that was carried out, and so Item number 1211 Mahatma Gandhi Donor was seen only by early comers.
Fulfilling the prophecy of Paris Match, Hélène Foufounis had not been invited to the wedding. Nonetheless she had returned to London from Paris “just to dress” her mother, who had been sent an invitation. “I made her look wonderful,” Hélène said proudly. “She was just right for a big occasion like this one.” Hélène’s exclusion from the guest list seems odd, and if an oversight, a cruel one. She was, after all, one of Philip’s closest friends since childhood; he chose always to search her out and see her; and he was godfather to her two children. (They, in fact, received a special invitation to Buckingham Palace to see the newlyweds just three weeks after the wedding and after Hélène had returned to Paris. Their grandmother brought them. “Hello, Princess Elizabeth,” the younger, Louise, just two years old, said, and toddled directly over to her.)
Lilibet seemed bewildered with all the excitement in the last days before the wedding, and overwhelmed (after the “make-do” of the war years) by the lavishness of her gifts. The Board of Trade had given her an extra allotment of coupons for her trousseau, and many gifts of silk and brocade were received. She had fittings not only for her wedding gown, but for a completely new wardrobe.
The night previous to the Royal Wedding, Mountbatten and David Milford Haven hosted Philip with a “hilarious bachelor party” at the Dorchester Hotel which lasted until four in the morning. (Actually, there had been two parties—one for the press which ended at half-past twelve, and a second one which continued on with Philip, Mount-batten, David Milford Haven and “a small select company.”) But the family at the Palace spent a quiet evening without guests. They dined together—just “us four.” Philip had stopped by on his way to the party and then Lilibet had gone up to her room, singing their song. The Palace had the aura of a hotel being prepared for a grand function. “Gold chairs were stacked up in the banqueting rooms. The whole air smelt of flowers.”
The crowds had already begun to gather; and when Lilibet woke at 6:30 A.M., “The whole Mall was a solid mass of people with mounted police riding up and down on their splendid horses, keeping the main road clear. Great numbers had slept out, and were having picnic breakfasts, and cooking bacon over little stoves. [When Lilibet opened her window] it was funny to find ... the smell of coffee drifting in.” A short time later her own breakfast arrived with a bouquet of white carnations (her favorite flower) from the groom.
Twelve days earlier the King had written Queen Mary: “I am giving the Garter to Lilibet next Tuesday, November 11th, so that she will be senior to Philip, to whom I am giving it on November 19th. I have arranged that he shall be created a Royal Highness & that the titles of his peerage will be
BARON GREENWICH, EARL OF MEREONETH
& DUKE OF EDINBURGH.
These will be announced in the morning papers of November 20th, including the Garter.
“It is a great deal to give a man all at once, but I know Philip understands his new responsibilities on his marriage to Lilibet.”
Lilibet was thus to be married to the Duke of Edinburgh, but would retain her higher rank of Princess. She would also be marrying a new convert to the Church of England (from the Greek Orthodox Church into which Philip had been baptized), the ceremony having been performed privately by the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Chapel of Lambeth Palace on the fourth of October.
Dressed in his Naval uniform, decorated with the Star of the Order of the Garter, and a second Star, that of the Greek Order of the Redeemer, which as a member of the Greek Royal Family he received at birth, and carrying the sword of his grandfather, Admiral Prince Louis of Battenberg, he stepped out of Kensington Palace and into the November chill with David Milford Haven, his best man, mid-morning of the big day. They both had overslept and awakened with severe hangovers. To help sober themselves up before the long ordeal, they had gone outside to get some fresh air. To their surprise, a large group of reporters and photographers, waiting since dawn to see the groom emerge, stood “on the ready.” Philip went over to them and invited them in for a cup of coffee, an act of generosity which they accepted and which could not have been much appreciated by his grandmother and mother, or their small domestic staff.
Princess Andrew’s attire for the wedding had created a family crisis. She never left her apartments dressed in anything other than her nun’s habit. The King’s advisers thought that if she appeared in this fashion inside Westminster Abbey, it would create unnecessary controversy. She was, however, determined not to do otherwise. Finally, Mountbatten spoke to his sister and she relented and wore a two-tone gray dress and matching hat, her husband’s royal purple ribbon across her chest.
The groom and his best man departed Kensington Palace for the Abbey in a royal car at 10:56 A.M. The processional route down Constitution Hill, along the Mall, and across to the Abbey was lined for the whole of its length by contingents of the three Services. When the car drew up to the door to Poets’ Corner, where he would enter, a waiting crowd waved and called out, “Good luck, Philip!” This seemed to please him and he smiled, waved back, and then disappeared inside where the guests had already been seated, waiting, while the sub-organist, Dr. Osborne Peasgood, played numerous selections to keep them from growing restless.
“The great congregation sat expectant [wrote Louis Wulff] under the soft radiance of the Abbey lights, with the thin November sunshine patterning the walls with pastel colours through the stained-glass windows.” While those in the Abbey waited for the bride to make her entrance, Lilibet remained at the Palace attempting to stay calm during the last moments before her departure in the Irish State Coach at 11:16 A.M. Bobo was dressing her when she realized that the wedding bouquet was missing. A footman remembered receiving it and bringing it upstairs [to Lilibet’s sitting room], “but what happened to it after that no one could imagine.” For nearly ten minutes there was a frantic search with the Ladies-in-Waiting and a seam-stress from Norman Hartnell’s joining in. Then, another footman recalled that he had seen the bouquet (which had arrived at 9:00 A.M.) and, fearing it would wilt, had placed it in a kitchen cooling cupboard. In the excitement he had forgotten what he had done.
This crisis resolved, Lilibet asked Bobo for the pearls given to her by her parents, when she planned to wear. But they had mistakenly been sent along for display with the other wedding gifts to St. James’s Palace. The time was now 10:25. Lilibet’s new Private Secretary, John (Jock) Colville, “rushed down the seemingly endless red-carpeted corridor, hurtled down the Grand staircase, and ended up in the quadrangle, where he commandeered King Haakon VII of Norway’s large Daimler. Although traffic had been stopped since early morning, the crowds were so deeply packed across Marlborough Gate, that the car, e
ven flying its royal flag had to halt while he fought his way through on foot.” When he finally reached his destination the CID men who were guarding the presents refused to let him have the pearls. Even when he produced bona fide proof of his identity they remained cautious. At last they allowed him to accompany a policeman and two detectives back to the Palace with the pearls.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It was only 10:45 A.M. But as Lilibet had waited for Colville to return, the frame of the Queen’s famous Diamond Fringe Tiara (which the bride was wearing as something borrowed), had snapped. Fortunately the court jeweler was in attendance and reassured the nervous bride that the tiara could be repaired in time. Nonetheless, another tiara was sent for as a reserve. Miraculously, when it was time to start downstairs a half hour later, the repaired tiara was safely on the bride’s head and the pearls rested gracefully about her neck.
The Queen kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek and left to join the Royal guests gathered in the forecourt, where they “were being counted, numbered and lined up in the order they were to ride in the procession, like a group of school children, about to march off ... to church.” Queen Mary was in the first motorcar with her daughter, the Princess Royal. They were followed by a second motorcar in which Lady Airlie and other members of Queen Mary’s Household rode. Then began a carriage procession with the Queen and Princess Margaret in the lead vehicle, trailed by numerous carriages of foreign sovereigns, and the Queen’s suite.
Then, exactly on time, through the double glass doors of the Grand Entrance of Buckingham Palace and down the red-carpeted steps to the waiting Irish State Coach, came the bride, her hand on the King’s arm. Her father wore the uniform of Admiral of the Fleet; and as he assisted her into the carriage and helped her to arrange her billowing train before being seated beside her, he paused, and grasping her hand conveyed his deep emotional response to the moment. Lady Margaret Egerton and Lady Margaret Seymour were in the second carriage and Peter Townsend and John Colville in the third.
As the bridal coach “swept out the great iron gates of the Palace, the crowd, packed into every inch of space around the Victoria Memorial, thundered a welcoming cheer, which lasted the whole way to the distant Abbey [Louis Wulff reported]. The Princess bowed and waved her responses to the tremendous greeting of the crowds, the pearls and crystals of her dress [and the diamonds in her tiara] gleaming many-coloured in the morning light as she leaned forward. At her side, the King sat erect and almost motionless.” Blue and yellow banners initialed “E” and “P” flew from tall flagstaffs along the route and uniformed bands were stationed at strategic points and began to play as soon as the coach came into view.
Tension was building inside the Abbey. Philip sat erect and solemn-faced with David Milford Haven in their position at the South Side of the Sacrarium. One of Philip’s cousins leaned over to another and whispered, “He’s a little more serious and his hair is much thinner on top.” But Philip exhibited no trace of nervousness.
Queen Mary, looking, as always, splendidly regal in an ensemble that featured a flowing hip-length cape of deep aquamarine velvet with a high collar of pearls and a necklace of gleaming diamonds, led the Royal Procession into the Abbey. Then came the Queen “in a dress composed entirely of gold and apricot lamé.” They were followed by the foreign sovereigns. The members of the Royal Procession now took their seats. A trumpet fanfare was sounded and the bride, supported by her father, entered the Abbey.
“It had been a dull morning,” Crawfie recalled, “but now for a few moments a thin, watery sun shown through the stained-glass windows ... the organ played softly. We [the Household] were all of us on tenterhooks, lest something had gone wrong since we left the Palace. I know I saw the Queen give a little sigh of relief when the great doors were thrown open and the Princess came.
“A Princess she looked that morning.... She was pale. She had used hardly any make-up. Her veil was a white cloud about her, and light from the tall windows and from the candelabra caught and reflected the jewelled embroidery of her frock. Her long spreading train [held with determination by her pages, Princess Marina’s two sons, Prince William and Prince Michael, in dress kilts and silk shirts], her wide skirts and billowing veil made her seem taller than she really was.”
Directly behind the bride, three paces ahead of the other bridesmaids, in emphasis of her rank, came Margaret alone, pausing three times along the route to straighten her sister’s train which seemed too much for the small pages to handle.
“Pammie Mountbatten and I were the tallest,” Lady Caroline Montagu-Douglas-Scott recalled, “so we were last in the procession of eight bridesmaids. I remember having awful trouble trying to push the ears of corn in my head-dress to a point like Mary’s [Lady Mary Cambridge].”
“Here they come!” Alexandra remembered whispering to King Peter as Lilibet and her father joined Philip (looking tall and grand and “incredibly composed”) and his best man at the altar.
The service was conducted by four members of the clergy, led by the Archbishop of Canterbury. After the groom had taken his vows, the bride, in a soft but steady voice not totally audible to all of those inside the Abbey*, pledged her troth “for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey....” This last brought a surprised look to the faces of some of the guests.
David Milford Haven now handed Philip the wedding band fashioned from a nugget of Welsh gold (a gift from the people of Wales).
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” the groom said, his eyes fastened on Lilibet, his voice much stronger than hers had been.
“One noticed that Lilibet promised to love, honour and obey,” Alexandra said. “One noticed that Aunt May [Queen Mary] dabbed her eyes. [But] the most moving moment of all came as the long bridal procession began to leave the Abbey. As she was about to pass her parents, Lilibet turned and sank into a curtsy, first to her father and mother and then to Aunt May. The lovely folds of her gown shimmered about her, while Philip also half-bowed, holding her hand. One could see that Uncle Bertie and Aunt Elizabeth had not expected such a gesture. One could see the muscle in Uncle Bertie’s cheek working as it always did when he was deeply stirred. Then they bowed in return and Philip led forth his bride to the jubilant crowds.”
Upon their return to the Palace, Lilibet and Philip appeared with the King, Queen, Queen Mary and the bridal suite on the balcony. “Liz [Lady Elizabeth Lambart] should have gone on the other side of the bridegroom,” Lady Caroline reflected. “There we [were] all next to Princess Elizabeth instead of being on each side of the bride and bridegroom. I suppose what I'll never forget is the sea of thousands of upturned faces down below, shouting and singing. Only VE Day celebrations outmatched it.”
Margaret then marshaled everyone together for photographs, crying, “Come along, everybody!” It took some time for Baron, the photographer, to place everyone in proper order. By now most of the guests had a great thirst, if not a hunger.
A wedding luncheon was held in the State Dining Room, six to eight people seated to a table. Alexandra sat next to her cousin, the best man, who confessed, “In the car [on the way to the Abbey] we realised what an awful thing it would be if we accidentally exchanged caps. They look identical but mine would have fallen over Philip’s ears. So we put an ink mark inside mine. It worked!”
Speeches were short. The King merely rose with his champagne glass and said simply, “The bride!” And the lunch—Filet de Sole Mountbatten, Perdreau en Casserole and Bombe Glacé Princess Elizabeth—unmemorable except for the gold plate on which it was served. Halfway through the meal “the skirl of bagpipes” filled the room, to the distress of those foreigners not accustomed to the sound. Philip cut the first piece of cake with his grandfather’s sword to the cheers of the guests, who then adjourned to the Blue Room for coffee and slices of the wedding cake, served by the staff. Clusters of relatives discussed “how pretty Margare
t looked”; “what a wonderful frock Aunt May was wearing”; “weren’t the wedding presents simply staggering”; and—how important it was for this marriage to be a happy union. “Elizabeth will have to conceal unhappiness. The world expects Royalty to smile,” one of the elderly sovereigns was overheard to say.
Once again the bride and groom appeared on the balcony—this time alone—and then went to change into their going-away clothes. The Mountbattens had lent them Broadlands, their country estate, for the honeymoon, and they were to ride in an open landau drawn by a horse pair to Waterloo Station where they would board the Royal Train.
The wedding party were all waiting in the forecourt of the Palace when they reappeared—Lilibet in a powder-blue ensemble, Philip in uniform. Rain had begun to fall lightly and it was damp and cold, but the bride had insisted on the original plan to ride to the station in an open vehicle. She now stepped in with the groom’s help. Four hot-water bottles were packed at her feet and Susan, her favorite corgi, who was to go with them to Broadlands, sat huddled beneath her lap robe. Slowly, the landau moved forward, and “led by the King, the Royal and other guests, including the Queen, who hitched up her long skirt to run the better, ran across the sanded quadrangle to cut off the coach and bombarded [the bride and groom] with paper rose-petals.” Then the King spontaneously followed the landau, the Queen, Margaret, and some of the bridesmaids close behind him, to the outer gates of the palace and watched it disappear into the darkening chill of winter twilight.
By evening all the guests had departed. Fog rolled in, and the rain, which had held off for most of the day, began to fall hard. Margaret went to her room to change for a party that night for the bridesmaids and the ushers. She was seen slowing up as she went past Lilibet’s door, pausing, and then walking away quickly down the corridor. Perhaps she had just realized that she was now the only Princess in the Palace.
