We both felt shy, being in a strange place, but we were introduced to a tall, fair-haired cadet, called Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark. Uncle Dickie had sent him to the Captain’s House to amuse us. He’s a second or third cousin of ours – I can never work them out, but Queen Victoria is his ancestor, which is the same as us. She’s our great-great-grandmother.
To be honest, I think Philip’s a bit of a show-off. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s good fun. He got the Dalrymple-Hamiltons’ train set going, and both Lilibet and I had lots of goes. Afterwards, we went for a walk, and when we reached the tennis court, Philip said, ‘Let’s jump the net!’
I would have had a go, but it was too high and, anyway, we weren’t wearing the sort of clothes you can jump nets in. Lilibet wouldn’t have jumped it, whatever she was wearing, not at any price. She doesn’t do that sort of thing. But Philip did! Over and over he jumped (showing off).
He’s a bit of a tease, and he kept picking on me. I didn’t mind. He makes me laugh.
We played croquet, too. It was so draughty up on the hill that we had to keep our coats on. Lilibet’s a good player – it’s quite hard to be bad at croquet – and she thought Philip was good, too. She kept watching him. In my opinion he cheated, and I told her so.
‘He isn’t cheating,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t be so rude, Margaret.’
I watched his mallet and his feet, not his face, and I say he cheated. Still, everyone cheats at croquet, don’t they? It’s part of the fun.
Philip was invited to lunch, and he was friendly with everyone. Mummy said, ‘You’ve met Elizabeth before, Philip, at the wedding of her uncle George, the Duke of Kent. Do you remember?’
‘Of course I do, Ma’am,’ he said, but he changed the subject quickly, so I don’t think that was true. After all, she was only four. Why would he remember her?
Later that evening, I said to Lilibet, ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if Philip lived in London? We could become friends.’
She went pink and said, ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
I looked her right in the eye until she couldn’t help laughing. She really likes Philip, I can tell.
July 24th
Prince Philip joined us for dinner on the Victoria and Albert last night. Either they don’t feed the cadets very well, or that boy has the most enormous appetite! He ate and ate and finally polished off a huge banana split. He even finished before me!
Lilibet and I talked in bed last night.
‘He’s a very good-looking boy, isn’t he?’ she said.
In fact, she talked about him quite a bit. It’s odd, because he’s not the sort of person she normally likes. He’s bouncy and, well, boisterous, Crawfie says. Lilibet usually likes calm, quiet people. Except for me. I’m not usually calm or quiet, and she loves me.
July 25th
We left Dartmouth to a very rowdy send-off. The cadets came out in little boats to escort us downriver to the sea. There were so many buzzing round our ship, Papa was worried that someone might get hurt, and asked for them to be sent back to shore.
All the little boats, with the cadets still waving, turned towards shore. All except one. It was easy to guess who that was. Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark!
Papa was cross. ‘Young idiot!’ he said. Mummy just smiled, and Lilibet and I waved like mad.
An officer shouted at Philip over the loudspeaker, and he finally turned his boat away from us. But he never stopped waving.
When we went below (that means downstairs), Crawfie said he was too full of himself. Lilibet said, ‘He is rather, Crawfie,’ but I said, ‘Well, I think he’s fun.’ And when Crawfie left, I whispered to Lilibet, ‘You do, too, don’t you?’
She went pink again.
July 31st
I feel scared, but a little excited, too, because we might have a war against Germany. There was one about twenty years ago, and it lasted four years. Our soldiers fought in places like France and Belgium, and it was utterly ghastly, Crawfie says.
Mummy and Papa don’t talk to us about war. They don’t like to worry us. At least, they don’t talk to me, but I do think they talk to Lilibet. I expect she needs to know about these things, for when she becomes queen.
I’m glad I won’t be queen. I don’t like thinking about nasty things. And I’d hate to have to be serious all the time, like Papa. Well, most of the time. He’s always lots of fun when he’s with me. I like to make him laugh.
August 1st
We’ll be late going to Scotland for the summer, and it’s all that awful Mr Hitler’s fault. This war business is spoiling everything. When I said that to Lilibet, she said, ‘Oh, Margaret, you don’t understand. Papa’s meetings with the prime minister are far more important than a little girl’s summer holiday.’
It annoys me when she says I don’t understand. And it really annoys me that she says it so nicely that I can’t get cross with her.
I just hope we get to Balmoral in time for my birthday. We actually stay at Birkhall, which is cosier than Balmoral Castle, but very close to it. It’s not quite as tartan as the castle, which even has tartan carpets and curtains. Too much tartan makes my eyes go fuzzy.
August 22nd
It’s all horrible. Papa came to lunch looking very serious.
‘My loves,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I have to leave Scotland. I must return to London tonight.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Is it Mr Hitler again?’
‘In a way,’ he said. ‘Germany and Russia have joined together, and that’s not a good thing.’
Poor Papa. Poor Mummy, too. She never grumbles. She keeps on smiling. I shall try to keep smiling, too.
August 25th
We all went for a lovely ride this morning. It was misty, and I love riding in the mist. I imagine I’m one of King Arthur’s knights. Mummy was late, as usual, and I thought the sun might break through before we got going, but it didn’t.
Before we turned for home, Lilibet called, ‘Margaret, see that tree with a drooping branch?’
‘Yes.’
‘Race you!’ And she was off. That was annoying because it gave her a good start.
‘Cheat!’ I yelled, as I kicked my pony on. We thundered along, catching up with Lilibet quite easily.
While she was still just ahead, she made the mistake of slowing down as she reached the tree. But I kept up speed and passed Lilibet right at the last moment, simply by charging past the tree and cantering round in a wide circle, back to where she was.
‘I won!’ I said. It felt good to be better than Lilibet at something.
Mummy laughed and told me I rode too hard, because my face was as red and shiny as a ripe tomato!
Lilibet doesn’t mind losing, as long as the person who wins plays fairly. She gets cross with herself, though, if she doesn’t do as well as she knows she can.
August 26th
Mummy had some news at tea time and I didn’t like it.
‘I had a long talk with Papa on the telephone last night,’ she said, ‘and I feel that he needs me with him in London.’
‘Oh no!’ I said.
‘Hush, Margaret,’ said Lilibet. ‘Mummy must have a good reason.’
‘But we’ve only been here for about two weeks,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair that we have to go.’ I made the sad face I use when I want Mummy to know I’m really, really upset. It sometimes helps me to get my way.
Mummy smiled. ‘You’re not going. I shall go, and I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll have a lovely time with Crawfie and Allah fussing over you. Picnics, rides, friends to stay … all manner of good things.’
‘Goody!’ I said, and then I felt bad, because I thought I’d hurt Mummy’s feelings. She knows I don’t want her to go, but I’m glad Lilibet and I are staying. Some cousins are coming to stay soon, but not for a while, so thank goodness for sisters!
Augus
t 29th
I was miserable last night. I have a sore gum, and it hurts to eat. Allah says it’s a little mouth ulcer and it will soon go. Little! It feels huge when I run my tongue over it. I’m sure I can feel a dent in the top, like a volcano.
Lilibet was kind to me. ‘I wish I had the ulcer instead of you,’ she said.
‘I wish you did, too,’ I said, but then I felt mean.
It was such a beautiful, sunny day today. Our cousin Margaret Elphinstone has arrived. She’s a lot older than me. I think she’s about fourteen, so she’s nearer Lilibet’s age. But it doesn’t matter, because she plays just as much with me. She’s fun.
Crawfie drove us in the pony-cart to the village, and bought us some sweets. I love sweets. I usually finish them quickly. Lilibet doesn’t. Today I sucked instead of crunching, because of my little mouth ulcer. My sweets lasted much longer than usual! Some village children watched as we left the shop. I waved, and they gave tiny waves back. I suppose they can go to the village shop whenever they like, lucky things.
September 3rd
A really bad thing is happening. Our country is at war with Germany. Or should that be against Germany? Mummy and Papa are really upset. The news came over the wireless. Germany has invaded Poland, and bombed their biggest city, Warsaw.
Lilibet took me for a walk down to the stables, and told me not to worry. ‘Will they bomb London?’ I asked.
She put her arm round me. ‘You mustn’t be frightened, Margaret,’ she said. ‘We have a fine army protecting us. And our Royal Navy and Air Force.’ She smiled. ‘We’ll be well looked after.’
I thought about the guardsmen on duty outside our palace. They wouldn’t be much help against bombs.
‘Papa’s going to be very busy,’ said Lilibet, ‘so we must be good.’
After tea, cousin Margaret, Lilibet and I tried to imagine what the war will be like. I sort of pictured swords and armour, like King Arthur, but the others said I was silly.
‘In the Great War,’ Lilibet said, ‘thousands of young men died in trenches.’
‘I’ve seen pictures,’ said cousin Margaret. ‘It was horrendous. Thick mud and shooting and explosions. The men lived in damp clothes and they hardly ever had a bath. I heard their feet rotted because they were wet all the time.’
I hope it’s a very quick war. I hope none of our brave soldiers is killed.
September 4th
Papa made a speech on the wireless last night. He spoke well, though slowly. My poor papa does find it so hard to speak sometimes, and he has help for his important speeches from a man called Mr Logue. Papa has trouble getting certain words out. Not when he reads us stories, though! He reads almost perfectly, then, and he’s wizard at doing the voices.
After they played the national anthem, Lilibet asked, ‘Do you think people stand for the national anthem when they hear it on the wireless, as they do in theatres?’
I got the giggles. ‘Imagine people all over the country having dinner, and suddenly leaping to their feet! There’d be napkins and runner beans all over the floor!’
That earned me a stern look from Mummy. When I got a chance, I whispered to her that it was Lilibet who made me giggle.
My sister saw me. ‘What’s she saying, Mummy?’
Mummy waved a hand. ‘Nothing, darling. Just Margaret being Margaret.’
Crawfie told us thousands of children are being evacuated. They’re leaving London to live in the country. I’m sure they’ll love the countryside, especially the children who live in tiny houses in crowded streets. But I’m sad for them, because they’ll miss their parents. I know how bad that is, because Lilibet and I miss Mummy and Papa when they go away.
When I said I understood how the children felt, Lilibet said, ‘You think you understand, Margaret, but it’s so different for us. When Mummy and Papa go away, we still have Crawfie and Allah and a whole army of people looking after us. And we speak to Mummy and Papa every day, even when they’re abroad. Those children have gone to live with strangers, and many of them don’t have a telephone. Imagine that!’
I can’t imagine that. I do hope the children have a sister or brother, at least.
September 5th
We have blackout now. That means all the windows have thick black curtains over them, so no light shows through. Mummy said on the telephone that we must never open our curtains at night to peep out, if the lights are on. The reason for the blackout is so German pilots can’t see where the cities are.
I told Lilibet I thought it was a waste of time. ‘If I was a German pilot,’ I said, ‘I’d fly over during the day, when I could see everything.’
She laughed. ‘Then you’d be shot down,’ she said.
I don’t like the sound of this war business. I hate Mummy and Papa being away. I’m glad I have my sister. She’s sensible, and she always makes me feel better. Well, she tries to.
I thought cousin Margaret might want to go home, but she’s happy to stay. We’re going to play circuses tomorrow out in the field. Lilibet will be the ringmaster. She always is. I expect I’ll be the dear little naughty pony. Cousin Margaret says that suits me perfectly. What colossal cheek (as Papa would say)!
September 6th
Lilibet has been thinking about Prince Philip! I know she has, because she asked Papa on the phone today what would happen to all those fine cadets at Dartmouth, now we’re at war. She told me what he said.
‘All those who are trained will join the Royal Navy and be posted to ships.’
‘Will they fight?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ said Lilibet. ‘We must all defend our country.’
I don’t know how much defending two young princesses can do.
‘Our cousin Philip will go to sea,’ she said. ‘I shall write to him.’
Lilibet is very, very good about writing letters. I’m not so good. I mean to write, but there’s usually something more interesting to do, and I have to be nagged. Then when I do make an effort, I get told off for not writing more than I absolutely have to. That’s not fair. If I’m writing a thank-you letter, surely the most important bit is the thank-you. I can’t imagine our grandmother, Queen Mary, wanting to read a lot of chit-chat about what I had for tea. Mummy says that’s not the point, and Lilibet agrees. That’s hardly surprising, as Granny thinks I’m spoilt, but she’s always sweet to Lilibet, who is her pet.
I get annoyed when Lilibet sides with other people. Sisters should stick together.
Later
I was thinking about sisters sticking together. I used to think that Lilibet and I would always be together. But there will be a time when we can’t. One day, when we’re quite grown up, Lilibet will have to be queen. Her life will change, and she’ll rule the country and the Commonwealth, and be Empress of India. What will I be? I’ll just be Princess Margaret Rose. I’ll stay the same, for always. Unless I marry a king, of course. But I’m not doing that. It would mean living in another land, away from Mummy and Papa and Lilibet. Oh no.
But if I’m going to stay a princess, I shall make sure I can do all the things I want to when I grow up. I’ll go to theatres, and ballets, and balls and parties. I don’t want somebody else deciding what I do.
Poor Lilibet won’t be able to say, ‘I think I’ll go to the ballet this evening.’ All her outings will have to be planned, like Mummy’s and Papa’s are.
When I’m grown up, I’ll have my own apartment in the palace, so I can see Mummy and Papa every day, but if I want to go out I’ll just order the car and go. I won’t ask anybody.
When my sister is queen, I shall show her this diary – well, bits of it – and she’ll remember what it was like when we could play and have fun together.
October 1st
I was grumbling today because I had to wear a pink skirt and jacket which I don’t like, and Crawfie said I was selfish, and I should think of the poor evacuees. Som
e of them don’t even have pyjamas or a change of clothes, and the kind country people who look after them have to find things for them from somewhere. I would willingly let them have the pink skirt and jacket.
Lilibet had a letter from a London friend who’s gone to live at her family’s country house for the war. They have evacuees staying in cottages in their park.
‘What are the evacuees like?’ I asked.
‘Quite good fun, actually,’ said Lilibet. ‘But Susan says they’ve hardly ever seen proper fresh food before. She says they appear to live on fish and chips at home.’
There are fish-and-chip shops in London. I’ve seen people eating out of newspaper as we’ve driven past. It smells delicious!
October 13th
I can’t believe how long it is since I wrote in my diary. I’ve forgotten half of what we’ve been doing. Mummy and Papa come up to Birkhall to see us as often as possible. I told Crawfie and Lilibet that when they arrive tomorrow I’m going to beg them not to go back to London.
Crawfie took me to one side and said, ‘Their Majesties would much rather be here with you, dear, but they have their duty to do. The King must be close to his government, and he needs the Queen with him.’
Wartime Princess Page 2
