As April 1941 dawned, King George II of the Hellenes had much to contemplate from his country home at Tatoi, some twenty miles outside Athens. Although Greek forces had successfully beaten off an invasion by Mussolini’s Italy from occupied Albania, in late October/November 1940, and had subsequently gained control of most of the northern Epirus, an even greater Axis power now posed a very real threat: Following Bulgaria’s signing of the Tripartite Pact on 1 March, German forces moved up to Bulgaria’s frontiers with Greece and Yugoslavia. On 6 April 1941, these troops invaded Greece from Bulgaria, both directly and via the south-eastern corner of Yugoslavia. Although the invaders initially met with stiff opposition from both Greek soldiers and a recently-arrived Allied expeditionary force (composed of British, Australian and New Zealand troops), by 18 April the Axis troops were marching towards Athens where the Prime Minister Alexandros Koryzis (who had only lately succeeded as premier following the death of General Ioannis Metaxas on 29 January), weighed-down by this recent turn of events, committed suicide. The King now assumed the Presidency of the Greek cabinet and, in a radio broadcast to his people, appealed to all Greeks to ‘remain united and steadfast’.
On 21 April, George II appointed Emmanouil Tsouderos, an Anglophile Cretan with links to the late Eleftherios Venizelos, as Prime Minister. Tsouderos was perhaps an apt choice as, on 22 April, to avoid capture by advancing Axis forces, Crown Princess Frederika and her children, Constantine and Sophia, flew in a Sunderland Flying Boat from the mainland to Crete. They were followed, next day (his name day) by King George, Crown Prince Paul, other royal family members and the government. Some have posited that the King appointed Tsouderos to act as his ‘protective shield’ for Crete was deemed to be a republican stronghold. On 27 April, German forces occupied Athens and Allied forces and Greek militia were evacuated to Crete.
Meanwhile, diplomatic circles in Germany let it be known that King George was ‘not recognised now as a representative of Greece. He is regarded as an ordinary fugitive.’ The Germans were now looking to work alongside the collaborationist ‘Hellenic State’ government of General Georgios Tsolakoglou, an avowed republican, who seemed more than happy to declare that his country was no longer a monarchy. President Roosevelt certainly disagreed with this view, for he arranged for his son, Captain James Roosevelt, a US air observer, to deliver a friendly note to the King in Crete praising the ‘magnificent fight the people of Greece are putting up’ and adding, ‘I wish you could get more help from us, and more quickly. I can only say I am using every effort.’
However, on 20 May, Crete was subjected to an airborne invasion by German paratroopers and mountain soldiers, who eventually wrestled control of defensive positions in the north, despite determined resistance on the part of the local populace, as well as Greek and Allied forces. Indeed, the King and Prince Peter narrowly escaped capture when the house they were inhabiting at Perivolia was attacked by a squadron of Messerschmitt planes. Later, large gliders landed nearby and German paratroopers engaged the Greek gendarmes and a platoon of New Zealand soldiers who were guarding His Majesty. Although King George avoided capture, he soon lost contact with his cabinet (and the Allied command) during a 72-hour dash over the mountains, with only a faithful squad of 16 New Zealand soldiers to protect him. Indeed, the second night of his adventure was spent at 8000 feet atop a snow-topped mountain range. On another occasion, the King sheltered in a cave alongside shepherds and ate mutton provided by them. The final day of this adventure was spent travelling knee-deep in water along a rocky river bed to evade detection.
The King was evacuated to Alexandria in Egypt from the southern Cretan port of Agia Roumeli, on 23 May, aboard the British destroyer, HMS Decoy. The government-in exile also joined King George there, but it was now much reduced in size, with the Prime Minister also assuming the portfolios of Foreign Minister and Finance Minister.
Although the Greek War Minister, Panagiotis Kanellopoulos, was to remain behind with evacuated Greek troops in Egypt, by early July, the King and his government had moved on to South Africa. There, His Majesty was greeted with all the ceremony and decorum due to a visiting Head of State at Pretoria Station: The King of South Africa’s personal representative, the Governor-General, Sir Patrick Duncan, introduced King George to the South African Prime Minister, General Jan Smuts while, in the background, a 21-gun salute rang out. The King was later feted by women from the Greek community, in national dress and carrying Greek flags, who strewed rose petals before him as he walked-by. However, although the King George did not remain long in the Union, a large swathe of the Greek royal family decided to take refuge there for the duration of the war. They included Crown Princess Frederika and her children, Princess Catherine, Prince George and his wife Marie Bonaparte, as well as their daughter Eugenie. Smuts had a particular soft spot for the Greek royals and soon took to referring to them as ‘my children’ regardless of their age and rank.
King George, meanwhile, was about to depart for London using a long, circuitous route, when Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, telegraphed him, on 20 July, to say: ‘I have been thinking a great deal about Your Majesty in these months of stress, danger and sorrow and I wish to tell you how much Your Majesty’s bearing amid these vicissitudes has been admired by your many friends in England, as well as by the nation at large.’
The Greek King arrived at the sea port of Liverpool, on 22 September, where he was greeted by the Duke of Gloucester and Lord Derby. He subsequently inspected a Naval Guard of Honour. The King then travelled southwards by train to London and received a right royal greeting at Euston Station from King George VI (‘Bertie’), Queen Elizabeth and his cousin, Marina, the Duchess of Kent. Winston Churchill also made an appearance and was seen to doff his top hat to the Hellenic monarch. The King of the Hellenes was accompanied by a party of forty, who included Crown Prince Paul, Princess Alexandra (the daughter of the late King Alexander of the Hellenes) and her mother Princess Aspasia. Prime Minister Tsoudoros and the government-in-exile were also much in evidence.
The Times, England’s establishment newspaper of choice, carried a positive article: ’London is proud to welcome King George, who is joining the honored band of national leaders who have fought and endured incredible personal hardships, but have never for a moment despaired of ultimate victory. He shared the dangers of the troops during the fighting in Crete which was a delaying action of the utmost value.’ For his part, King George II stated in a radio broadcast that ‘We have come here (to London) the better to direct the interest of the [Greek] nation, for here it is that, in common with our Allies, we shall take decisions regarding our participation in the war. This will be carried on until final victory is won.’
The writer of this blog, Robert Prentice, takes a keen interest in the fate of royalty during World War II. He is the author of the new biography Princess Olga of Yugoslavia Her Life and Times which inter alia relates the involved story of Olga’s wartime adventures in Africa. Available through Amazon and at other on-line and local bookshops.
As January 1941 dawned, Princess Olga of Yugoslavia was enjoying a visit from her sister Elizabeth and her family from Munich. There were also lots of official engagements to undertake including the distribution of coats, sweets and toys to underprivileged children in Belgrade (under the auspices of the ‘Winter Help” charity of which the Princess was patron) as well as a charity concert at the local Y.M.C.A. Much to Olga’s relief, a new Lady-in-Waiting, Madame Babic, had agreed to assist the Princess with her increasing round of duties and audiences.
However, always in the background was the deteriorating situation in the Balkans, and in particular, the expansionist desires of Mussolini. Italy occupied Albania in the spring of 1940, from there it led air attacks on Greece on 28 October. As a Greek, the Princess was encouraged by her homeland’s successes over the Italians during a counter-offensive which saw them penetrate deeply into Italian-held Albanian territory. The recent capture of the strategically vital Klisura Pass was particularly welcome. However, as the Consort of the Prince Regent (Paul) of Yugoslavia, Olga was increasingly anxious over her adopted country’s future. As Head of State of a neutral country, Prince Paul was having to balance an increasingly difficult tight-rope of not provoking the Germans (who had already ‘persuaded’ Yugoslavia’s neighbours of Hungary and Romania to join the Axis Tripartite Pact), while at the same time keeping relations with Britain and the Allied powers on an even keel. The Regent had little room for manoeuvre. Unlike her anxious husband, the Princess could at least relax by skating on an ice rink near her home, the magnificient neo-Palladian style Beli Dvor (White Palace) or take drives to nearby Avala. When all else failed, there were five dogs to be walked!
On 12 January the British MP, Henry ‘Chips’ Channon, arrived in Belgrade. He was an old friend of Prince Paul’s from Oxford University days and part of the Anglophile Prince and Princess’ social circle in London. However, this was no mere social visit but rather one for taking ‘soundings’, as his arrival coincided with the British Minister, Ronald Ian Campbell, informing Paul that Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, was intent on sending a mechanized force into Greece. Campbell also indicated that Yugoslavia’s current policy of neutrality was no longer enough, for Churchill now wanted the Slavs to join the war on the Allied side and assist British, Greek and Turkish troops in the southern Balkan peninsula (often referred to as ‘ forming a United Balkan Front’). The Prince told the American Minister, Arthur Lane, that he simply could not agree to this as Yugoslavia would be overrun in a matter of weeks by militarily superior Axis forces. Such an action might also precipitate a civil war in this ethnically diverse country.
Meanwhile, Olga ploughed on with a batch of official audiences in what she descibes as ‘anxious days’. A visiting Greek diplomat came to lunch, on 16 January, and this provided the Princess and her sister Elizabeth with the ideal opportunity to catch up on fresh news from Athens. Olga also found time to give Chips Channon a tour of the royal air raid shelter. When he departed for Athens, on 20 January, carrying a large pile of Christmas cards and presents from the Princess to her Greek relatives, Channon was in tears as he truly feared for the future wellbeing of the Regent and his wife. Bidding her Bavarian-based sister Elizabeth farewell, on 26 January, was also a heartrending ordeal for Olga, as neither of them could be sure when they might see each other again. At least the Princess had all her children for company, as Nicholas and Alexander had not returned to their boarding schools in England following the summer 1940 recess. They were currently attending the Second Gymnasium School in Belgrade. King Peter was also close to his ‘Aunt’ Olga. He was due take over full powers as Head of State from the Regency Council on reaching his majority (at the age of 18) in September.
But as I will reveal in a later instalment, things were to take a different course……
A new biography Princess Olga of Yugoslavia: Her Life and Times by Robert Prentice was published on 1 April 2021 by Grosvenor House Publishing. This is now available to purchase on Amazon in hardback.
In February, 1940 the King’s representative in Canada, Lord Tweedsmuir, died suddenly following surgery. This left the post of Governor-General vacant at a particularly important time, for German military successes in Europe now required the strengthening of relationships between the United Kingdom and the Dominions, each of whom would provide military and non-military assistance to the ‘mother’ country. King George VI decided to appoint his Uncle Alge, the sixty-five-year-old Earl of Athlone to the post. The official announcement was made from Buckingham Palace on 3 April. The appointment was a God-send to the Earl (a younger brother of Queen Mary), who although too old for active military service, was anxious to be of use in the war effort.
There was no one more surprised at this sudden turn of events than Lord Athlone’s wife, the fifty-seven year-old Princess Alice. She was the spirited daughter of Queen Victoria’s youngest son, Leopold, Duke of Albany. Given Lord Athlone’s age, she had probably envisaged seeing out the war undertaking a series of minor official engagements or providing succour to evacuees from London’s East End who were currently quartered at the family’s country home, Brantridge Park, in rural Sussex. Alice was kind, candid, enthusiastic and fun; she was also often praised for her ‘band box’ elegance.
Yet, the King had actually made a wise choice for Alge and Alice were already well-versed in the nuances of Vice-Regal life: The Earl of Athlone had served as Governor-General of the Union of South Africa from 1924-1931 at a time when Afrikaner nationalism was on the ascendency, leading to tensions with those of British descent. Although Princess Alice had left the politics largely to her husband, she had proved to be an indefatigable hostess at the Government Houses of Pretoria and Cape Town, as well as forging strong links with both the ‘pro-British’ politician Jan Smuts and the Nationalist Afrikanner leader and Prime Minister, General James Hertzog. When not occupied entertaining official guests and politicians, the down-to-earth Princess could be found visiting Girl Guide groups, presiding over Rose Day festivities in Johannesburg or fund-raising for the King Edward VII District Nursing Association.
Although Canada differed enormously from its fellow Dominion in the south, the two countries shared a deep political and cultural divide. Whereas in South Africa these divisions had been between the more reactionary, republican Afrikaans-speaking people of mainly Dutch descent and the liberal-leaning (and monarchist) English-speaking population, in Canada the disconnect was between the principally royalist English-speakers of English and Scottish descent (who formed a majority in most areas of Canada) and their French-speaking counterparts (who were dominant only in the province of Quebec). It would be fair to say that the latter viewed the Crown (of whom Lord Athlone was now the official representative) with indifference at best, and sometimes open hostility.
After zig-zagging their way across the Atlantic to avoid enemy U-boats, on 21 June, the Vice-Regal couple steamed into Ottawa’s Union Station where they were greeted by the Administrator (Sir Lyman Duff) and the Prime Minister, Mr Mackenzie King. The Earl of Athlone and Princess Alice then processed to the imposing Parliament Buildings where the Earl immediately took the Oath of Office as sixteenth Governor-General in the Senate chamber. From there, the couple travelled to their official residence, Rideau Hall. Princess Alice quickly made a tour of this 175-room edifice, which she found to be an unsatisfactory hotchpotch of rooms in varying architectural styles, for the building had been much extended over the years. Nonetheless, within weeks, the highly-organised Alice had rearranged much of the furniture in the public rooms and mastered every detail of the domestic side of life at the Hall, some say down to the point of knowing the exact number of dusters in the housemaid’s cupboard.
Meanwhile, Canadian newspaper readers were instructed on how to address the Princess and the Earl of Athlone. Although her husband was “His Excellency”, she must always be addressed as “Her Royal Highness” and NEVER as “Her Excellency”. When addressed as a couple, they were not to be referred to as “Their Excellences” but as “His Excellency and Her Royal Highness.” It must be hoped that those meeting the duo, in July 1940, when they travelled to Ottawa’s Rockcliffe Airport to officially receive a bomber aeroplane on behalf of the Royal Canadian Air Force (donated by the Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire) had done their homework! A fact not often picked up on at the time was that the Princess had strong links with Canada dating back to the late 18th century. Her Great-Grandfather, Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent and Strathearn, fourth son of King George III and father of Queen Victoria, had lived at Montmorency Falls outside Quebec and at Halifax, Nova Scotia. A military man, he rose to the rank of Commander-in-Chief of British Forces in North America.
Again leaving the political side of matters to her husband and his Private Secretary, Sir (Arthur) Shuldham Redfern, the Princess first focused on welcoming various relations who sought refuge at Rideau Hall. These included her daughter, Lady May Abel Smith (whose husband Henry was currently serving in Palestine) and her three children Anne, Richard and Elizabeth. Also arriving in Ottawa was Princess Juliana of the Netherlands and her daughters Beatrix and Irene. Juliana was the daughter of Princess Alice’s first cousin Queen Wilhelmina. Although the Abel Smith family would remain at Rideau Hall for several years, the Dutch royals soon relocated to a charming house in nearby Rockcliffe Park.
In October the Earl and Princess Alice spent the weekend at the country home of President Roosevelt at Hyde Park on the Hudson River. The Princess was much taken with Eleanor Roosevelt, especially her energy and positivity. Although Lord Athlone had to rush back to Ottawa, Alice then took the opportunity to visit New York where she visited the British Pavilion at the World’s Fair. The Vice-Regal couple later paid a visit to Montreal, where Lord Athlone received an Honorary degree from McGill University. As both the Princess and her husband spoke excellent French, they were able to converse quite freely with the Québécois.
With the approach of her first Canadian Christmas in Ottawa, Princess Alice pulled out all the stops to make it a festive occasion. In addition to her own daughter and grandchildren, she also invited, as guests, Juliana and her daughters, as well as the Canadian Prime Minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King, who was a bachelor. Not only was this a thoughtful gesture, it was also a prudent one. ‘WLMK’ as many called him, could be prickly and was often difficult to get along with on official matters. Some say he even resented the presence of the Athlone’s, feeling that he played second fiddle to them. In a sense this was true, as technically they had precedence over him. This was perhaps Alice’s tactful way of smoothing his sometimes ruffled feathers. Sadly, all of the Princess’ Christmas presents and cards to family and friends in England went to the bottom of the sea, when the ship carrying them there (the Western Prince) was sunk by a German U-boat.
Canada, of course, was a huge country and tremendous distances would require to be covered. Each individual province was more akin to the size of one of the larger countries in Europe. Fortunately, the Vice-Regal couple were given the use of carriages from the Royal Train which had transported the King and Queen during their tour of Canada in 1939. Thus, as winter turned to spring, the Athlones set out on a tour of the western provinces, travelling as far west as Victoria on Vancouver Island. On the way out, they made stopovers in Winnipeg and Edmonton to visit air force training units and those involved in war charity work; while the return journey saw them visit Calgary (where they inspected members of the Royal Canadian Volunteer Reserve) and Regina (to attend a patriotic display by 12,000 schoolchildren).
In June 1941, it was the turn of the east of Canada, with a visit to Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. Alice was particularly taken by the Province House in Halifax, the home of the oldest legislature in Canada, and she also joined her husband on a visit to the naval dockyard to inspect a group of navy ratings, stepping gingerly along muddy paths in her best finery. However, when the occasion required it, she happily wore uniform. There was quite a selection as Alice was, inter alia, Honorary Commandant of the Women’s Royal Canadian Naval Service, Honorary Air Commandant of the Royal Canadian Air Force (Women’s Division) and President of the Nursing Division of the St. John Ambulance Brigade.
In late July, Alice’s nephew, Prince George, the Duke of Kent paid a visit to Canada to inspect the operations of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan and other matters relating to the war effort. He stayed at Rideau Hall and brought the Princess up-to-date with news from England. Not welcome were the Duke and Duchess of Windsor who were travelling to their ranch in Pekisko, Alberta. Alice commented tartly that ‘there was much feeling against’ the Duchess in Canada and must have been glad that the couple tactfully avoided Ottawa. Other royal visitors included the widowed (and somewhat other-worldly) Empress Zita of Austria, who always dressed in black, and Queen Wilhelmina, who visited in 1942 and 1943, and kept the staff at Rideau Hall on their toes by alternating between insisting on ‘giving no trouble’ but then suddenly becoming imperious if her royal wishes were thwarted in any way.
With the first year under their belt, Princess Alice and her husband carried on with the ‘official round’ in a similar fashion throughout the rest of the war, with visits stretching from Newfoundland in the east to British Columbia in the west; from the Great Lakes of the south to the Yukon Territory in the north. On one occasion, they paid a call on the native Ojibwe tribe. The Earl was created ‘Chief Rainbow’, while Alice was presented with an indigenous woman’s head-dress. The duo also visited Alaska at the invitation of President Roosevelt to view American tanks and aircraft being ferried across the Bering Straits to the Soviet allies. Back in Canada, endless factories and munition works were inspected, along with hospitals and military establishments. Also part of the annual Vice-Regal schedule were levees and official dinners at Rideau Hall, as well as the State Opening of Parliament. If Alice was required to make a speech, she invariably wrote it herself.
Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone with Roosevelt and Churchill at the Quebec Conference.
Each July, the Princess and her husband would escape the heat of Ottawa for the cooler climes of Quebec City and their other official residence, La Citadelle, with its wonderful views over the St Lawrence River. This residence was also the location for the famous Quebec Conferences, held in August 1943 and September 1944 (to discuss strategies for the invasion of France and the subsequent advance on Germany). Although the Vice-Regal couple were happy to act as hosts to Winston Churchill, President Roosevelt and Mackenzie King, apart from posing for official photographs and attending some official dinners, they otherwise tried to remain firmly in the background.
However, there was also still time for fun. In the winter the couple would skate on an ersatz ice rink at Rideau Hall (formed by simply flooding the tennis court) or go tobogganing in the nearby Gatineau Hills. Alice and her husband also regularly spent time at a fishing lodge at Kamloops in British Columbia; while another favourite destination was the Jasper National Park where they lived unobtrusively on board their private railway carriage which was shunted into a siding.
The Athlone’s were as delighted and relieved as anyone else when peace came. One of their final “big” engagements was their attendance at the Victory Ball at the Windsor Hotel in Montreal organised by the St Andrew’s Society. According to the Montreal Gazette of 1 December 1945, 2,200 ‘debs and guests’ attended, this ‘shattered all previous attendance records.’ An Eightsome reel was danced by officers of the Black Watch Royal Highland Regiment of Canada and their partners. The Vice-Regal couple diplomatically departed at midnight to allow the guests to let their hair down into the wee sma’ hours!
Princess Alice and the Earl of Athlone departed Ottawa in March 1946. The final period of their Vice-Regal term was mercifully busy with a ball at Rideau Hall in honour of General Dwight Eisenhower and a stream of farewell dinners. It is typical of Alice that instead of accepting the traditional gift to the wife of a departing Governor-General of jewellery or a warm fur coat, instead asked that a Fund be established to support the young people of the Dominion. Furthermore, in a final speech as Honorary President of the Imperial Order Daughters of Empire, she emphasised the need for the citizens of Canada to adopt a national outlook, rather than one focused on the needs of the individual provinces.
There is an interesting footnote: When Her Royal Highness addressed the Canadian Women’s Club in London in December 1946 (she had just succeeded Lady Bessborough as President), she lambasted the British press, ‘ So little has been said about Canada’s [war] effort that I am glad to take this opportunity of blowing our own trumpet for a change…. Literally the whole population [of Canada] seemed inspired to spend themselves for the war effort.’ Her comments were carried in the Canadian Press throughout the Dominion.
The author of this blog takes a keen interest on the fate of royalty during World War II, as well as of the descendants of King Christian IX of Denmark.
Following the Allied victory in North Africa in May 1943, Britain’s King George VI was to pay a morale-boosting visit to British military forces stationed there. However, His Majesty was also desirous of making a visit to the island of Malta, from where British air and sea forces had mounted successful attacks on enemy ships transporting vital supplies and Axis troop reinforcements from Europe to North Africa. Yet, it was not just this strategic role that had brought Malta to the King’s attention; he had also been most impressed by the gallantry of the military, as well as the courage and sufferings of the local population throughout a sustained bombing campaign by the German and Italian air forces, the aim of which had been to bomb or starve the island into submission. Indeed, His Majesty had already acknowledged the ‘Island Fortress’ of Malta’s role, in April 1942, by awarding it his own decoration, the George Cross, ‘to honour her brave people…..[and] to bear witness to a heroism and devotion that will long be famous in history.’ The locals were proud of this touching act and soon took to referring to Malta as the ‘King’s Island.’
The King’s highly secret visit to North Africa and Malta, (known as ‘ Operation Loader’) commenced on the morning of Saturday, 12 June, when His Majesty (travelling as ‘General Lyon’) landed in a York Transport Aircraft in Algeria. That evening, over dinner in a villa in Algiers, the King broached the subject of his visit to Malta (which although already agreed to in principle by Churchill still required to be signed off locally for reasons of safety and security) with Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham, the Naval Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean, who was impressed by the strength of George VI’s arguments and needed little further persuasion. For good measure, the determined monarch also discussed the matter with Air Marshal Arthur Tedder, who informed his boss in London that ‘the King insists on going to Malta’.
Thus, at 8.15 am on a sunny Sunday June morning, King George VI, dressed in naval whites, hand at the salute, stood on a specially-constructed platform atop a turret of the heavily camouflaged British Royal Navy frigate, HMS Aurora (under the command of Commodore W. G. Agnew and flying the Royal Standard) as it entered Valetta’s Grand Harbour, having sailed the 200 miles overnight from Tripoli, escorted by the destroyers Eskimo, Jervis, Nubian and Lookout. The King’s visit had been kept so secret that local officials had not learned of it until three hours beforehand, for it must be remembered that there were enemy air bases situated a mere 60 miles away in Italy. Nevertheless, all the local vantage points were filled with cheering loyal Maltese civilians and British servicemen. When His Majesty landed by the Customs House, at 9.30am, the bells of local churches filled the air. The King later described this as ‘a very moving moment for me.’
George VI’s first port of call, in his open-topped car, was the Palace where he held a Council and presented John Gort, the Governor, with a Field Marshal’s baton. He also inspected the George Cross awarded to the island. The King then proceeded onto the Palace balcony and received a rousing ovation from the populace in the square below. Thereafter, His Majesty travelled to the Naval Dockyard. As most of the structures above ground had been decimated in the bombings, the King was shown over the underground workshops by Rear-Admiral Mackenzie. These were housed in a complex of tunnels, many of which had been excavated by hand.
His Majesty subsequently journeyed to the nearby area of Senglea which in truth, like the dockyard was, he later noted, but a ‘mere shell.’ Accompanied by Canon Emmanuel Brincat, the Archpriest of Senglea, he walked through the narrow streets, including the aptly-named Victory Street, and saw first-hand the ruined houses which had once provided shelter to the local inhabitants who, nonethless, turned out in droves to greet their Sovereign with flags and banners and confettti.
The King later travelled to the Verdala Palace, the current residence of the Governor, to partake of lunch, enjoy a brief rest and greet a party of 20 staff officers. George VI, accompanied by Gort, then visited Mosta, which had suffered heavy attacks as it was in the vicinity of Ta Qali Aerodrome. It was during his afternoon tour of the military aerodromes that the King knighted the New Zealander, Air Marshal Keith Park, who had overseen the air defence of the island. As the King’s car passed through local villages en route, flowers were thrown into the vehicle and although His Majesty was touched by the gesture, the fastidious monarch subsequently observed that this had been ‘detrimental to my white uniform.’
After dining with the Governor, the King embarked HMS Aurora which set sail at 10 p.m. for the return passage to Tripoli. It is worth noting that George VI’s visit was the first time a Sovereign had landed in Malta since 1911 and, as he reflected on it, His Majesty noted that it had been ‘a very strenuous day but a very interesting one to have spent.’ To Queen Mary, he described it as ‘The real gem of my tour.’
Today the Maltese still celebrate St George’s Day with parades through the streets. The links with the Crown remained strong as the future Queen Elizabeth II (when still The Princess Elizabeth, Duchess of Edinburgh) spent a considerable amount of time here when her husband was stationed on the island.
As the rumours of war intensified in the first days of September, 1939, Queen Mary was holidaying at the royal family’s Norfolk estate at Sandringham, close to the ancient market town of King’s Lynn. On the morning that war with Germany was declared, 3 September, the Queen was listening to a radio broadcast by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, on the vicar’s radio in her stall at the small estate church of St Mary Magdalene. Soon thereafter, the local parishioners were temporarily diverted from their devotions by the drone of the local air raid siren. This was a false alarm, being merely a test of the system. Presumably, the Queen Dowager spent the rest of what remained of that first Sunday of wartime in a state of nervous anticipation.
In the early hours of 4 September, Queen Mary was roused from her sleep by another ‘alarm.’ She and her detective Green and her grandchildren Prince Edward and Princess Alexandra of Kent (the children of Prince George, the Duke of Kent and his wife Marina, who were temporarily under her care) all rushed to the basement, where they sat stoically until the ‘all clear’ was sounded at 3.30 am. Although Mary returned to her bed, she remained wide-awake till morning.
Indeed, by 10am the Queen Dowager and her large entourage of staff had already packed their cases and departed ‘the Big House’, under a pre-arranged plan, for an even grander edifice, Badminton House, in rural Gloucestershire. This was the home of the Duke of Beaufort (‘Master’) and his wife, Mary, who was a niece of Queen Mary. As the Duke had already joined his Regiment, it was Mary Beaufort who was faced with the daunting prospect of greeting her royal aunt and her staff of around fifty, along with seventy pieces of the Queen’s luggage.
Queen Mary-who had lunched en route at the Northamptonshire home of Lord and Lady Spencer at Althorp-quickly selected a first-floor bedroom, with a splendid view over across the park, together with an adjacent sitting room and bathroom. For her private dining room, she made use of the so-called Oak Room, the main feature of which was its dark, heavy Jacobean panelling. Yet, even this generous accommodation was deemed insufficient, so she commandeered a large dining-room to serve as a formal drawing room for receiving important guests. To protect her royal personage, four despatch riders were on constant call to lead the way to safety in case of a sudden attack or a German invasion. They were augmented by 120 men of the local Gloucestershire Regiment who were quartered in the old stables. Of course, Inspector George Gardner, the Queen’s personal police protection officer, was also on hand.
It must be said that the Queen Dowager never wanted to go to the country. She would far preferred to have remained at Marlborough House, but the King persuaded his mother that if she were to remain in London, he would be constantly fretting over her wellbeing. To combat her initial restlessness and feelings of uselessness, ‘Bertie’ ensured that Mary should receive regular news summaries from the Foreign Office. These were sent down by motorbike courier in official red leather dispatch boxes. Another weapon to combat country boredom was Queen Mary’s weekly train visits up to London, during which she sometimes lunched with the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace and visited her favourite shops. Filled with purpose, the Dowager was up with the lark to catch the 8.28 train from nearby Chippenham. The journey took two hours. Her only complaint was that the blackout requirements, on the evening return trip, hampered her ability to read.
Looking out of her bedroom window one day, Queen Mary espied a whole wall of the house covered in ivy ‘of 50 years standing.’ She had always hated the plant with a vengeance, believing that it was destructive to a building’s stone work. Some of the park’s trees were also covered in the dastardly plant. Soon, her Equerry, Sir John Coke, was pressed into joining his mistress for a morning of clearing ivy. This ‘Ivy Squad’ was eventually augmented by the enrolment of Her Majesty’s duty Lady-in-Waiting and Private Secretary, aided by any visiting guests. Given the old Queen’s zeal, it is not surprising that Badminton’s considerable stock of Ivy was quickly exhausted.
Undeterred, by the autumn of 1940, Queen Mary turned her attention, most afternoons, to the clearance of areas of the local woodlands. A ‘Wooding Squad’ was established, mainly composed of the four dispatch riders and their royal charge. As Mary now rarely went to London due to the German bombing campaign or ‘Blitz’ (during which most of Marlborough House’s windows were blown-out, as were many of the interior doors), this diversion proved particularly welcome. The Queen was a thoughtful ‘employer’ and happily passed round cigarettes to her workers during their breaktime from chopping and sawing, always ensuring, of course, to have one herself. Mary also took great pains to find out the birthdays of her ‘wooders’, so that she could give them a small gift.
However, the Dowager Queen’s efforts at undertaking a salvage campaign to collect scrap iron for the war effort proved less successful. Her enthusiasm often led her into ‘salvaging’ the local farmers’ perfectly serviceable field implements which had to be discreetly returned to them at a later date. Yet, her dedication to the task is evidence that her patriotic heart was in the right place. Mary’s patriotism was also apparent in her insistence on obeying the strict rationing rules. Many was the evening that a dinner guest left her table hungry after consuming only half a snipe. By contrast, the Queen loved to fill her rooms with exuberant displays of geraniums and orchids, the latter often sourced (doubtless at great expense) from neighbouring nursery gardens.
Another outlet for Queen Mary’s talents was to undertake a varied array of official engagements in the locality, be it visiting a munitions factory or a hospital or a woollen mill or a group of evacuees from London. Although Her Majesty’s movements were meant to shrouded in secrecy, on a visit to a spitfire production factory at Trowbridge, one of the workers let the secret slip, so a group of children were there to greet her as she alighted from her old green Daimler saloon ‘prim as always’ with her trademark rolled-up umbrella in one hand. Sometimes, on her outings, Mary would come across members of the military plodding along the road and she soon took to offering them lifts. Many were unaware of who this kind and inquisitive old lady was, particularly in the case of foreign combatants.
For relaxation the Queen Dowager often visited antique shops in nearby Bath. She also enjoyed embroidery (or ‘stitchery’ as she sometimes referred to it). Mary would also visit local gardens and if it happened to be raining, she would don a pair of short rubber boots and prod tentatively at the flower beds with her stick or umbrella. Family members often visited, particularly her youngest son, the Duke of Kent, and his sister Mary, the Princess Royal. The Duke’s death in an air accident in northern Scotland, in August, 1942 was a severe shock. However, Mary stoically put her own feelings aside and arranged to motor to Buckinghamshire next day, to comfort his widow, Marina. The only night the Queen Dowager spent away from Badminton during the entire war period, was at Windsor Castle on the eve of the Duke’s funeral on 29 August.
On occasion, Badminton was subjected to air raids due to its proximity to Bristol and Bath. Queen Mary initially ‘descended’ to a reinforced room on the ground floor where, dressed to perfection and sitting bolt upright, she would attempt to solve a crossword puzzle. Eventually, she decided to remain upstairs in bed and take her chances. However, Mary was less sanguine when it came to the bombing of her beloved Marlborough House noting, ‘The dear old House cannot stand much more of this, & I tremble each day for news of it’s having succumbed.’
By early 1945, the old Queen had resumed her journeys up to London. Their primary purpose was so that she could assess the extent of the damage to Marlborough House, with a view to preparing the place for her eventual return. From the outset, it became clear that only her private suite of rooms could be made habitable in time for her return home, as materials to undertake repairs were almost impossible to obtain.
After celebrating VE day (8 May) with a visit to the local pub (where the villagers were celebrating with a sing-song), Queen Mary departed Badminton on 11 June. She insisted on personally bidding farewell to the Heads of each of the nine ‘departments’ of the estate and presented a gift to each. It was an emotional occasion and with tears streaming down her face, the Dowager acknowledged to Mr Perks, the Head Gardener, ‘Oh, I have been happy here! Here I’ve been anybody to everybody, and back in London I shall have to begin being Queen Mary all over again.’ She also admitted to having ‘gained much’ from her time there, which is an understatement given that, prior to moving to Badminton, she had not even known what hay looked like.
The writer of this blog is the author of a new biography: Princess Olga of Yugoslavia Her Life and Times published by Grosvenor House Publishing and available as a hardback from Amazon and other on-line booksellers and local bookshops.
In May 1946, a tall, aristocratic lady spent the day helping the homeless in Cassino. However, when a helper referred to her as ‘Your Majesty’, the individual suddenly realised that she had become Queen of Italy. The lady in question was Marie-José, the daughter of the late King Albert I of the Belgians and his wife Queen Elisabeth. Yet, how had this situation come to pass?
Princess Marie-José was born in Ostend in August 1906. She was the youngest child of King Albert I of the Belgians and his consort, Duchess Elisabeth in Bavaria. Through the latter, she was a grandniece of the iconic Empress Elisabeth of Austria (‘Sisi’). The Princess was raised initially at the Chateau of Laeken in Brussels, with a country home at Ciergnon. As the battles of World War I were fought in mainland Europe, many of her primary school years in England where she attended school at the Ursuline Convent High School in Brentwood, Essex. A particular influence was Miss Hammersley, a genteel Englishwoman who fussed over her charge. In 1917, Miss Hammersley would accompany Marie-José to Italy where the Princess attended the Istituto Statale della Santissima Annunziata in Florence. Classes were traditionally taught here in Italian, English and German. With the coming of peace, Princess Marie-José would return to Brussels where, in 1919, she enrolled at the Sacre Coeur Institute at Linthout under the guidance of the Mother Superior Jacquemin. She would remain there until the age of eighteen and receive a good and sound Catholic education.
Marie-José as a child in Belgium.
A visitor to the port of Antwerp in Belgium in the the autumn of 1922 was Umberto, the Prince of Piedmont and heir to the throne of Italy. He arrived in Antwerp aboard the ship Ferruccio to officially represent Italy at the opening of a new canal. He was received by Marie-José and her brothers. The Princess was subsequently shown over the ship by Umberto (whom she had met several years earlier while in Italy) and was impressed by his tanned appearance, jet black hair and dapper white military uniform. It was a brief meeting, during which the Prince of Piedmont’s visits to Rhodes, Benghazi and Tripoli were discussed. There must have been a sufficient spark between them, for the following September, the Belgian Royal Family were invited for a month-long visit to Racconigi Castle near Turin. Although military and official duties meant that Umberto only made one brief appearance, it gave Marie-José a flavour of what life was like in the House of Savoy. This visit must also have proved to be successful as the following year, Umberto’s mother, Queen Elena wrote to tell a friend in Belgium that she continued to hope for a union between her son and Princess Marie-José.
Marie-José prior to her marriage.
Thus it was, in January 1930, following a long romance, the Princess married Umberto in the historic Paolina Chapel of Rome’s Quirinal Palace. Initially, Marie-José and Umberto lived in the Royal Palace in Turin. However, unlike her more deferential husband (who always referred to his father, King Victor Emanuele, as ‘Majesty’) the Belgian Princess was much more of a free spirit. She preferred organising musical evenings and working with the Red Cross to observing strict court etiquette. From the outset, Marie-José was also passionate about studying the history of the House of Savoy, into which she had married.
However, a move to Naples, in November 1931 (where Umberto had been appointed Commandant of the 25th Infantry), was to prove fortuitous. The couple could escape the confines of the city’s Royal Palace for relaxing weekends at the Villa Rosebery in the seaside suburb of Posillipo. Marie-José also felt more emancipated among the happy and relaxed Neapolitans: She played tennis thrice-weekly at the Villa Communale and established a Public Refectory to feed the poor of the city. Fulfilled and in love, she later described this era as ‘the best times in our marriage.’ The culmination of her joy was the birth of a beloved daughter, Maria Pia, on 24 September, 1934.
The marriage of the Prince and Princess of Piedmont in Rome, 1930
Yet, this was also a difficult period. Marie-José’s father, King Albert, died in a climbing accident during her pregnancy and she was advised not to travel to Belgium for the funeral. Then, in August 1935, her beloved Swedish sister-in-law, Queen Astrid, was killed in a horrific car accident in Switzerland. Always in the background too were the troubling machinations of Mussolini’s right-wing government, or more particularly his invasion of Ethiopia in October 1935. While the Princess had grave reservations over Il Duce’s actions and policies, she coped by trying to be of practical use. Marie-José trained as a nurse and undertook a course in tropical medicine. Her hospital work would soon earn her the title, ‘Sister Marie-José.’ During a tour of Italian troops in Africa in 1936, the Princess was troubled by the poor facilities and low morale of the troops. She was incensed too by Mussolini’s propaganda machine, which described her as the ‘Empress of Ethiopia.’
With the passage of time, Marie-José bemoaned Il Duce’s increasing closeness to Hitler. This would eventually result in a confrontation, when the Princess decided that the proceeds of her Neapolitan fund-raising concerts should be donated to her ‘Princess of Piedmont Work Fund’ rather than the Fascist’s ‘National Work Fund.’ A major beneficiary of her Fund’s largesse was the National Association for Southern Italy which was overseen by the eminent archaeologist and anti-Fascist, Umberto Bianco. The Fascist regime in Rome was furious. Nor were they enamoured with Marie-José’s association with ‘liberals’ such as the Archbishop of Naples, Cardinal Alessio Ascaresi and the philosopher Benedetto Croce, whose home was raided by Fascist troopers.
In February, 1937, the Princess of Piedmont gave birth to a son, Vittorio Emanuele. She was not best pleased to learn that the Fascist Grand Council had the power to deliberate on the suitability of an Heir to reign and confronted Mussolini over the matter. He was unnerved by her direct approach, so different from that of her father-in-law, the King, whom Marie-José felt was complacent in his dealings with the Fascists. ‘A monarch’ Marie-José chided her husband Umberto, ‘should be there for all his people.’ A meeting with Hitler in Naples did little to dissuade her from her ‘democratic’ outlook. Indeed, in September 1938, the Princess met with the First World War hero, Marshal Pietro Badoglio at Racconigi Castle to discuss a plan to remove Mussolini and persuade the ‘discredited’ King Victor Emanuele to abdicate, thus paving the way for an anti-Fascist government. However, the Munich Agreement of 29 September short-circuited this attempt.
Marie-José in Red Cross Uniform.
When Italy declared war on Great Britain and France, in June 1940, Marie-José informed a lady-in-waiting that the monarchy in Italy was ‘finished.’ She was already reeling from news of the invasion of her homeland of Belgium by Nazi forces on 10 May. Indeed, the Princess had been ‘tipped-off’ about Germany’s intentions by a sympathetic Pope Pius on 6 May. However, Marie-José’s attempts to alert the Belgian government were thwarted by the Belgian Ambassador in Rome who dismissed the warning as an ‘enemy rumour.’
No matter what her personal feelings were, the Princess now focused on helping those in need. Following the birth of her third child, Maria Gabriella, she spent the summer of 1940, working with the Red Cross on the Western Front and even organised a hospital train to transport the wounded from the Front. In September, Marie-José paid a visit to Brussels for discussions with her brother, King Leopold III, who had decided to see-out the German occupation with his people. He asked his beloved sister to meet with Hitler to request the repatriation of Belgian prisoners-of-war and ask for much-needed food supplies. Once again, the Princess put her individual feelings aside for the sake of her homeland and paid a visit to the Fuhrer at Berchtesgaden on 17 October. He seemed disinterested, although Marie-José pressed on doggedly and spoke to him of the ‘many sufferings inflicted on the Belgian people.’ She also encouraged her brother to enter into a dialogue with Hitler on the various matters.
By the time that Italy had declared war on the United States, in December 1941, the Princess had already reached the conclusion that her adopted homeland could not win the war. She again attempted to reach out to Marshal Badoglio and impress on him the need to remove the Fascists and end the war. Events backed her viewpoint: In late 1942, Italy was suffering from military reversals in Libya and Russia. The Marshal, however, was awaiting a signal from the ‘constitutional’ King and he in turn was seeking a signal from the people!
Undeterred, the Princess carried on with her work in hospitals and among the homeless and dispossessed, the numbers of whom had increased greatly as a result of Allied bombing. Marie-José was moved too by the people’s displays of affection towards her as she visited her refectories in Rome and Naples. By now pregnant with her fourth child, Maria Beatrice, the Princess sometimes took shelter in local houses from the bombing, where she was given coffee and, on one occasion, a bunch of flowers from the garden.
Mussolini, by contrast, appeared distracted and careworn. The swagger had gone as Italy’s defeats mounted. When the Allies invaded Sicily on 10 July 1943, King Victor Emanuele finally decided to act and, on 25 July, when Il Duce came to the King’s Villa Savoia for an audience, he was arrested. Tellingly, Il Duce shouted out, ‘It is the Princess of Piedmont [Marie-José’s official royal title] who will be happy.’ Clearly, Mussolini realised that this ‘democratic’ Princess from Belgium was one of his greatest enemies.
Unfortunately, Marie-José relations with King Victor Emanuele were also far from good: They had not spoken in a long time and he must surely have been made aware of ‘the Belgian’ (as he referred to Marie-José) and her recent approaches to the Allies, through Cardinal Montini of the Vatican’s State Department. This was in an attempt to clarify what the Allied position would be if Italy was to withdraw from the war following a coup. On 6 August, the Princess was summoned by the King and ordered to cease all political activities. She was also told to leave Rome within 24 hours for ‘reasons of security.’
Following Italy’s surrender to the Allies on 8 September 1943, an official of the Royal House visited Marie-José at her current location at the Chateau de Serre in the Aosta Valley and requested that she move to Switzerland. This was probably for her own safety as German forces now swept into Italy and occupied the central and northern areas. The Princess and her four children initially settled at the Hotel Excelsior in Montreux and later moved to the Hotel Montana, Oberhofen. Her enemy, Mussolini, had meanwhile been ‘liberated’ by the Germans and set up the ‘puppet’ Salo Republic. The King and other members of the Italian Royal Family remained in Naples, which was occupied by the Allies on 11 October. Italy declared war on Germany on 13 October.
Although Marie-José now wished to join Partisan forces to fight the Nazi forces in northern Italy, she realised that if she was discovered, there could be reprisals for the local population. Instead, the Princess settled for smuggling weapons to the Swiss frontier for use over the border in Italy. This was very risky as she was under constant surveillance by the Swiss authorities and enemy agents too.
On 23 January 1944, the Italian diplomat Gallarati Scotti met with Marie-José at Oberhofen. He discussed a plan to install the Princess as Regent for her son, Vittorio Emanuele, and hopefully bring the monarchy closer to the people. Marie-José was, after all, viewed as a democrat, with no connections to Mussolini or his right-wing Fascist regime. However, those currently in power decided that any future royal authority was instead to rest with her husband Umberto, who was appointed Lieutenant-General of the Realm in June 1944, with full regal powers, following the liberation of Rome by the Allies. It would not be until the end of April 1945 that Marie-José returned to Italy, crossing the Alps on foot from Switzerland, escorted by two mountain guides. Communist resistance fighters then escorted her to the Chateau de Sarre. Touchingly, her subsequent attendance at a Te Deum in nearby Aosta Cathedral was greeted with warm applause from fellow worshippers.
The Queen of Italy
In May 1945, the Princess moved to Turin and opened a Red Cross canteen to aid the homeless. Finally, she reached Rome, travelling by air from Turin, on 16 June, for a welcome reunion with Umberto whom she had not seen for two years. Yet, she was also haunted by the site of the ruins of once vibrant towns she flew over en route. In August, the royal children (who had been staying at Glion where, at one stage Maria Pia and Maria Gabriella had both succumbed to typhus) also returned home to Rome. Umberto had, meanwhile, opened a wing of the Quirinal to house the homeless, so Marie-José sold some jewellery to help provide much-needed funds to open yet another canteen, as well as a workroom for local women to make clothes. Nevertheless, there were many who opposed Umberto, feeling that he had not stood up sufficiently to Mussolini. Umberto then decided that a referendum should be held on the future of the monarchy. This would take place in June 1946. In the interim, King Victor Emanuele abdicated on May 9 and left for exile in Egypt. Umberto was now King of Italy and Marie-José was his Queen Consort. But for how long?
Interestingly, by the time that the aforementioned helper, in Cassino, had referred to her as ‘Majesty’, Marie-José was already mentally preparing for exile. Her hunch was right, for following the referendum (in which she voted at a local school, submitting a blank ballot paper), she was informed privately that 54% had voted in favour of a republic. The King now instructed his wife to leave immediately for Portugal. But first she telephoned officials from all her charities, emphasising that their work must go on. On 5 June, Marie-José and the children flew from Rome to her beloved Naples and the Villa Rosebery. She queried to anyone who would listen, ‘Why can I not stay here as an ordinary citizen?’ However, next morning, she and her family boarded the vessel Dukes of Abruzzes, bound for Lisbon. As she watched the coast of Italy disappear into the distance, the now ex-Queen reflected, ‘For the first time I am free of all the falseness and hypocrisy which has surrounded me.’ Suddenly, her ‘reign’ of less than one month was over. She now became known for posterity as La Regina di Maggio (The May Queen).
Following confirmation of the referendum results, Umberto subsequently joined his family on an estate at Sintra, the Quinta de Bella Vista. He and Marie-José found life together difficult. She later complained that ‘Umberto was anguished, overcome by an inner suffering he could not share. It started to unnerve me and made me ill-at-ease in my own home.’ The couple’s daughter, Princess Maria Pia, observed that her parents were ‘very different’ characters. Umberto was ‘very serious and conscious of his role’ while her mother, ‘loved to laugh and walk in the street alone. [My father] would never have done this.’
Matters in the marriage came to head when Marie-José was given a transfusion of the wrong blood type during an appendix operation. She immediately fell into a coma and when she regained consciousness, it was discovered that her eyesight was severely impaired due to retinal haemorrhaging. The Queen moved to Switzerland for a course of treatment under the ophthalmologist Adolphe Franceschetti. However, the damage was found to be permanent and was such that if she looked downwards, she could see nothing. Marie-José now remained forever wary of descending stairs. Sadly, it had proved politically inappropriate for Umberto to follow his wife to Switzerland and Marie-José, taken aback by her husband’s apparent failure to react to her situation, assumed that he craved solitude.
In due course, the Queen purchased a small castle, Merlinge, near Gy. Her son Vittorio joined her there, with her other children visiting at regular intervals from Portugal. She now rarely talked about the past but admitted to missing the warmth of Naples. Her days were filled with undertaking research into the House of Savoy, about which she wrote several books. Another interest was music and this led her to establish The Queen Marie-José International Musical Composition Prize. Travel also proved a draw and , accompanied by her mother Queen Elisabeth of the Belgians, Marie-José travelled to India (where she met Nehru) and to China.
Marie-José in the 1950’s at a royal event.
By the 1980’s age was catching up with both Marie-José and Umberto. The latter died in March 1983, following a long and painful battle against cancer. He and his wife had always kept in touch and the Queen often visited him in hospital. Marie-José soldiered on, often in pain and making use of a stick: In March 1988, she made her first visit to Italy since 1946, visiting Aosta to attend a historical conference followed by a tour of the Royal Palace in Turin and the State Archives. When asked what she thought of Italian monarchists, she cleverly replied, ‘I am a Queen, but I am not a Monarchist.’
In older age, Marie-José fell in love with Mexico during visits to her daughter Maria Beatrice in Cuernavaca. She subsequently purchased a villa there with a pool, in which she would swim everyday. The Queen entertained a wide array of visitors including her nephew, King Albert II of the Belgians. Although Marie-José’s body might now be failing her, her mind was certainly not. Maria Beatrice would recall her mother’s ‘young spirit’ and ‘modern way of thinking.’
Marie-José in old age in Mexico.
In 1995, in a reflective mood, Marie-José undertook a visit to Belgium. The following year, she decided to return to live in Switzerland, this time with her son, Vittorio Emanuele. The latter organised an outdoor party to celebrate his mother’s 90th birthday on 4 August 1996, a birthday she shared with Britain’s Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, who was six years older. In 1999, Marie-José visited Florence to receive the Freedom of the City and the following year, she received an invitation to attend Queen Elizabeth’s 100th birthday celebrations in London. Sadly, she was too frail to accept.
Her Majesty Queen Marie-José of Italy, Princess of Belgium, died on January 27, 2001 in the Canton of Geneva Hospital, at the grand old age of 94. She had recognised family members until the end. At her funeral at Hautcombe Abbey, on 2 February, her coffin, draped with the flag of Belgium and the arms of her beloved House of Savoy, was carried in by family members and European royalties. Her beloved Alpini choir sang some favourite songs and the Sardinian anthem, ‘Conservat Deu Su Re Sardu’ (sung at her wedding) echoed through the Abbey. It is a measure of the individual that as the years pass, the Queen is still remembered with great affection.
It was a most touching gesture of the Queen to lend her diamond fringe tiara to her granddaughter Princess Beatrice of York on her recent wedding day. Interestingly, Her Majesty had worn the self-same tiara at her own wedding to the Duke of Edinburgh in November 1947. Fortunately, for Beatrice, there was no mishap, or drama, involved in the wearing of it. The same cannot be said for the then Princess Elizabeth as, on the morning of her wedding day, the tiara’s fragile frame snapped, as the bride-to-be was dressing. Fortunately, the court jeweller was on hand to rush it-accompanied by a police escort-to his workroom for a quick but necessary repair.
But what is the history of this sparkling jewel which the catty diarist, Henry ‘Chips’ Channon referred to, dismissively, as ‘an ugly spiked tiara’? According to Suzy Menkes in her worthy examination of royal jewellery, the Royal Jewels and Leslie Fields in the exhaustively-researched Queen’s Jewels, the ‘sunray’ tiara was made, around 1830, to be worn as a necklace from brilliant-cut stones belonging to King George III (and referred to as the King George III fringe tiara). Fields indicates that Queen Victoria was the first person to use it as a tiara, when the graduated necklace was mounted on a thin wire band. In her book, she even includes an image of a young Victoria wearing it in a Winterhalter painting, carrying her infant son Prince Arthur (later the Duke of Connaught) in her arms. This necklace/tiara was one of an extensive list of items of jewellery (sometimes referred to as the ‘Crown Jewellery’, to distinguish it from the Sovereign’s personal gems) left in perpetuity to the Crown by Victoria on her death in 1901.
This tiara/necklace eventually passed into the hands of that most acquisitive of royal consorts, Queen Mary. However, this is where the story takes an unexpected and confusing turn. According to more recent sources (and meticulously highlighted in a post in the blog, The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor in 2017), although Queen Mary did wear this 1830 version as a tiara, she also subsequently had a similar-styled tiara made from stones from a necklace she had received as a wedding present from Queen Victoria in 1893. This new ‘Queen Mary Fringe Tiara’ was manufactured by E. Wolff & Co. for the royal jewellers, Garrard and Company, in 1919 and was apparently easier to wear. She passed this version on to her daughter-in-law, Queen Elizabeth (along with a portion of the Crown Jewellery) following the accession of her second son, Albert (‘Bertie’), to the throne as King George VI in December 1936.
While both Menkes and Field state that it was the 1830 version which was worn by Princess Elizabeth as the ‘something borrowed’ on her wedding day in 1947, the more recent sources, including Hugh Roberts in his publication The Queen’s Diamonds, point to the later 1919 Queen Mary Fringe Tiara version’s use. He and the Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor Blogspot (17 February 2012) also point out that the two tiaras are frequently confused, as was the case when the Queen wore the later version in a formal portrait to be used in New Zealand to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee. The tiara was also worn by Princess Beatrice’s Aunt, Princess Anne (the Princess Royal) on her wedding day in November 1973.
Queen Elizabeth was glad of the acquisition of jewels from Queen Mary-which she wore on a tour of Canada in the summer of 1939-for as she revealed to the photographer, Cecil Beaton, ‘The choice [of jewellery available] is not very great, you know.’ Although this is an exaggeration, it was a tactful acknowledgement by her successor that Queen Mary, now Queen Dowager, still held on to the vast majority of royal gems, much of which had been amassed from often impecunious relatives during her husband, King George V’s reign. Fortunately, Queen Elizabeth’s jewellery box would be augmented by a wonderful bequest from the shrewd Scottish brewery heiress, Mrs Ronnie Greville in 1942.
This pleasant little Victorian Gothic church was the location of the wedding of Princess Beatrice of York. The chapel stands ‘across the way’ (as Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, a frequent worshipper there, would say) from the Royal Lodge in Windsor Great Park, the current home of Prince Andrew, Duke of York. George IV-who used the Royal Lodge as a private retreat in the 1820’s-was the first royal to worship at All Saints from around 1825. Indeed, it was he who commissioned the English architect, Jeffry Wyatville to design it. (Other sources point to the influence of architect John Nash).
Queen Victoria later worshipped there too and had the chapel rebuilt, during the early 1860’s, to designs by Samuel Sanders Teulon and Anthony Salvin. This included the addition of a new chancel, extra seating for worshippers and a stained-glass window dedicated to the memory of her mother, the Duchess of Kent and Strathearn, who died in 1861. There is a also a window to the memory of Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein, the son of Prince Christian and his wife Princess Helena, who lived nearby at Cumberland Lodge. Their beloved ‘Christle’ died of enteric fever in Pretoria in 1900, while serving with British forces in South Africa during the Boer War.
Around 1931, the future King George VI (then Duke of York) and his wife Elizabeth took up residence at the (much-reconstructed) Royal Lodge. The couple were regular worshippers at the chapel. When the Duke of York ascended the throne in 1936, he subsequently had various alterations undertaken including the installation of a new ceiling (designed by the architect and designer Edward Maufe) in the Chancel, as well as the addition of a royal pew (carefully positioned to allow for privacy), new choir stalls and a screen for the organ.
Following Queen Elizabeth’s death at Royal Lodge on 30 March 2002, the Queen Mother’s mortal remains rested at the Altar of All Saints prior to being taken to London for the Lying-in-State at Westminster Hall in the Palace of Westminster. Today the Queen worships at All Saints when she is in residence at Windsor. Those who live and work in the Great Park may also attend services.
Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of King George VI, was due to turn 21 on 21 April, 1947. The Royal Family were on a tour of South Africa at this time and it was decided that the young princess should make a ‘dedication’ broadcast to the Empire from Government House, Cape Town on the evening of her birthday. There was, however, a problem. The beam radio link between Cape Town and the BBC in London was unreliable and often subject to extreme interference. Frank Gillard, a former BBC Wartime Correspondent, was covering the tour and sent a memo expressing his concern to Sir Alan Lascelles, the King’s Private Secretary. What if, he queried, the Empire were waiting patiently for the broadcast and nothing happened? It would look ridiculous.
Fortunately, Gillard and his colleagues came up with an excellent solution. The Princess could pre-record her broadcast on high-quality discs which could then be flown to London to be used as a fail-safe should the ‘live’ broadcast from Cape Town fail to materialise or be interrupted in any way. The ‘stand-by’ version was pre-recorded on the evening of Sunday, 4 April at the Victoria Falls Hotel in Southern Rhodesia, where the royal family were enjoying a brief stay on their current leg of the tour. The King emphasised to an already nervous Gillard that ‘this will probably be the most important broadcast of my daughter’s life.’ No pressure then!
There was another useful aspect to this exercise: When Gillard had perused the prepared script with the King and Queen, all were horrified by the ‘pompous platitudes’ expressed within it. They and Princess Elizabeth subsequently sat down together and spent two hours completely revising the text. Shortly after sundown, the Princess sat at a table with a large BBC microphone atop to pre-record the broadcast. Gillard remembers that she was ‘composed, confident and extremely cooperative.’ Within hours, the discs bearing the recording were being flown to London for use if required.
As it happened, the beam radio signal to London was working a treat on 21 April and a ‘live’ broadcast was possible from Government House, Cape Town. The words, ‘I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great Imperial family to which we all belong’ rang out over the airwaves and are remembered to this day, with great affection, by those listening. It is not surprising that South Africa has a special place in the Queen’s heart. It must also be remembered that she was the last monarch of the Union of South Africa prior to the country becoming a republic in May,1961. However, she returned to make two State Visits, in 1995 and 1999, the former at the invitation of President Mandela.
Late on the evening of June 23, 1955, a flotilla of ships sailed up the Oslofjord to the delight of watching crowds from the shore. Fireworks were set off and bonfires pricked the gloom near the island of Maerdøy. At the front of the flotilla, which was otherwise composed of British Royal Navy frigates and the Norwegian destroyers, Oslo and Stavanger, was the Royal Yacht Britannia which had sailed from Rosyth in Scotland on 21 June. Faintly visible on deck were the ‘yacht’s’ principal occupants: Queen Elizabeth II and her husband the Duke of Edinburgh, who were about to commence a State Visit to Norway next day (the first of the Queen’s reign to a country outside of the British Commonwealth).
After anchoring overnight in the Fjord, at 11 a.m. on 24 June, the Britannia entered the inner harbour at Oslo and the guns on the ramparts of historical Akershus Fortress roared out in greeting. By now, the Royal Yacht was surrounded by a selection of small craft, all jostling in the waves so their occupants might better obtain a sighting of the royal couple. Similarly, the surrounding quaysides were filled with curious onlookers. Crown Prince Olav, a first cousin of the Queen’s late father King George VI, set off from the quay in his launch for the Britannia to welcome the distinguished guests to Norway on behalf of the King and bring them safely ashore. Later, at the Quay of Honour (Honnorbrygga), 82-year-old King Haakon carefully descended the steps to greet the Queen (who also happened to be his Great-Niece) with a courtly bow and a kiss of her hand. The Duke of Edinburgh, sporting the ribbon and the star of the Grand Cross of the Order of St Olav on his Admiral’s uniform, received a firm handshake.
After a ceremonial drive up Carl Johan, Oslo’s main thoroughfare, which was packed to bursting with spectators (including 400 British schoolchildren) the royal party reached the Royal Palace. Although not on the official schedule, the British royalty made an appearance on the balcony with their Norwegian counterparts, who included Princess Astrid (acting as official hostess, a role she had assumed following the death of her mother, Crown Princess Märtha, the previous year) and her elder sister, Princess Ragnhild, who had made a special journey from her home in Brazil.
The Queen’s first engagement was a visit to the fortress of Akershus, accompanied by the Duke and King Haakon, to pay her respects to Norway’s war dead and lay a wreath of white lilies and roses at the War Memorial. The royal party then moved on to the City Hall where the Mayor, Brynjulf Bull, led them on a tour of the magnificent murals, sculptures and tapestries. It is fair to say Her Majesty was greatly interested in what she observed and asked many questions of her host. However, the commemoration of those who had perished in battle was once again the focus when the Queen and Duke visited the British War Graves section at Vestre Gravlund cemetery. This was a very British occasion, with the Royal Marine’s band (from Britannia) playing the British National Anthem and the Queen laying a wreath of white roses at the British War Cross, followed by buglers sounding the Last Post and Reveille. Her Majesty subsequently made a point of inspecting the graves and meeting with Mrs Inga Kristoffersen who tended the grounds.
From there, the royal party drove out to Holmenkollen to observe the ski jump ‘in summer dress’ with empty stands and a distinct absence of snow. Earlier, they had taken tea nearby with the Canadian Minister to Norway, Mr Chester Rønning, at the Canadian Legation (for it must be remembered that Her Majesty is also the Queen of Canada). Then came the climax of the first day, the State Banquet at the Royal Palace, where the British visitors shook hands with the guests in the Red Room, to the accompaniment of tunes played by the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation band. In the Banqueting Hall, the tables had been dressed with red, blue and white flowers as a nod to the colours of the British Union Jack flag. In his welcoming speech, King Haakon referred to the many Norwegians who had spent time in the Britain during World War II and emphasised his belief that there ‘will always exist the strongest bonds of friendship’, between the Britain and Norway. The Queen replied by stating that ‘we were truly happy to have so many gallant Norwegians with us’ and noted that King Haakon had ‘sustained and uplifted’ her parents, King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, during the Second World War by his ‘courage and resolution.’
On their second day in Norway, a Saturday, the Queen and the Duke visited the Bygdøy Peninsula. The couple first paid a visit the Folk Museum, where they were much impressed by the 12th century wooden Stave Church from the village of Gol in Viken county, which had been painstakingly re-erected on the present site, in 1884, thanks to funds provided by King Oscar II of Sweden and Norway. The duo also toured a traditional Norwegian farmstead and a selection of rooms in townhouses furnished in the style of different historic periods. The inspection ended with a display of folk dancing accompanied by fiddle music. Just as exciting was Her Majesty’s meeting with the adventurer Thor Heyerdahl as she arrived to inspect the Kon-tiki raft in which he had sailed 8,000 kilometres across the Pacific Ocean from South America to the Tuamotu Islands. Thor kindly presented the Queen with a model of the raft. The nautical theme continued when the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh subsequently visited the polar exploration vessel ‘Fram’ used by the Norwegian explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen on their Arctic and Antarctic expeditions. The Viking Long Ships-the oldest relics of Norway’s maritime tradition-were also examined.
Around 4pm, the British royalties arrived at the British Embassy to preside over a garden party attended by 1500 invitees, the majority being from the British community in Norway. The Queen, dressed in a floral print dress, was escorted throughout by the British Ambassador, Mr Peter Scarlett. They made a wide sweep of the gardens as Her Majesty was anxious to speak to as many of her guests as possible and she questioned them about where they lived and what had brought them to live in Norway. The Queen later planted a cherry tree as a memento of her visit.
In the evening, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh joined King Haakon, members of the Norwegian royal family, government ministers and members of the diplomatic corps for a performance of Ibsen’s Peer Gynt at the National Theatre. Her Majesty made an impressive sight as she took her seat in the dress circle wearing an ice blue evening dress accessorised with a diamond tiara and necklace. The red ribbon and the star of the Grand Cross of the Order of St Olav-with which the Queen had just been invested-provided a striking contrast.
Despite the lateness of the hour the previous evening, the British royal duo were up bright and early to attend Divine Service at St Edmund’s Anglican Church, the neo-gothic style church of the British community in Oslo (and once frequented by the Queen’s late Great-Aunt, Queen Maud, the British-born Consort of King Haakon). Inside, the altar was decorated with pink carnations as this was known to be one of the Queen’s favourite flowers. The Bishop of Fulham-who has episcopal oversight over Anglican churches in Norway-presided, assisted by the British Embassy Chaplain.
Thereafter, the Queen and the Duke drove out to the village of Asker, twelve miles south-west of Oslo, to have lunch at Crown Prince Olav’s private home on the Skaugum estate. Princess Astrid, Olav’s youngest daughter, again acted as hostess on this semi-private occasion where other guests included the British Foreign Secretary, Harold Macmillan. Then all too soon it was time for the British royal party to leave for Oslo.
When the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh’s car arrived at the Quay of Honour at 6.25pm, the Norwegian and British vessels which would escort Britannia out to sea were already departing. King Haakon had preceded the Queen to the Quay and the farewell ceremony between the two Sovereigns was brief. The King of Norway, in a sombre suit, conducted Her Majesty to the bottom of the steps to her waiting launch, bent down and kissed her hand. To the delight of the watching crowd, the Queen impulsively stroked His Majesty’s cheek before joining the Duke on board. Suddenly, the watching crowd erupted,’ Come Back! Come back again soon!’ Meanwhile, in the background, the guns of Akershus Fortress echoed across the Oslofjord.
At 7.25pm the Norwegian royal family and some other notables, were taken out to the Britannia for a final dinner. Then, as the Royal Yacht prepared to get up steam, King Haakon and his party boarded the Norwegian Royal launch, Stjernen, which then proceeded in the direction of a small reef south of Bygdøy, on which stands the Dyna lighthouse. At 9.41pm the Britannia slipped her moorings and slid gracefully down the fjord passing the launch and the lighthouse. The Norwegian State Visit of 1955 had now ended in the most delightful fashion on an evening of pale blue sky and pink clouds.
RoyaltyRobert Blogger and Writer 