Royal Sisters

by Anne Edwards

  Margaret arrived in London from Balmoral on the Royal Train at 7:15 A.M. the next morning, but because of the crowds at the station did not disembark for nearly two hours. When she spoke to Townsend on the telephone they decided to meet at Clarence House that evening, where they felt they would have the most privacy. Although the Queen had said they would be free to see each other, restrictions were placed on their meetings. They were never to be seen together in public, which meant they could not attend any theatrical performance, sporting event or party as any other couple in love and trying to work out their problems might naturally do. Margaret must continue to attend to her official duties, and their meetings must take place at Clarence House (where she and the Queen Mother lived) or at the various homes of close friends of the Royal Family so that they would never appear to be alone.

  At six-twenty that evening, hatless and wearing a dark blue suit, Townsend, driving his Renault, outfoxed the knots of watchers by entering the side gate of Clarence House and swinging around to the back. By the time the press realized where he had gone, he had gained entry through the lighted doorway of the Clarence House Office. Extra police were drafted to keep the courtyard clear. The gas lanterns surrounding it were turned on, as were all the front lights of the adjoining grace-and-favour houses.

  His hair tousled, his step lively, Townsend followed a footman up the familiar passages that led to Margaret’s sitting room. The servant departed and a moment later Margaret entered. They were at last together in their own “exclusive world.” They embraced warmly. Nothing had changed. Each felt the same intense emotion toward the other. “Time [wrote Townsend] had not staled our accustomed sweet familiarity.”

  She looked more beautiful than ever, a woman clearly in love. They spent only two hours together, a length of time thought by the Queen’s advisers to be decorous for a first meeting after such a long separation. The Queen Mother, who had only returned from Balmoral by the Queen’s flight an hour before Townsend arrived at Clarence House, spoke briefly to him. Though courteous, she was now coolly detached from the veteran courtier for whom she had once shown such a great fondness. Townsend left at 8:20 P.M. and returned to Lowndes Square to dine alone. The lovers were, however, to spend the weekend near Windsor at Allanbay Lodge, the home of Major and Mrs. John Lycett Wills (the former Jean Elphinstone, whose mother was the Queen Mother’s sister, Lady Elphinstone). Major and Mrs. Wills were of a different generation from Margaret, who had been only six years old when, in 1936, she had attended their wedding, and they had chaperoned Lilibet during her courtship with Philip.

  Traveling anywhere during the time of their reunion would be a nightmare for Margaret and Townsend. A statement issued from Clarence House on the following day, October 14, requested the public’s courtesy and cooperation in respecting Princess Margaret’s privacy. She left for her weekend in the country, seated with a Lady-in-Waiting in the back seat of her Rolls-Royce, the blinds drawn. Several hundred people had gathered at the entrance of Clarence House hoping to get a glimpse of her as she left for her second meeting with Townsend. The crowds that waited her arrival in the country were even larger. The plea had gone ignored.

  Townsend “was besieged inside No. 19 Lowndes Square [he wrote]. My every sortie provoked a scene suggestive of the start of the 24-hour Le Mans race, as pressmen and photographers sprinted to their cars, engines were started and revved up, and the chase began.”

  For the three days that Margaret and Townsend spent at the Willses’ Georgian mansion, aircraft and helicopters with pressmen and photographers circled overhead, and the country lanes that led to the otherwise quiet, rustic setting of the house were jammed with vehicles. When Margaret left Allanbay one morning to attend services at nearby Royal Chapel, Windsor Great Park, over one hundred photographers and newsmen and a small group of villagers ran after the car. When she returned, a double line of police was required to hold back a throng of more than three hundred. That evening police dogs and police motorcyclists were stationed at the gates and on the grounds.

  Despite the madness that surrounded the pair, their weekend at Allanbay was a much welcomed chance for the lovers to be together. They walked in the secluded, guarded garden at the side of the ivy-covered house; they lunched and dined with the Willses and their eleven-year-old daughter, Marilyn (who was Princess Margaret’s goddaughter), in an intimate, closed circle and were given a chance to talk privately whenever and for as long as they wished.

  Believing she now knew the full consequences of her marrying Townsend, Margaret remained in high spirits but certainly “had a huge load on her mind.” She did not doubt the love they shared. Townsend’s presence gave her a sense of warm security she had never known with anyone else. She trusted him, was proud of him and felt a womanliness with him. She expressed more than youthful passion for him. To the few observers at Allanbay a “bonding” was evident. “I had seen her in the company of several young escorts during her teens; and later, of course, Tony [Armstrong-Jones, Lord Snowdon, her future husband]. But she never was or would be so naturally suited to a man as she was to Peter [one friend said]. You simply could not doubt that this was that once-in-a-lifetime love that we all dream about. And the most marvellous thing was that it was so fully reciprocated. Peter adored her, it was in his voice as he spoke to her and in his eyes when he looked at her.”

  During the early days of their reunion they were both hopeful. Margaret wanted to be married by a representative of the Church and their marriage to be “holy under God.” She did not want to live abroad. She wanted her mother to accept her husband (although she saw the problems her sister might have) and she wanted to contribute her services to the Crown. Unlike her Uncle David, she always enjoyed being Royal and could be rather stiff about it.

  Once, when a friend of Margaret’s asked after her father, she replied archly, “You mean, His Majesty, the King?” She treated her own title with the same pride of position. And she enjoyed the special privileges of being a Princess. Precedence at official functions was important to her. As has been said, “Margaret wanted to have her Royal cake and to eat it too.”

  In France, the Duke of Windsor was closely monitoring the progress of his niece’s romantic crisis. The Duchess was in New York and he wrote her, “I had an interesting exchange with Seymour Camrose [chairman of The Daily Telegram Ltd.] over the Margaret-Townsend romance. He made some sensible comments which I parried with a tactful exposition of our attitude [that they should be allowed to marry without Margaret sacrificing her title.] I am watching the situation with interest. My guess is that it will reach boiling point any time soon.”

  On her return to Clarence House after her weekend in the country, Margaret told her mother that her feelings remained unchanged and that she still wished to marry Townsend. This information was duly transmitted to the Queen, who traveled from Balmoral overnight to London with the children on the Royal Train, arriving early Tuesday morning, October 18. At the Palace they joined Prince Philip, who had returned the previous day after visits to Denmark and Germany. Philip was now strongly opposed to the marriage because he feared a split in the Government over the issue, and his views must certainly have had some influence on the Queen.

  What neither Townsend nor Margaret would know was that Eden claimed to have learned from the Foreign Office (with ears in Brussels) that Townsend did not feel the same toward Margaret as the Princess felt toward him, and it is unlikely that he would not have confided this piece of gossip to the Queen to strengthen his position. To measure one person’s love against another’s is difficult at best. But whatever Eden had heard about Townsend’s bachelor life in Brussels or the speculations about his feelings for Margaret had no basis in truth. Townsend was very much in love with her and was fastidiously loyal.

  On the morning of the Queen’s return to London, the Prime Minister had presided at a two-hour meeting of the Cabinet at 10 Downing Street. Sir Anthony’s convictions had not changed. He remained convinced that irreparable damage would
occur in the Government if the Queen’s sister married a divorced man, even if she renounced her rights to the succession.

  In the evening the Prime Minister drove to the Palace for his first audience with the Queen since the one at Balmoral attended by Margaret. He remained one hour and twenty-five minutes (unduly long). Apparently, he repeated his feelings to the Queen and gave her what facts he could to substantiate his position; and Elizabeth was thorough in her examination of what he told her, setting forth more questions for him to answer. A further Cabinet meeting was called for the next day. “It is said [The Times reported] to be unlikely that any statement on what have come to be called ‘constitutional issues,’ if any statement should be necessary, will be made before Parliament reassembles next Tuesday [October 25].”

  The day following the Prime Minister’s audience with the Queen, Margaret and Townsend—for the first time since their reunion—did not meet. That evening Margaret dined with the Archbishop and bishops at Lambeth Palace. But not even the rigors of this episcopal dinner dissuaded Margaret from her intention to marry Townsend. The next day she seemed to Townsend to be “quite unperturbed” by anything that had been said at the dinner.

  Margaret, however, was unaware of what had transpired in the second Cabinet meeting called by Sir Anthony, which—contrary to The Times's premature report—had everything to do with constitutional matters. The Attorney General, Sir Reginald Manningham-Buller, was pleading a case in the Queen’s Bench Division when he received a message from the Prime Minister to come immediately to Downing Street. Excusing himself to the Lord Chief Justice, he left the court and joined the Cabinet meeting, which was in heavy dispute about a Bill of Renunciation to be placed before Parliament, a bill that would strip Margaret of all her Royal titles and rights but leave her free to marry Townsend. Now, while abdication was “as old as the monarchy itself, renunciation [an observer contended] of royal rights, was unknown.”

  Still unsuspecting of what was taking place in these secret meetings, Margaret and Townsend dined by candlelight at the various homes of friends. They had not yet learned what had taken place at Downing Street, but even so, they began to anticipate impending disaster.

  The unveiling of King George VI’s statue in Carlton Gardens was conducted in driving rain and a lashing wind on Friday, October 21. The Royal Family stood stoicly together under canvas. This was the first time Margaret had seen her sister since she had left Balmoral. She was placed between Prince Philip and the Queen Mother and was never photographed by the Queen’s side. “He was a living symbol of our steadfastness,” Elizabeth said in her speech. “Much was asked of my father in personal sacrifice and endeavour.... He shirked no task, however difficult, and to the end he never faltered in his duty to his people.” The message was obvious.

  Margaret still refused to be coerced. She was photographed smiling at 1:00 A.M. that night as she left the Chelsea home of Mr. and Mrs. Michael Brand after dining with her hosts and Townsend. The towering six-foot-four-inch Brand, a rare-book dealer, was a former Captain of the Coldstream Guards and his wife was the sister of Lord Hambleden. The choice of the couples who would be hosts to Margaret and Townsend during this difficult time of decision had been Margaret’s, although Elizabeth had added her final approval. Townsend was no stranger to any of them. They had all met at Balmoral or at Windsor during his days as an Equerry. Margaret is said to have called each one of these friends personally to ask their help. To the public’s surprise, she saw none of the old “Margaret set.” Her desire was to simulate, as best she could, the social life she might be able to expect with Townsend if they married.

  An attempt was made to keep these intimate dinners as natural as possible under the unique circumstances. The subject of their possible marriage was scarcely ever mentioned. Only the previous Monday evening, spent with Mr. and Mrs. Mark Bonham Carter, might have been said to have a special impact. An intellectual, a director of a publishing firm and a former Liberal candidate for North West Devon, Bonham Carter had once been a frequent escort of Margaret’s at ballet and theater. He had recently married Lady St. Just, whose earlier marriage had been dissolved. So the Bonham Carters had fought the stigma of divorce.

  Saturday evening, October 22, Townsend came to Clarence House. Margaret was “unwavering in her determination.” Townsend, however, was beginning, if not to hesitate, at least to suspect that if they won the end result might well be a bitter victory. He had, after all, spent years dealing with the Royal Family and issues involving them. He was well-tuned to the Queen Mother’s steeliness, Elizabeth’s steadfast sense of duty and Philip’s stubbornness. The views of Eden and his Government were no longer unknown factors, although not totally revealed, and no one at this point could be absolutely sure what the Church’s final decision would be.

  Margaret drove to Windsor on Saturday night to spend Sunday with Elizabeth and Philip. They attended service together and after lunch sat “before a log fire in the green drawing-room of the Victoria Tower of Windsor Castle, where they had once played games of charades. The Queen told her sister that if she married Townsend it would be in a civil ceremony, that Parliament would be asked to pass a Bill of Renunciation and that she would forfeit her income under the Civil List. Further—and this was, perhaps, the greatest blow—if they married, the ceremony would have to take place abroad, and “at least for a time” they would have to live out of the country. Margaret repeated her strong conviction that Townsend would be the only man she could ever love. She could not give him up. She spoke on the telephone twice that day to Townsend, who realized “the stern truth was dawning on her.”

  She had given no indication to him that she had changed her mind about marrying him, but Townsend now took the decision into his own hands. He had known Margaret for eleven years, since she had been a girl of fourteen, and his position in her family had been such that he was aware of all the interfamilial bonds. They had traveled together, lived separately but under the same roofs (albeit castellated towers). He had seen her through many personal vicissitudes, including the deaths of her father and her grandmother, and the ascension of her sister to the Throne. He had comforted, counseled and encouraged her. Their love had not been sudden; it had grown over many years, and because of this they had been able to maintain it during their long separations. He did not have to be told that Margaret had now found herself in an “unendurable situation,” torn between her love for him, the Church and her family; a three-way tug-of-war that could not go on.

  He had little sleep that night. “I was obsessed [he wrote] that the Princess must tell the world that there would be no marriage.” The next day, without consulting her first, he wrote out a short statement “in her words”; the same manner of thing he had done for her so many times before when they were on tour, only, of course, never had they been this personal.

  By 4:00 P.M., only an hour later, he was with her in her sitting room at Clarence House. She looked pale, exhausted. “The smile had vanished from her face, her happiness and confidence had evaporated.” She greeted him affectionately, clung to him long. When they drew apart he told her quietly, “I have been thinking so much about us during the last two days, and I’ve written down my thoughts for you to say if you wish to.” He handed her the statement and she studied it.

  I would like it to be known [she read] that I have decided not to marry Group Captain Townsend. I have been aware that, subject to my renouncing my rights to the succession, it might have been possible for me to contract a civil marriage. But mindful of the Church’s teaching that Christian marriage is indissoluble, and conscious of my duty to the Commonwealth, I have resolved to put these considerations before others. I have reached this decision entirely alone, and in doing so I have been strengthened by the unfailing support and devotion of Group Captain Townsend. I am deeply grateful for the concern of all those who have constantly prayed for my happiness.

  “That’s exactly how I feel,” she said slowly when she had done reading. “There was [Townse
nd wrote] a wonderful tenderness in her eyes which reflected, I suppose, the look in mine. We had reached the end of the road. Our feelings for one another were unchanged, but they had incurred for us a burden so great that we decided, together, to lay it down.”

  Margaret told her mother and sister straightaway. Everyone seemed relieved, but Michael Adeane and Richard Colville were against the statement as it read. They wanted to delete the line about her devotion to Townsend. Margaret refused. The argument was to continue for another week while fierce world speculation continued and the press kept up their oppressive hounding.

  On Wednesday, October 26, two days after Margaret and Townsend had agreed they could not marry, The Times published a controversial editorial which stated that a Royal marriage that flouted the Church’s beliefs “would cause acute division among loyal [British] subjects everywhere. The Princess will be entering into a union vast numbers of her sister’s people ... cannot regard as a marriage.” It went on to say that if Margaret was unable to make the sacrifice it would “involve withdrawal, not merely from her formal rights in the succession established by law, together with such official duties as sometimes fall to her under the Regency Acts, but abandonment of her place in the Royal Family as a group fulfilling innumerable symbolic and representative functions.”

  The blunt editorial (written in a style that once more brought the crisis of 1936 to its readers’ attention) was after the fact, but it did seem to validate Margaret’s and Townsend’s decision, which apparently was a correct one, not for any of the above reasons but because both the principals now experienced a feeling of “unimaginable relief [Townsend wrote]. We were liberated at last from this monstrous problem.” They were, however, forced, because of the silence on the part of the Palace, to play out the rest of this lamentable drama as farce. The schedule of private evenings at the homes of close friends was kept. The hovering press remained ever-present and had to be told again and again “no comment,” and Margaret remained adamant—she would not remove the contested line in her statement.