October 29th
The pantomime’s under way and some of the cast have been chosen. Lilibet and I will have the main parts, of course. (Crawfie said there’s no ‘of course’ about it, but that didn’t make any difference.)
Philip has been visiting our uncle and aunt at their home, Coppins, in Buckinghamshire. Uncle George and Aunt Marina have a boy called Edward, and a dear little girl called Alexandra. She’ll be five on Christmas Day, and she’s so sweet. Everybody loves her. Edward and Alexandra are our cousins, and I suppose they’re also Philip’s cousins, because he is cousin to Aunt Marina, who is a princess of Greece. We royal families are so complicated!
Papa just sent a message that we are to go to Buckingham Palace in a day or two. We haven’t been for ages. Lilibet’s excited, I can tell, and that’s not like her at all. She loves the country more than town. She’s always wanted a nice country house with lots of horses, dogs and children. Now she’s itching to get back to London.
‘The trees will be turning red, yellow and gold,’ she said. ‘London’s so beautiful at this time of year. It will be lovely to see it.’
I know what she’s hoping. And I hope we’ll see Philip, too.
Gosh! I think she’s already sorting out the things she’s taking with her!
November 3rd
Philip was a guest at lunch today. Goodness, that young man eats well! Perhaps the food on board ship isn’t very nice, so he’s making up for it. He entertained Papa with tales of life at sea afterwards. Of course, Papa knows all about that, because he’s been in the navy, too.
Afterwards, Lilibet, Philip and I went for a walk in the gardens. I don’t think Lilibet took much notice of the lovely autumn leaves!
As we sat by the lake, Philip said, ‘You’ll be queen, one day, Elizabeth. Do you have time to do the sort of things you like, or are you always studying and learning about what you’re going to have to do?’
‘I do have to study different things from Margaret,’ said Lilibet, ‘but I still have time to myself. And I learn an awful lot just by watching the King and Queen.’
Philip nodded. ‘Yes, they’re jolly good sorts, aren’t they?’
‘I’ll say!’ I said, flicking bits of twig into the water. ‘Britain’s very lucky to have them.’
‘And they’re very lucky to have Britain,’ said Lilibet.
I don’t know why, but when she says that sort of thing, I feel she’s putting me in my place. I told Crawfie that once, and she said, ‘No, dear, she’s not. Lilibet is simply extremely serious about these things.’
Duty again, I suppose.
Anyway, we had a smashing afternoon, and we’d all worked up a huge appetite by tea time!
Mummy told Philip about the pantomime we’re going to put on at Windsor. It’s to raise money, of course, but we’ll invite troops to watch, and Lilibet thinks they shouldn’t have to pay, as they’re giving so much to their country already. She said to Philip. ‘If you’re in England at Christmas time, perhaps you’d…’
‘Come and see the two jolliest girls in Windsor doing their stuff on the stage?’ he said, grinning. ‘If I could, I would.’
That wasn’t quite the answer Lilibet wanted, I could see, so I said, ‘Oh do! I’m Cinderella and Elizabeth is Prince Charming.’ Then I had a bright idea. ‘Philip,’ I said, ‘wouldn’t it be a good idea if you were to teach her how to be a charming prince?’
Everyone burst out laughing, which wasn’t what I’d expected. But I did see Lilibet turn bright pink. Serves her right for laughing at me.
December 5th
Things are getting dreadfully serious; the country must be short of soldiers. Women aged between twenty and thirty are being called up to serve in the war. They don’t have to be soldiers or sailors. They can join other things, like the fire brigade, or the police. And girls aged sixteen and over are having to register their names. I suppose that’s so the government will know when they’re twenty.
Golly, do they really think the war will last that long? How gloomy. And I feel even gloomier when I realise that my sister will be sixteen next birthday.
Oh, come on, Margaret! (That’s me giving myself a good shake.) They’d never put the future queen in the army, would they?
I’m off to rehearsal now. Look out, everyone, here comes Cinders!
December 6th
Rehearsal was such fun! We don’t have costumes yet, and that’s what makes it all so silly that we kept collapsing with laughter. Princess Elizabeth, in a sensible skirt and jumper and her comfy brown shoes, strutting about the stage pretending to be a prince! I love doing my part, sweeping and dusting, and crying when my ugly sisters are beastly to me.
We’re doing it in the huge Waterloo Chamber, which will soon have a stage. There’ll be wonderful costumes, but they’re being hired, so we haven’t seen them yet. I can’t wait. I adore dressing up.
Mr Tanner, the local schoolmaster, brings some of his schoolchildren, and they’ll all be in the pantomime with us. Most of them came today. They were terribly shy at first, and so were we. Well, I wasn’t actually, but Lilibet hung back, so I thought I should. Whenever we’re in public, it’s always useful to watch her to see what to do. She never does it wrong.
Mummy went to speak to the children, and Lilibet followed, so I did, too. Once they got used to us, and to being in the castle, we were soon all laughing and chatting. I loved being with them. Some of them asked me questions, and I asked them questions, too, about their school, and the games they play. They’ve learned all their lines, but so have we.
Papa refused to let us have one of the carriages indoors, but we’ve found a spiffing replacement to take me to the ball. It’s Queen Anne’s sedan chair! And we’re going to fill the empty picture frames with pantomime posters, to brighten the room. An evacuee called Claude is painting them on rolls of wallpaper. I can’t wait to see them!
December 9th
Nobody’s enthusiastic about rehearsals today, even though it’s not long till our first performance. Everybody’s glued to the news.
The American navy had a fleet of ships in a place called Pearl Harbor, in Hawaii, in the Pacific Ocean. Two days ago, over three hundred Japanese planes bombed and torpedoed the ships. ‘Sitting ducks, poor souls,’ is how one of the maids described it. Thousands of sailors were killed and over a thousand more wounded.
Just when I begin to feel there’s hope the war might end, this happens. It’s too awful. Lilibet said, ‘Imagine, Margaret, thousands of families are mourning their loved ones.’
And just before Christmas. It couldn’t be more beastly.
December 12th
One good thing (for us) has come out of the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Americans have joined the war – on our side, of course. We are allies.
December 15th
Our costumes are gorgeous! I have a powdered wig, except it’s not actually powdered – it just looks as if it is. My final dress is a perfectly beautiful embroidered gown with lace flounces on the sleeves, and pink roses, and I have pretend jewels and a fan.
Lilibet looks super. She has a satin jacket that comes to the top of her legs, and shiny breeches that just cover her knees. Then there are long, tight boots up to her knees.
We’re having a chorus of Grenadier Guards, and their bandsmen will be our orchestra. What fun to do things together! How talented we all are!
December 16th
The bright Lilibet smile looks as if it’s stuck on her face with spirit gum, because Philip is coming to the pantomime. He said that our invitation was a royal command, so he had no choice. I thought that was a bit insulting, but Lilibet said it was a joke.
‘He has such a jolly sense of humour, Margaret. You mustn’t be offended. He doesn’t mean to be rude; it’s just the way his jokes come out.’
‘He’d better be careful how he tells his jokes in front of the rest of the fa
mily,’ I said.
December 18th
I felt too sick to get up this morning, but I had to. Mummy said it’s nerves. It’s dress-rehearsal day, and lots of the household and some elderly people from the village are coming to watch.
‘Suppose I forget my lines?’ I groaned.
‘Don’t worry, Margaret,’ said Lilibet. ‘If you did, I’d whisper to you.’
‘What if you’re not on stage?’ I wailed.
‘Then I’ll hiss from behind the scenery,’ she said. ‘If you forget, move to the back, and I’ll be there.’
She will, too.
December 23rd
It’s all over. Lilibet and I feel so flat. We did all our performances, and I never once forgot my lines. Yippee! Oh, I should so love to be an actress when I grow up. Or a singer. Or even a concert pianist. No, maybe not that. I’d be wanting to burst into song!
Mummy and Papa said we were both amazingly good. And my sister is walking on air!
‘Guess what Philip said, Margaret,’ she whispered. ‘He said, “You were the finest Prince Charming I’ve ever seen, Lilibet, but far too pretty to play a boy.”’
I was surprised at that. Not that he thinks she’s pretty – she is. I was surprised that he calls her Lilibet. That boy does exactly as he pleases and I’m not sure I like it. He’s not family, after all. Well, not proper close family, like we four. But Lilibet doesn’t mind at all!
December 24th
Poor Papa must do his Christmas message on the wireless tomorrow. I know he gets terribly agitated, and worries that he’ll stammer. Mummy just says, ‘You’ll be fine, Bertie. Mr Logue has faith in you, and so have I.’
She’ll be right. She usually is. Papa’s going to talk about how the nation is one great family. That’s a lovely thing, isn’t it, to think of all of us as a family. I’m glad we don’t all live together, though.
January 10th 1942
It’s so cold that even my bath water didn’t seem particularly warm this morning. The bathroom was freezing, and when you only have five inches of water to sit in, it’s best to wash quickly and get dried as soon as possible. Papa had black lines painted around all the baths, so everyone knows how much five inches is.
February 11th
We had a long walk this morning. Wherever we go, there’s always a policeman not far away, watching over us. I’ve almost stopped looking for Nazi spies behind trees and walls. Almost, but not quite. Before the war we were perfectly safe wandering around the Home Park, or cycling, but we have to take more care these days.
The Great Park looks strange. Huge areas have been ploughed up for growing crops. It’s all to help the war effort.
‘Everyone seems to help the war effort except us,’ Lilibet grumbled. We’d just been chasing naughty Dookie, who’d run away, and we were wandering slowly back to Crawfie.
‘We do help,’ I said. ‘We collect tinfoil.’ Not that we come across much of that, but the kitchen and household staff collect for us. ‘We raise money for wool, and we knit things.’ Actually, knitting’s not my favourite activity. I’d much sooner give concerts and charge people to come and watch me!
‘As soon as I’m old enough,’ Lilibet said, ‘I’ll ask Papa to let me do real service. He will, I’m sure.’ She broke into a run. ‘Come on, dogs!’
I don’t think he’ll let her.
March 14th
Hooray! We’re starting up Guides and Brownies again, here at Windsor! We’ll have camps in the Home Park, and fires, and cook sausages, and go tracking in the woods. And OH! I am old enough to leave Brownies and become a Guide!
April 14th
It’s official. I’m now a Girl Guide, like Lilibet! We have a really nice company, with girls from the village, and some of the evacuees who were Guides in London. It’s going to be such fun, except for one thing. We’re not allowed to camp out overnight. I made a fuss about that, but Mummy just eyed me sternly and said, ‘Margaret! Air raids?’
‘Oh,’ I said. I hadn’t thought. Imagine being in a tent when the air-raid siren sounds.
Lilibet promised that we’ll still have camps and fires and we’ll cook and wash up, and we can still have tents. We just can’t be out after dark.
Mummy’s off on a trip tomorrow. She visits factories, and talks to the women workers, cheering them up and telling them what a good job they’re doing. I said to Lilibet, ‘Will you ask Papa if you can work in a factory?’
She said, ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll ask him if I can be a nurse, and go and work in the East End.’
‘Why not ask to be a Land Girl?’ I said. ‘Then you could work here at Windsor.’
‘I don’t think so.’
April 24th
My sister’s been made Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, and on her birthday she made her first inspection. She held her first royal audience the day before, when the Lieutenant Colonel of the Guards came to talk about the ceremony, and what would happen.
On the day, Lilibet looked smart and grown-up in her blue-grey suit (blue suits us both), with the gold regimental badge pinned to her hat. Before we got out of the car, she said, ‘Now, Margaret, when Papa salutes the officers, you must not salute.’
‘As if I would!’ I said.
‘You used to,’ she said. ‘It was so embarrassing.’
‘I was little then,’ I began, but Mummy put a finger to her lips, and whispered to me, ‘Lilibet’s nervous, so forgive her for being snappy.’
Lilibet might have been nervous, but no one would ever have known, because she looked so calm. It was funny to see my sister lead the inspection, with Mummy and Papa following, instead of the other way around. Me? Trailing along behind, of course. But I was so proud, because my sister did it beautifully.
It must be weird for the Guardsmen, having a sixteen-year-old girl walk up and down their lines, inspecting them. I wonder what she’d do if she found a bit of fluff on a sleeve, or something! She never would, I’m sure, because they spend hours making their uniforms perfect.
They wouldn’t think her so grand and ladylike if they could see her freewheeling down the hill on her bicycle with her legs stuck out, crying, ‘Wheee!’
I’m not sure I like Lilibet being grown up. She’s having her own suite of rooms, which means we won’t be together all the time. Even worse, she’s having ladies-in-waiting. It’s their job to go with her (instead of me) on official engagements.
And what about poor Princess Margaret? Everything’s still the same for me. I want to be grown up, too. I hate this boring war.
Later
At tea time, Lilibet spoke to Crawfie about what to wear tomorrow. ‘My Guide uniform, I think,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the labour exchange,’ she replied. ‘Now I’m sixteen I must register with the Ministry of Labour.’
I remembered about all sixteen-years-old girls having to do that so the government will know when it’s time for them to be called up for war work.
‘You needn’t do that,’ I said. ‘The government would be pretty stupid if they didn’t know you were here, wouldn’t they?’
They both laughed.
‘Margaret,’ said Crawfie, ‘you’ll never need to do war work. You do more than enough by keeping everyone cheerful.’
I suppose that was a compliment, but I hadn’t meant to be funny.
April 26th
Lilibet came back from the labour exchange, and before even bothering to get changed, she telephoned Papa and asked him about doing war work.
When she’d finished speaking, she passed the phone to me, and I had time for a cheery ‘hello’ and to tell Papa to come back to Windsor for a break from king-work. He said he’d try.
I suspected Lilibet was unhappy, so I went to find her. She was sitting on her bed, and I noticed a new photograph of Philip on her bedside table.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
She smiled, but it wasn’t a meaning sort of smile. It looked like it was an effort. ‘Yes, Margaret,’ she said. ‘I’m all right.’
I sat next to her and leaned on her, cuddling her arm. ‘Did Papa say no?’
‘He said a very definite no,’ said Lilibet. ‘He says I have my own duty to continue my training and education to be queen.’
‘Poor you,’ I said. ‘It’s no fun being a future queen, is it?’
She sighed and unbuckled her Guides belt. ‘It isn’t meant to be fun, Margaret.’
Then she swung round, gave me a huge hug, and said, ‘Thank heaven for sisters! Let’s ask for the ponies to be made ready.’
We had a lovely ride – as Lilibet said, to blow the cobwebs out of our hair.
May 3rd
We cycled slowly round the park this morning, looking at all the places where there used to be flower beds, and now there are vegetables. We even have American officers camped in the park. Mummy’s keen to welcome them, and she invites some of the officers to lunch occasionally, which is the most enormous fun. I’ve learned to speak with an American accent, which drives Mummy and Papa mad! This morning I came to breakfast and said to Lilibet, ‘Hi, honey! What’s cooking?’
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