by Anne Edwards
While the royal mantle settled snugly over her sister, Margaret stood alone and exposed. The Queen is never subject to interview. Her private life is protected, kept private. But the televising of the Coronation, seen by millions who had never before viewed Royalty close up, created an appetite for intimate details of the lives of the Royals. At the time, few of the great movie stars had yet agreed to appear on television. Yet here were the Queen and Prince Philip co-starred in the grandest spectacle ever filmed; and there were all the other Royal personalities as supporting players—Princess Margaret, the Queen Mother and the enchanting golden-haired Prince of Wales, who had been born to be King.
As with the film stars they liked to believe they knew the truth about, the public was eager to read anything that was printed about the private lives of these Royal performers, and the tabloid papers were pleased to oblige whenever possible. However, the game rules were necessarily different with Royalty than with screen stars. The Queen and any discussion of her private life were, purely and simply, out of bounds. The same rules applied to the Queen Mother, out of respect for her past position as Queen Consort. This left Margaret especially vulnerable to the public’s voracious appetite for Royal gossip, all the more so because she was young, attractive and vivacious. Without any understanding of how to deal with the problem, Margaret had become one of the press’s major assets.
Margaret’s twenty-fifth birthday was fast approaching; and the press, which lives off the public interest it creates, was building up the tension by whetting further interest for “intimate” knowledge of her affair with Townsend. Because of a newspaper strike in April, once the presses were rolling again they appeared to double their coverage of Margaret and Townsend to make up for the time and space they had lost and to catch up with the United States, where photographs of Margaret on the covers of Life, Look and Time caused their circulations to soar.
On Margaret’s return from her Caribbean tour, a story about the restoration of the chapel in St. James’s Palace had been inflated to include speculation that it would soon be used for her marriage to Townsend. The Sunday Pictorial carried the banner headline PRINCESS MARGARET MARRIAGE SENSATION. Suddenly, Townsend found himself besieged by dozens of international reporters, “camped 24 hours a day” on the doorstep of his Brussels apartment and outside the British Embassy. He badly needed professional help, but “Colville and the Queen’s advisers, including of course, Lascelles’ successor, Michael Adeane [Townsend writes] apparently believed that the feverish speculation about Princess Margaret and myself which, after two years, had suddenly flared up more intensely than ever, could be quietened by their own silence ... but it was not, in this case effective. The clamour, over the next six months increased to a deafening crescendo.”
The lovers’ daily correspondence continued, as did their frequent telephone calls; and although much time was spent in discussing the terrible “morass of frantic, popular sensationalism” that they had been drawn into unwittingly, they still believed that a future together would be worth it.
Naïvely, Margaret was waiting for the day of her birthday, when by the unpleasant terms of the Royal Marriage Act of 1772, she would no longer require the permission of the Sovereign to marry. She had been led to believe that at that time she would be free to do as she wished. No one had informed either her or Townsend that this was not entirely the case—that if she still wished to marry Townsend, a further section of the law gave Parliament the right to postpone the marriage for another full year, at which time she could be subject to certain penalties if the Government disapproved.
It seems highly unlikely that the Queen had not been fully advised of this further obstacle to her sister’s plans for her future. Like Colville, she seemed to believe that silence (even to Margaret) was the best policy. It did, in fact, place her in the more comfortable position of not being the one held responsible for the barriers Margaret faced to her future happiness. During the months between her sister’s return from the Caribbean and her birthday, the Queen managed to avoid any confrontation with Margaret, although they spoke every morning on the telephone. “We cannot discuss this,” she would say, and move to topics that were incontestable—the day’s schedule, Margaret’s health, their mother’s well-being, and the children’s most current accomplishments.
Elizabeth had settled comfortably into the daily routine of being Queen. On most days when she was in London, Bobo awakened her with a cup of tea at 8:00 A.M. (Menservants were never allowed into her bedroom.) Private letters (coded to distinguish them from other correspondence) were read and all the morning papers placed by her bedside. If she had time she did the crossword puzzle on the back page of the Daily Telegraph. She dressed with Bobo’s help and then went down to the private dining room to have breakfast with Philip. They preferred the food to be left in warming trays on the sideboard for their selection and for the staff to wait outside the closed doors to be called by bell only if needed. They listened on the hour to the BBC news, “peppered with comments of her husband who liked to provide his own running commentary of the world’s events.”
The end of the news provided the cue for Pipe Major Macdonald of the Argyll and Sunderland Highlanders to march up and down playing his bagpipes outside the dining-room window for fifteen minutes, a ritual endured more than enjoyed by Philip, but favored by Elizabeth. The children would then join them for half an hour, having already had breakfast. At ten o’clock husband and wife would part to attend to their own schedules for the day. Elizabeth studied the contents of her boxes, answered correspondence and bestowed honors and citations. Lunch was simple and Philip sometimes joined her (although not too often), after which the Queen departed in the Royal car for her afternoon engagements, accompanied by a Lady-in-Waiting and whoever else on her staff might be required.
No matter what her engagements were, the Queen liked to be back at the Palace by 5:00 P.M.to feed the dogs, have tea and see the children. Every Tuesday evening she saw the Prime Minister in audience. She seldom accepted dinner invitations since she disliked “banquet food, cigar smoke and making speeches.” Philip did attend many such affairs. On those nights, Elizabeth dined with members of her Household and then retired to her sitting room to catch up on work that remained for her attention.
Weekends were spent at one of her country homes—Royal Lodge or Sandringham; Ascot season she was at Windsor; Christmas at Sandringham and shooting season at Balmoral. Although once she had found it difficult to curtsy to her parents, she now found the trappings and protocol of majesty satisfying—the obeisances, the respectful distance that her attendants maintained, always a step behind her. In this way she more closely resembled her grandmother than her mother. Elizabeth was really an extremely capable but very ordinary woman in that she possessed no great talents, wit or intellectual brilliance, nor was she a great beauty. The Monarchy endowed her with an aura of uniqueness, not the other way around.
She stood as a symbol to her people, representing “continuity with the past and regeneration for the future,” respectability, traditional values of family life “and trying one’s best,” while at the same time the various tokens of state, the Royal mystique, set her apart. But, although as Queen she was above and outside politics, there was no law either written or unwritten that could stop the politicians in her Cabinet from using the Monarchy, if they could, for their own purpose.
Sir Anthony Eden had finally become Prime Minister, but his years as Foreign Secretary had not fully prepared him for the job he inherited. In his first months in office he had been confronted with newspaper and rail strikes. And, as Margaret’s birthday approached, he saw serious trouble brewing within his Cabinet if the Queen’s sister married a divorced man. Lord Salisbury, Conservative leader of the House of Lords, was threatening resignation if the Government did not stop the marriage from going forward. Eden had good reason to fear that if Salisbury resigned and a vituperative public row ensued and split his party, his Government could be brought down.
> “The trouble was said to be [Lord Salisbury’s] conscience, which permitted him, as a devout Anglican, to serve under a divorced prime minister, but became deeply troubled at the thought of being ruled by a monarch with a divorced brother-in-law,” wrote one critic.
Like Lascelles, Lord Salisbury saw the Margaret-Townsend affair as a repetition of the 1936 Edward VIII crisis. An old friend of the Queen Mother’s, he worked to persuade her that the dignity of the Monarchy was at stake and to remind her of her own strong feelings during that infamous season of abdication; and he appears to have won her over. Margaret was now subjected to frequent reminders by her mother of how her father would have disapproved.
Pressures from within increased for the beleaguered Princess but her love for Townsend was unchanged. He remained in Brussels and she asked him to be patient and wait until her birthday, which she was celebrating with her family at Balmoral with “a quiet picnic.” It fell on a Sunday. Ruby woke her up with a cup of tea. When she joined the family for breakfast she was faced with the Sunday newspapers, filled with speculation about her plans; and when she attended service at the parish church of Craithy, over three hundred reporters from all over the world shouted at her and took her photograph.
It has been said that “The Queen declined to coerce her sister.” Yet she certainly did not encourage her to make a free choice. By now Elizabeth had a pretty clear picture of the chaos that would follow an announcement that the lovers were to marry. Margaret was asked to wait until press interest had somewhat subsided. Townsend would, in any case, be detained in Brussels. By the end of September, Margaret remained adamant in her wish to marry Townsend. The Queen, not wishing to be the one to deliver an ultimatum to her sister, arranged a meeting between the Prime Minister and Margaret at Balmoral, which would be held in her presence.
The radiance had disappeared from Margaret’s face. She arrived in Scotland, the weather freezing, looking tired and sad. Privately she was being torn by her divided loyalties to herself, Townsend, her mother, her duty to the Monarchy and her deep sense of religion. Saturday, October 1, Sir Anthony, himself not too well and his handsome, aristocratic face drawn, arrived at Balmoral with his new wife, Churchill’s niece Clarissa. The Prime Minister’s fabled debonair manner and indisputable charm masked his strong political convictions and fixity of purpose. A pleasant evening was spent by all on the first day of his visit, and Eden could not have been more gracious to Margaret. That next morning after breakfast, Margaret, Eden and the Queen retired to a private sitting room. The Queen remained silent while the Prime Minister told her sister that, if she persisted in the course she seemed determined to take, he would have no alternative but to ask Parliament to pass a bill in accordance with the Marriages Act to deprive her and her children of all rights to succession and any income from the Civil List. Further, she would have to marry abroad in a civil ceremony and remain out of England for several years, at least, after the marriage.
Margaret was too stunned to consider that the Prime Minister might be bluffing. There is good reason to believe he was, for to risk defeat on an issue where public opinion (and polls had shown that 74 percent of the public did not object to Margaret marrying Townsend) and the Opposition would be overwhelmingly against him would be a dangerous political move. On hearing such a proclamation, Margaret could not help but recall all the years of family bitterness toward the Duke of Windsor and the many years he had been forced to live in exile. The ex-King had private wealth; Margaret had only a small annuity and some jewels. Her uncle had been given a title; she would remain plain Mrs. Peter Townsend. She was confused, fearful of losing her family forever. But, although Sir Anthony might not have realized it, his most powerful argument had been that she would have to be married outside the Church. She wanted to be reassured of Peter’s love, of her own ability to face what the Prime Minister proposed might be the future for them. She asked her sister if she and Peter could not have time together. And if they could be allowed the freedom of seeing each other whenever they wanted if he came back to England for two weeks.
Elizabeth told her she would give her this decision later in the day. The family went off to attend the Sunday service at Craithy. The Prime Minister and his wife departed in the late afternoon. Elizabeth requested a few private words with her sister. Townsend would be allowed to return to England. Although in controlled situations and monitored by the Palace, he and Margaret would have time together to come to a mutual decision.
Footnote
*See Appendices.
21
The date for Margaret’s reunion with Townsend was set for Thursday, October 13, when she would return to Clarence House from Balmoral while her sister remained in the windswept castle in the craggy Scottish Highlands an extended five days. This was arranged so that there would be no press speculation as to whether Townsend would be welcomed or shunned by the Queen, who had already informed Margaret she would not receive him. With no news forthcoming from the Palace, the plan’s end result was that full attention from the media focused on Margaret and Townsend and the most meaningful time in their lives was to be played out in the heat of controversy and the blinding glare of publicity.
There were now no villains, only victims. The Queen and the Eden Government had put themselves in a position where they could not win. If they did convince Margaret that she should not marry Townsend, they would be looked upon as “undemocratic bullies” to a large majority of people. If they gave even “reluctant consent,” they would offend many others.
Whatever Margaret decided, things were now so far advanced that her choice would never be viewed as a free one. The public was not sure that Townsend had proposed or that Margaret had accepted, nor could they know that during their long separation she had never been known to waver from her intent. Both believed that they would eventually be given their right to happiness and were aware of the high cost that might involve. Before her confrontation with Sir Anthony, Margaret had held on to the hope that she would retain her position as a Royal Princess and be given a place in the Royal hierarchy of service to the Crown even if she was forced to renounce her place in the succession.
On his part, Townsend had every right to believe that in January 1956, the end of his current tour of duty, he would be able to return to England and go forward with his career. Though he was not yet certain what that might entail (a career in commercial aviation loomed as a possibility), his abilities were never in question. Nor could it be conceived that whatever Margaret decided, a career in England might be barred to him and his future lived out in “voluntary” exile.
Margaret had discussed the possibility of a Church-sanctioned marriage with one of her religious advisers and he had given her hope that it was feasible. A representative of the Church of England had, in the end, married ex-King Edward and the twice-divorced Wallis Simpson. And going back in time, Henry VIII had divorced his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, and then married Anne Boleyn in a Church-sanctioned ceremony. And several of the very same politicians who warned that Townsend and Margaret could not have a sanctioned marriage and that their issue would be illegitimate were themselves divorced and had remarried in the Church, as had many other divorced persons.
In principle, the Church of England preached that marriage was not dissoluble, but did not universally enforce this rule. Townsend read all he could on the subject, and “was unable to feel [he wrote] that I will be doing wrong to marry again.” And the Archbishop of Canterbury had stated publicly, “I do not feel able to forbid good people who come to me for advice to embark on a second marriage.”
All of this was true. Further, the mistresses and mismarriages of the Queen’s ancestors, the first Royal Hanovers, were far more scandalous than the prospect of Margaret marrying a divorced man. But Queen Victoria had ushered in the view of the Monarchy as the great god-family of the Empire, to be looked to as an example of moral and religious rectitude. A century later that conviction had not changed.
Margaret’s stan
dards and insecurities had been shaped by her close family members—a martinet grandmother, and parents who, despite the greatness with which they were then touched, viewed her Uncle David’s abdication as inexpiable infamy. During the days of the crisis, Margaret, then six, had asked Alah in tears, “Are they going to cut off his head?” As Margaret had listened to Sir Anthony’s shocking declaration of her position, Elizabeth had remained silent and remote—an attitude that had not changed in the twelve days the sisters had endured together at Balmoral. Elizabeth had granted Margaret time to be with Townsend before making her decision. But the Queen’s position was never in question. She would not, and could not, approve the marriage of a member of the Royal Family to a divorcé unless it was approved first by the Church and then Parliament.
Neither Michael Adeane nor Richard Colville had given Townsend any information about the views of the Prime Minister and his Cabinet colleagues. What Townsend knew he had learned from Margaret, who was in a distressed state. She was desperate to see him, and he was willing to take the blows in any battle on her behalf. Neither had Adeane and Colville extended any help in dealing with the press, who they must have known would be relentless in their quest for a quote or a photograph.
Townsend believed he had worked out a way to arrive in England without attracting the media. Telling no one except the few close confidants he needed to implement his plan, he left Brussels on October 12 in his pale-green Renault, drove to the French coastal town of le Touquet and crossed the Channel on the air ferry to Lydd, in the South of England. (He would have been expected to fly directly from Brussels to London.) To his astonishment, as he headed toward the Customs clerk he was stopped in his tracks by the blinding flashes of several dozen cameras. Mayhem followed. Townsend refused to make a statement and managed to get into his car. Reporters and photographers jumped into automobiles and onto motorcycles in immediate pursuit as he drove, windows closed, into London (a three-hour journey) to 19 Lowndes Square, the flat of the Marquess of Abergavenny, a close friend of the Queen and Prince Philip and the brother of Lord Rupert Nevill, who Townsend had known for years. He then fought his way into the building as the press stationed themselves outside.
