Crown Princess Märtha-Norway’s Wartime Weapon.

Although the German invasion of Norway had led to the flight of Norway’s Crown Princess Märtha and her three children (Ragnhild, Astrid and Harald) across the border into ‘neutral’ Sweden, to avoid capture, in the early hours of 10 April 1940, it was not a situation with which Crown Prince Olav was happy. From his current refuge at Trangen, Langvatnet, Olav wrote to his friend, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, on 10 May, recalling a conversation between the two at Roosevelt’s Hyde Park country estate, in April 1939, during which the President offered sanctuary to Olav and Märtha’s children in the event of war reaching Norway. In his letter, the Crown Prince also questioned how safe his children actually were in Sweden. Certainly, even though the Crown Princess was Swedish, some in Sweden believed that her and her children’s presence compromised the country’s neutrality. Olav certainly had reason to be fearful for Märtha, who was now staying at Ulriksdal Palace in Stockholm, and was under constant political pressure from both the Administrative Council in Oslo and her Uncle, King Gustav V of Sweden, to embrace a ‘Norwegian Regency’ model whereby Harald would be proclaimed king, although his Swedish-born mother would act as regent until the Prince reached his majority. Those who held to this viewpoint, promoted it on the basis that it offered the only opportunity to save the Norwegian monarchy. The plotting had reached a crescendo following the departure of King Haakon and Crown Prince Olav from Norwegian soil on 7 June for exile in London and caused the Crown Princess to send a telegram to London warning her husband and father-in-law of the situation.

There was now the very real danger that Prince Harald might be kidnapped and taken to Oslo. This must have crossed the mind of Crown Prince Olav for, on 22 June, he wrote again to President Roosevelt, from Buckingham Palace, asking him to make good on his offer of sanctuary for his children, while also requesting that it be extended to include the Crown Princess. Roosevelt would be as good as his word and more, for on 13 August, the royal children and the Crown Princess left Ulriksdal and travelled northward through Finland to Petsamo (now Petsjenga, Russia) where, on 15 August, they embarked the USS American Legion which transported them and other refugees across the Atlantic Ocean to New York. The Crown Princess-who was given accommodation in the Captain’s cabin-appeared on the ship’s manifest as ‘Mrs Jones.’ Other members of the royal party included her Chief of Staff, Peder Anker Wedel Jarlsberg, Lady-in-Waiting, Mrs Ragni Østgaard and the children’s nurse, Signe Svendsen.

Märtha and the children arrived in New York on 28 August, after a stormy journey. From the quayside, the Crown Princess and her party went immediately to the Waldorf Astoria hotel where a room full of dolls and toys had been arranged to amuse the children. As the Crown Princess had not spoken to her husband in over four months, her first request was for an international call to be put through to Crown Prince Olav in London. Aside for the usual romantic endearments, Olav was able to give his wife some useful advice on ‘official lines to take’ with the US press.

The family’s suite at the Waldorf Astoria was luxurious and spacious and was being paid for by the Boomer family, who owned the hotel and had strong dynastic links with Norway. Märtha chose to give her press conference in the sitting room. She emphasised that her presence in America was temporary, stating that, ‘All we Norwegians look forward to the day when we shall return to a free and independent Norway.’ It was not an altogether pleasant experience and the Crown Princess would later confide to a friend that she ‘would rather submit to an operation’ than go through the ordeal again.

The Crown Princess’ next stop was to the private home of her host, President Roosevelt at Hyde Park. At the President’s informal retreat on his Springwood estate, Top Cottage, the children played happily in the swimming pool, while Märtha took the chance to have a long chat with the President about her situation. They also discussed where she might live. Within days, the Crown Princess was heading to the White House in Washington D.C., from where the President took her for a ride in his official car to view a large twenty-four roomed property, set in 105 acres, at Pook’s Hill, Maryland. This is subsequently leased by the Norwegian government-in-exile for the royal family’s use. While the house was being made ready, the Princess stayed at the White House in the Rose Guest Bedroom.

America was a whole new way of life, both for the children and their mother. Although Märtha was already proficient in English (albeit with a strong Scandinavian accent) the three children-who all attended local schools-were soon completely fluent in English. Nevertheless, their mother insisted that only Norwegian was spoken at home. The Crown Princess’ initial focus was on providing the children a secure upbringing. However, her charm and beauty, allied to her ability to listen, soon made Märtha a hit with the President and his family. Roosevelt would often drive out to Pook’s Hill to take tea with the Norwegian royals; in turn they were often asked for lunch, tea, dinner or a swim at the White House or even to take a sailing trip on board the Presidential Yacht USS Potomac. The friendship became so close that by August 1941, the Crown Princess was included in a party that sailed from New London on the Potomac to Martha’s Vineyard, before transferring to the heavy cruiser USS Augusta which then sailed to Newfoundland where a clandestine bi-lateral meeting took place between the President and Winston Churchill. Norwegian author Tor Bomann-Larsen recently stated that Roosevelt had became ‘infatuated’ with Märtha. If he was, it was to the ultimate benefit of the Princess’ adopted homeland as it helped to establish close relations between Norway and the US, as well as to boost Norway’s standing amongst the Allied powers. Roosevelt was certainly a willing participant in this regard and, in September 1942, during the handover ceremony, at Washington’s Navy Yard, of a submarine chaser to the Norwegian Navy, the HNoMS King Haakon VII, President Roosevelt, with the Crown Princess strategically seated by his side, implored Americans to ‘look to Norway’ and its resistance movement for inspiration to win the war. Märtha thanked the presence effusively for his ‘beautiful and generous words’ adding that ‘your words will bring hope and renewed faith and deliverance from the yoke of the barbarians.’

In fact, Roosevelt might also have added ‘look to Märtha’, for the Princess can now be regarded as a key figure in the Norwegian war effort, particularly in the USA, as she patriotically toured hospitals, churches and schools with links to Norway, dressed in her wide trademark hats with a jewelled Flag of Norway brooch on her lapel. Nor was she averse to enrolling her family to further the cause, as is exampled with the royal foursomes’ regular visits to ‘Little Norway’, the Norwegian Air Force training camp at Muskoka Aerodrome in Ontario. The propaganda value of five-year-old Prince Harald, pictured for the first time in military uniform, patriotically saluting the Norwegian flag or sitting in a flight simulator was immeasurable, all the more so if these pictures somehow found their way into the hands of Norwegians in their occupied homeland. The Crown Princess also regularly invited the press into her Maryland home for charming photographic opportunities, featuring the children on their bicycles or posing with their mother in the drawing room. These were subsequently released to the US and international press. Sometimes the children were also photographed with President Roosevelt and, in the case of Prince Harald, with the President’s photogenic Scottish Terrier, Fala. It all made for good publicity, as did Märtha’s radio broadcasts at Christmas to the people of Norway in which she stated with emotion, ‘We think of you with sadness in our heart but also with unspeakable pride.’

Were the Crown Princess and the President involved in a romantic relationship? The evidence is very much to the contrary. It is no secret that Roosevelt was involved in a long-term relationship with Lucy Rutherfurd, who had once served as Social Secretary to Eleanor Roosevelt. Furthermore, in the Crown Princess’ letters to the President, such as one thanking him for a ten-day family break at Hyde Park, Märtha uses the introduction, ‘My dear Godfather…’, hardly a term of romance. The Norwegian historian, Trond Norén Isaksen is of the opinion that the Crown Princess fulfilled a political role, during her US sojourn, in that she passed on a plethora of information to the President about the war in Europe sourced through the Norwegian Embassy in Washington. As she now had the President’s ear, Märtha was also perfectly placed to advance Norway’s cause. Yet, there is no doubt that the President was taken by the Princess’ teasing good humour and lively manner. There is also the sense that Märtha was captivated by this powerful elder statesman, from a completely different milieu and culture, serving out the final years of his political career. Indeed, she liked nothing better than taking colour 16mm ciné films of their encounters, whether it be during their regular afternoon drives in the President’s car or in the White House or at Hyde Park or even aboard the Potomac (where there is a charming frame of Roosevelt lifting his hat to the Princess in a friendly greeting) using her Bell, Duck and Howell ciné camera, a 40th birthday gift from the staff of the Norwegian Embassy. However, there is one common denominator that features in each of these images: The President was constantly surrounded by Secret Service men or secretaries or chauffeurs, while Märtha was invariably accompanied by a Lady-in-Waiting or her children to whom the President was particularly kind. Indeed, to Prince Harald he was almost a surrogate grandfather figure, sharing interests in common, such as collecting postage stamps. Nevertheless, despite her endeavours on behalf of Norway, Märtha was, at times, almost guilt-ridden that she and her children were enjoying such a good life in the States, ‘while my compatriots are suffering at home. I really feel rather miserable about it.’

Following President Roosevelt’s fourth inaugural in January 1945, Märtha and Crown Prince Olav were part of the ‘inner circle’ who joined him afterwards for a private lunch in the Red Room of the White House. Next day, the President toasted the Norwegian royal’s good health prior to setting out for the Yalta Conference in Russia, for he surely realised that the time was fast approaching when Märtha and her children would return home to Europe permanently. One of the Princess’ final engagements in Washington was to attend a Girl Scouts of America reception at the Norwegian Embassy on 11 March during which she received a selection of gifts for a Norwegian Girl Scout group currently located at Drumtochty Castle in Scotland. The 300-strong American contingent present that day also pledged to ‘adopt’ the first Norwegian Girl Scout troop to be re-established in Norway following the liberation from German occupation.

On 24 March, Märtha and Olav dined at the White House with President and Mrs Roosevelt. It was to be their final meeting with Roosevelt. Thereafter, the somewhat fatigued President left for a two-week period of rest at the Warm Springs Resort in Georgia. He died there suddenly of a cerebral haemorrhage on 12 April, at his beloved ‘Little White House’. Lucy Rutherfurd was present at the time. Roosevelt’s death was a bitter blow to the Crown Princess. Crown Prince Olav-who always met up with the President during his wartime visits to Washington (indeed Roosevelt had once been personally responsible for arranging Olav’s visit to the capital, as a surprise Christmas present for the Crown Princess)-gave an indication of the depth of his family’s feelings for the late President during a radio broadcast the following day: ‘It is as though I have lost a near relative and dear friend whom it was always a great joy to meet and from whom one never took his leave without feeling enriched by his exuberant personality.’

Following Germany’s capitulation on 8 May 1945, the Crown Princess and her children crossed the Atlantic once again–this time by air–to land at Prestwick in Scotland. There they were briefly reunited with Crown Prince Olav, prior to his return to Oslo on 13 May, sailing from Rosyth aboard HMS Apollo. It had already been decided that Märtha and her children would also return to Oslo by sea from Rosyth, accompanied by King Haakon, as soon as the 300,000 German Prisoners-of War in Norway had been rounded-up and disarmed.

On 5 June the King, Crown Princess Märtha and the children received a wonderful send-off from the naval top brass at Admiralty House, North Queensferry. They then boarded HMS Norfolk for the two-day journey home to Oslo. On entering the Oslofjord, on 7 June, the royal party (which now included Crown Prince Olav who had embarked the Norfolk at Moss) went out on deck to wave to the well-wishers who congregated both on the shore and also aboard a varied selection of flag-bedecked sailing craft. The royal party were then piped off the Norfolk by pipers from the Scots Guards.

After greeting the members of the Honour Guard and standing to attention for the Norwegian National Anthem, the King and Crown Princess drove together in the King’s limousine (which had survived the occupation intact), right up the city’s main boulevard, Karl Johan Gate, to the Royal Palace. After a while, all of the royal family appeared together on the palace balcony. Flying from the flag post was the very same Royal Standard which had been hidden from the Germans on the King’s instruction when he departed the Palace early on the morning of 9 April, 1940. Aftenposten, a respected Norwegian newspaper, headlined the occasion as ‘The biggest and most beautiful day in the history of free Norway’.

In sum, the role of the Crown Princess during World War II should not be underestimated. She was tireless in her promotion of Norway both in the United States and throughout the Allied nations. Furthermore, she deftly gained the confidence of the most powerful man in the world in a way that many-including the world leaders of the time-could only have dreamed off. She may have been born Swedish but she was ultimately Norway’s greatest wartime asset.

Robert Prentice has a keen interest in the fate of the various royal families during World War 2. He is the author of the recently-published Princess Olga of Yugoslavia Her Life and Times which is available to buy through Amazon and other on-line and local bookshops.

Crown Princess Märtha Eludes Nazi Regency plot.

In the early hours of 9 April, Crown Princess Märtha and her husband Olav were awakened by a phone call from an aide, bringing the devastating news of an invasion by German military forces. With her mind in a whirl, Mårtha immediately awakened her three children, instructing them to dress for a mountain hike. Ragnhild, the eldest, would later recall that ‘the clearest sign that something was wrong was that it was our parents themselves who woke us up.’ After eating a hasty breakfast, at around 6 a.m. Märtha , Olav and their three children (Ragnhild, Astrid and Harald) set out from their home, some twenty kilometres to the west of Oslo, for the Royal Palace in central Oslo, in a convoy of three cars. The Crown Prince was at the wheel of his own car, his wife and children beside him. Olav-who was driving at great speed-had already decided that if anyone tried to stop him, he would run them down.

German troops march down Karl Johan Gate, the Royal Palace clearly visible behind.

On arrival at the Royal Palace, everything was in a state of flux. The royal family departed the royal residence at 7 a.m. travelling in the direction of the Østbane railway station in order to take a special train to Hamar to avoid capture. The members of the Norwegian parliament, the Storting, were also on board the train. The group was led and organised by the Storting President, Carl Joachim Hambro. It had been at his suggestion that the royal family accompanied the parliamentary group. Just as the train passed through Lillestrøm, the town was bombed, although the focus was fortunately on the nearby airport at Kjeller. The entourage travelled onwards towards Hamar with German soldiers and aircraft in hot pursuit.

By the early evening, the royal party had settled at an estate at Sælid, a few kilometres outside of Hamar, where they were just sitting down to dinner when word was received from the local police chief of the impending arrival of several busloads of German troops. The little group immediately set out by car towards Elverum, to rendezvous with members of the government who had fled there from Hamar. It was also at Elverum that the Storting gave the King and government the authority to govern the country for as long as the war lasted (“The Elverum Mandate”). However, with so much uncertainty prevailing, a decision was made to send Crown Princess Märtha and the royal children over the border into neutral Sweden, for reasons of safety. Among those accompanying them were Olav’s trusted aide, Major Nicolai Ramm Østgaard (who would almost immediately return to his duties with the Crown Prince), his wife Ragni and their ten-year-old son Einar. Also in the royal entourage was Signe Svendsen, Prince Harald’s nurse; as well as Ragnhild and Martha’s Swedish governess Maja Thorén. Another Swedish national, the Crown Princess’s maid, Edla Norberg completed the party. The royal convoy, consisting of three cars, crossed the border into Sweden from Trysil at 00:50 hours on 10 April.

The events surrounding the party’s crossing into Sweden are the subject of debate. There are two versions:. In Brita Rosenberg’s biography of Princess Astrid, the latter recounts that Swedish border guards did not want to raise the border barrier and only did so at the last minute when their Norwegian driver indicated that he would drive straight through unless they did so.

Einar Østgaard, in his 2005 book about Crown Princess Mårtha, which makes use of his father’s notes and journals, takes issue with this account: ‘The claim that Crown Princess Märtha was denied access to Sweden was printed for the first time over forty years after crossing the border on the night of 10 April 1940.’ He is of the opinion that this version must be due to a misremembering. The author also cites his mother Ragni, who served as the Crown Princess’s Lady-in-Waiting, later describing an undramatic border crossing: ‘None of us had passports, but at the Swedish border station, Nikko (her husband, Nikolai Østgaard) was out explaining who it was, and there was no difficulty in getting past.’

Either way, the convoy continued to the winter resort of Sälen to stay at the well-known Högfjällshotellet, arriving at half past three in the morning. As it was a glorious sunny day and the royal children spent most of the time skiing on the nearby slopes, while their anxious mother remained at the hotel glued to the radio for news of events in neighbouring Norway. What she heard could hardly have lifted her spirits. On 10 April, the King had met with the German Minister Kurt Bräuer in the High School at Elverum. Bräuer set out the demands of his masters in Berlin: the legitimate Norwegian government must resign, and the King must appoint Vidkun Quisling of the right-wing Nasjonal Samling (National Unity) party as Norway’s Prime Minister and approve the formation of a pro-German government led by him. King Haakon subsequently presented these demands to officials of the legitimate Johan Nygaardsvold government during an extraordinary Council of State held in nearby Nybergsund (where they had relocated). The King made it clear that they must decide what course of action they wished to take, but added that he would not bow to these German demands and if the government decided to agree to them, he would abdicate. The government, in turn, fully backed the King. King Haakon’s “no” and the government’s approval thereof were formulated as a Royal Decree and signed by the King, the Prime Minister and Minister of State Bredo Rolsted.

When the Germans learned of this decision, they were infuriated. The following day, Heinkel 111 bombers of the German Luftwaffe bombed both Elverum and Nybergsund, where the King and Crown Prince were sheltering, killing dozens of people. Crown Princess Märtha was subsequently relieved to learn from newly-arrived Norwegian guests at the hotel that, although shaken, both the King and Crown Prince Olav were uninjured. This news was corroborated by the hotel manager who had been in Nybergsund at the time of the attacks, in an attempt to obtain information on behalf of the Crown Princess. From first-hand reports carried in the Swedish press, it became clear that King Haakon was the key target. At one stage, he and his son Olav were forced to take shelter in a ditch to avoid being fired on by the low-flying Heinkel bombers.

King Haakon (2nd left) and son Crown Prince Olav (extreme left) literally run for their lives at Eleverum on 11 April 1940

An early visitor to Sälen was the Storting President Carl Joachim Hambro, who was en route to Stockholm. He recalls in his memoirs arriving in time for breakfast and apologising to the Crown Princess for ‘being so unkempt and not having had time to shave.’ Märtha, clearly having maintained her sense of humour merely laughed and replied, ‘Me neither.’ He brought with him a letter written by King Haakon at Nybergsund addressed to his sister (and Märtha’s mother) Princess Ingeborg. The latter arrived at the winter resort a few days later, visibly tired and looking somewhat older, according to Ragni Østgaard. Yet, Ingeborg was also ‘filled with a glowing hatred of the Germans’ for her homeland of Denmark had also recently been occupied. Märtha’s mother was also deeply concerned for the welfare of her brother, King Haakon (formerly Prince Carl of Denmark until his accession to the throne of Norway in 1905) and her son-in-law (and nephew) Olav.

The Swedish authorities were by now growing increasingly nervous of the presence of Norwegian royalty in an area so close to the border. What if, they reasoned, the Germans accidentally bombed the hotel due to a “navigation error” or if a kidnapping attempt was made to seize the royal party? The Swedish county governor decided to act and asked the royal party leave the hotel. In order not to attract attention, on 18 April, the royals and their entourage departed in the middle of the night, and headed southwards by car (which almost upturned in a snow drift) towards Uppsala. Thanks to Princess Ingeborg making use of family connections, it was arranged that the royal party could take temporary residence at Count Carl Bernadotte of Wisborg’s home at Rasbo. They would remain there for ten days, before proceeding to Stockholm and Drottningholm Palace.

At Drottningholm, King Gustav proved to be welcoming host but made it clear, through an adjutant, that there would be no discussion of the war at the dinner table. This was interesting, as otherwise Gustav had taken a keen interest in developments throughout Europe, with maps spread out over a billiard table nearby. However, it was noticeable that there was none pertaining to Norway. This particular map had been removed, prior to the arrival of the Norwegian contingent, perhaps out of tact. The Crown Princess tried to distract herself with games of gin rummy and bridge. Meanwhile Norwegians in Sweden were told not to openly celebrate their National Day on 17 May.

So how did the Crown Princess now continue to obtain news of what was happening across the border? Märtha acquired a quality radio set and each evening she and Ragni Østgaard would listen to the late night news bulletin from London. Perhaps Märtha even managed to tune in to the National Day service broadcast from the Norwegian Seamen’s Church in London, as King Haakon and Crown Prince Olav managed to do in a holiday chalet in Northern Norway? She also had the services of the Norwegian diplomat Jen Bull, who acted as a liaison between Märtha and the Norwegian Legation in Stockholm. Bull had previously served (1925-1931) as a Counsellor in the Norwegian legation in Berlin, rising to the rank of Under-Secretary of State at the Foreign Office in Oslo in 1939.

In due course, the Crown Princess was informed that King Haakon and Crown Prince Olav had departed Norway (from Tromsø) on the evening of 7 June, following a cabinet meeting held in the Bishop’s Palace, in order to continue the fight from Norwegian democracy from London. The war in Norway aside, Crown Prince Olav’s chief concern was now for the safety of his children and wife in Sweden. He had written to President Franklin D Roosevelt from Trangen, Langvatnet, as early as 10 May, mentioning an offer which Roosevelt had made, in late April 1939, during the Crown Prince and Princess’ weekend stay at the President’s country home at Hyde Park, ‘to take care of the children’ if the war should reach Norwegian shores.

After observing the 82nd birthday celebrations for ‘Uncle Gustav’ the previous day at Drottningholm, on 17 June, the Crown Princess and her children moved to Ulriksdal Palace. This allowed for some more privacy, and the children were able to relax with games, picnics and boating on the inlet. Furthermore, young Harald took the opportunity to learn to swim under the instruction of Signe Svendsen. Nonetheless, there was always a watchful Swedish policeman in attendance. Interestingly, the move to Ulriksdal coincided with King Haakon learning that the Germans had informed the Administrative Council, an interim body appointed by the Norwegian Supreme Court to deal with matters of civil administration in Norway, that he should abdicate the throne. This move on the part of the German occupiers seems to have hit a raw nerve with King Gustav of Sweden who, most unusually, became involved, sending a telegram to Adolf Hitler stating that ‘I consider it my duty to personally emphasize to you, Herr Reich Chancellor, that such a measure would elicit serious disapproval among the broadest circles of the Swedish people and throughout the whole of Scandinavia. I wish therefore, before irrevocable decisions are made by you, to draw your attention through this telegram…to urge you, Mr. Chancellor, to proceed with all the moderation that can be considered possible in relation to Norway, its king and people.’ Did he now fear for his own throne?

Prince Harald of Norway in April 1940. This picture was used for his passport.

In the interim, Berlin had appointed Josef Terboven as Reichskommissar in Norway. Despite the initial refusal of the Administrative Council to comply with the abdication request, negotiations were continuing with Terboven, who was currently focused on the formulation of a future political framework for use in Norway during the occupation. Furthermore, despite King Gustav’s aforementioned telegram, there was a genuine possibility that a powerful Germany, aided by sympathetic Norwegians, could, if necessary, use leverage against Sweden, both diplomatically, economically, and militarily, to arrange for Märtha to be returned to Norway with her son and a Regency formed until Harald came of age. A number of prominent Norwegians who visited Stockholm advocated for such a solution. This idea also had its supporters within Per Albin Hansson’s Swedish government. For instance, the Swedish Justice Minister (and one-time Foreign Minister), Karl Westman, wrote in his diary as early as 19 June, mentioning his attendance at a government meeting: ‘I reiterated my question about why the friends of the Norwegian dynasty do not put the Norwegian crown princess and [prince] Harald on a plane and send them… to Oslo.’ He was writing this at a time when many Swedes believed that Märtha’s presence threatened to undermine Sweden’s neutrality when Germany was on the ascendance: Only a few days earlier German forces had entered Paris unopposed and the French were on the point of signing the surrender at Compiègne. Time Magazine would subsequently report that Crown Princess Märtha had indeed been offered ‘a regency in the name of her son, Prince Harald.’ Meanwhile, some Norwegians even harboured the-not unrealistic-suspicion that Prince Harald could be kidnapped and taken to Oslo by force.

On 27 June, the Presidential Council of the Storting, under pressure from the occupiers and recognising the need to establish a provisional government, responded tentatively to Josef Terboven’s proposal to establish a Council of the Realm to act as a collaborative body with the occupiers. In order to progress matters, they now asked the King to abdicate, giving him until 12 July to ‘renounce his constitutional functions for himself and his house.’ However, King Haakon refused to comply and, on 8 July, announced his rejection of the abdication request via a BBC radio broadcast from London, as well as formally placing his response in writing. What would this mean for the future of Norway and the monarchy going forward?

In Stockholm, Märtha, under the impression that her Swedish family (i.e. King Gustav) and Hitler were conspiring to remove King Haakon and set up a Regency, was feeling the pressure and sent a telegram to London as early as 24 June warning her husband that attempts were being made to ‘induce her’ to return with her three children to Oslo. Indeed, rumours had been circulating of a cipher telegram having been sent on 21 June by King Gustav to King Haakon to advise him to abdicate in favour of his grandson as ‘a means of saving the Norwegian people from unnecessary difficulties’. It also appears that the contents of King Gustav’s earlier telegram to Hitler may have been misconstrued or misreported for, on 22 June the British Minister in Stockholm indicated that King Gustav had telegraphed Hitler directly personally recommending the Regency option to him. Thus, London (and the Crown Princess) now believed that Gustav was the principal protagonist in this matter. Indeed, such was the fury in London that it caused Britain’s King George VI to sit down and write a very stern letter to the Swedish King. Fortunately, this was not forwarded by the British Legation in Stockholm to King Gustav, when it became clear that the meddling Swedish king had instead urged Hitler to show the utmost possible moderation in his dealings over Norway. Some commentators have taken the view that Gustav intervened simply because he believed that if the matter was not resolved soon Germany would abolish the monarchy in Norway.

Despite the strong political pressure placed on her, according to Einar Østgaard’s book, Crown Princess Märtha did not particularly want to travel to the United States. However, King Haakon and Crown Prince Olav, fearing for Märtha and the children’s safety, seemed keen that this should happen. In late June, the Crown Prince had written again to President Roosevelt from Buckingham Palace pressing him to make good on his offer of sanctuary to his children, but this time he also included a request on behalf of his wife. Olav also made an approach to the US Secretary of State via the US Ambassador in London, Joseph Kennedy, entreating ‘if there is anything you can do in a hurry to get the [Crown] Princess out [of Sweden].’ On 12 July, the US Secretary of State sent a message to the US Minister in Stockholm saying that President Roosevelt was arranging for a naval transport vessel to be sent to Finland to evacuate the Crown Princess and her family, along with a group of ‘stranded’ US citizens.

On 17 July, the Norwegian Government-in-exile addressed a letter to the Storting Presidential Council, in which cautious appreciation of the work done by the Administrative Council was combined with a plain warning that ‘everything which is agreed or done at this time in respect of government in Norway must have the clear stamp of temporariness, if nothing is to be lost for the future of the country.’

On 18 July, Märtha received a telephone call from the Norwegian Minister in Washington, Wilhelm Thorleif von Munthe af Morgenstierne. He informed a somewhat nonplussed Crown Princess (who seems to have been in the dark about Crown Prince Olav’s recent correspondence with Roosevelt) that an American warship was being sent to Finland to transport her and her children to the United States. But would she go? On 20 July, Märtha received the US Minister to Norway, Mrs Florence Harriman, who was now ensconced temporarily at the United States Legation in Stockholm. Having had time to reflect on the efforts being made on her and her children’s behalf, both in London and Washington, the Crown Princess indicated to the American that she would be happy to accept President Roosevelt’s kind offer. Nevertheless, Märtha was keen to emphasise that she wanted to enter the United States ‘as quietly as possible’ and that she ‘would not be required to meet reporters or a reception committee’. Naively, the Crown Princess even expressed the hope that the date of her arrival should be kept confidential. King Gustav, on hearing of the “American plan”, telegraphed King Haakon, on 24 July, stating that he objected to the American trip as it might undermine the future of the Norwegian monarchy, a viewpoint Haakon, who deeply resented Gustav’s meddling, was quick to dismiss. Some sources also have Crown Princess Märtha and “Uncle Gustav” having a robust exchange of views on this matter in Stockholm.

However, events were already moving apace. On 22 July, Mrs Harriman had been informed by the US State Department that a naval transport, the USS American Legion, was about to leave for the Finnish port of Petsamo (now Petsjenga, Russia) and should reach there around 5 August. It was also made clear that there was ‘no possible way’ the Crown Princess’ arrival in the United States could be kept confidential. Indeed, just as Märtha was setting off from Ulriksdal Palace, on 12 August, the Norwegian Legation released a statement to the press, also broadcast over Radio Sweden, stating that the Crown Princess and her three children ‘will leave for the United States in the next few days to visit President Roosevelt’ who had issued ‘a personal invitation’ to the Norwegian royals.

The Crown Princess and her children on their long drive through Finland, August 1940

That same day, the Norwegian party departed Stockholm’s Central Station. Both Märtha’s father, Prince Carl and Princess Ingeborg were distressed to take leave of their beloved daughter and grandchildren. Princess Ingeborg presented Märtha with a case of jewels, including the emerald tiara that had once belonged to Empress Joséphine, the wife of Napoléon Bonaparte. This was a form of financial insurance in difficult times. King Gustav also came to the station to see them off, despite his grave reservations. They were, after all, his relations too. The plan was for the Norwegian royal party to travel by train to Haparanda, on the Swedish/ Norwegian border, with the rest of the journey, through Finland, being undertaken by cars provided by the Finnish authorities. The local Haparanda newspaper Haparandabladet soon reported on the Crown Princess’s arrival there, prior to her setting off on the second stage of the journey northwards to Petsamo. This second stage was undertaken in a convoy of four vehicles and included stops and overnight stays in Rovaniemi and Inari (Enare). A Finnish military officer, Major Carl Gustaf Wahren, accompanied the royal entourage and was responsible for security. He very kindly allowed the amiable Swedish policeman Artur Pfeiffer, with whom the children had developed a good relationship since their arrival in Stockholm, to accompany the party on this Finnish leg of their journey. Petsamo was reached on 15 August.

The Crown Princess and her children now joined the nine hundred passengers, mostly United States citizens, aboard the American Legion, bound for New York. Märtha appeared on the ship’s manifest as “Mrs Jones” and was given the use of the Captain’s cabin. Others in the royal party included the Crown Princess’s Chief of Staff, Peder Anker Wedel Jarlsberg; Lady-in-Waiting, Mrs Ragni Østgaard; the latter’s son Einar and Prince Harald’s nurse, Signe Svendsen. Touchingly, Harald was pictured clutching his beloved teddy bear. Yet, the Norwegian royal party were still very much in danger. Germany refused to guarantee the ship safe conduct and according to Time magazine, in a ruthless last-minute display of audacity, had tried to delay the sailing with a dispute over the route. It was said that the Germans preferred a more northern passage where the American Legion could be waylaid by a submarine, and Martha and her son kidnapped.

Meanwhile, King Haakon broadcast to the Norwegian people on 26 August, informing them ‘to avoid everything which is inconsistent with our national dignity; remain Norwegian in mind and thought…’ A majority of the Storting members in Oslo eventually voted for the suspension of the monarchy rather than acceptance of the original German demand for the abdication or deposing of the Royal House and negotiations continued. However, Terboven, keen to stamp his authority, eventually abandoned plans for a Council of the Realm and power rested, for the moment, with the Reichskommissariat.

Despite all the melodrama of the last few months, the Crown Princess and her entourage finally sailed into New York on 28 August. She and her three children would eventually settle in a largish brick house set in substantial grounds in Pook’s Hill, Maryland. Märtha would soon become part of President’s Roosevelt’s inner circle and was thus ideally placed to obtain first-hand knowledge of the comings and goings at the White House and in Washington’s political circles. She was also able to use her position to advance Norway’s cause in the United States.

The Crown Princess and her family on their arrival in New York.

The author of this blog takes a keen interest on the fate of royalty during World War II. He examines the wartime adventures of Princess Olga (the onetime Consort of the Prince Regent of Yugoslavia) in Africa (and much else besides) in the biography Princess Olga of Yugoslavia: Her Life and Times published on 1 April 2021 by Grosvenor House Publishing.

Centenary of the Royal Tour of Australia.

100 years ago, today, on 26 May, 1920 the British cruiser HMS Renown entered Port Melbourne. On board, was the darling of the British Empire, HRH The Prince of Wales. Edward (or ‘David’ to his friends) was about to undertake his first tour of this great continent and the local populace were in a frenzy. In Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Perth, numerous triumphal arches had been built in his honour, the most notable of which was the ‘Wool Industry Arch’ in Sydney’s Bridge Street, which featured the figure of a ram atop. The local populace had also been tutored to sing the words of ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales.’ This would invariably be accompanied at events by a rousing rendition of the National Anthem, ‘God Save the King.’ In addition, various public buildings throughout the country were being illuminated electrically in the royal visitor’s honour.

After disembarking at Port Melbourne, the Prince and his party drove in a convoy of Crossley cars the eight miles to Government House, Melbourne, at that time the largest in the Empire. The pavements on both sides of the road were thronged with flag-waving crowds, anxious to catch their first glimpse of ‘Our digger Prince.’ The events then began in earnest: A visit to the Federal Houses of Parliament, a dinner for 300 at the Queen’s Hall, followed next day by a gathering of 18000 worthies at the State Exhibition Building. Somehow, the Prince also found time to review the Australian Fleet on the anniversary of the Battle of Jutland and receive an Honorary Degree of Doctor of Laws at the University of Melbourne. Edward was immediately caught up in the general bonhomie and wrote to his mother, Queen Mary, of the ‘enthusiastic’ crowds which even surpassed his experience on an earlier portion of his World Tour in Canada.

The Prince departed Port Melbourne by sea on 12 June. As the focus of the tour was very much on honouring military veterans and ‘returned’ sailors and servicemen, en route to Sydney, a visit was included to The Royal Australian Naval College at Jervis Bay. Edward arrived in Sydney, the largest city in Australia, on 17 June. After a formal reception at the Town Hall and a State Government Dinner, the Prince progressed to the Central Station to join the Royal Train for an overnight journey to Canberra, to lay the foundation stone of the new Federal capital. On his arrival, on 21 June, HRH must have been a trifle confused for apart from a power station and a water works, there was, as yet, little evidence of the fine city Canberra would one day become. Nevertheless, he diligently did his part before returning to Sydney by rail in time for dinner. The remainder of his time there quickly passed in a blur of lunches, banquets, receptions, speeches, late-night private parties, as well as a parade for 10000 returned sailor and soldiers at Centennial Park.

On 25 June, the Prince departed Sydney for a long sea voyage along the south coast of Australia to the port of Albany in the West and thence, on 30 June, by train to Perth. After many days of official engagements there (including a sail down the Swan River), Edward embarked the royal train for the journey eastwards across the vast Nullarbor Plain and onwards to Adelaide. However, at Jarnadup, three carriages of the train came off the line. Fortunately, the Prince had been spared injury by rolling up into a ball shape the moment he experienced the heavy jolting movement of the train. A highlight of this stretch of the tour was HRH’s encounter with fifty Aboriginal people, dressed only in loin cloths, at Cook. Edward was transfixed during this ‘corroboree’ by a boomerang display.

Adelaide was reached on 12 July. The itinerary here included a Boy Scout Jamboree at the Jubilee Oval, a visit to the Military Hospital at Keswick and a march past of military veterans at Government House. Then it was the turn of Tasmania. As the two main towns of Hobart and Launceston enjoyed a friendly rivalry, both had to be visited.

On returning to Sydney by sea, the official party immediately travelled by rail up to Queensland. At Brisbane, the Prince was greeted by a party of Women War Workers and feted by crowds the length of Edward Street. Events included a Peoples’ Reception at the Botanic Gardens, an official dinner atop Finney’s Department Store and a tour of an Agricultural Exhibition. As in the other cities, many of the large buildings were festooned with decorations and Prince of Wales feather motifs. Postcards were now available featuring the ‘Digger Prince’, as were little metal medallions.

By this stage of the tour, the Prince was complaining to one correspondent in England that, ‘mentally, I’m absolutely worn out.’ Late nights at the various Government Houses en route, as well as sleepless nights aboard the royal train were to blame. Therefore, Edward must have been delighted when the final period of his tour in Australia was mostly devoted to rural pursuits. On 2 August, he visited a cattle station near Boonah, Queensland to watch the cattle being dipped against ticks. 7 August found him attempting to shear sheep at Wingadee Station, New South Wales. He was amazed to learn that a man could shear 200 in a day. Finally, there was a ‘buck jumping’ display and some Kangaroo hunting at another venue near Miowera.

The successful tour ended with HMS Renown steaming through the Heads at Sydney on the early evening of 19 August, following a 21-gun salute by HMAS Australia. The Prince informed the Governor-General that he had been ‘deeply touched’ by the ‘openhearted affection’ of the Australian people.

Queen Geraldine of Albania Settles in England.

Following a difficult sea journey from the West Coast of France, the Albanian royal party landed in Plymouth, in England, on 26 June 1940. In the early hours of 27 June, Queen Geraldine joined the rest of the Albanian royal retinue on a train up to London, where rooms had already been secured (at an excellent discount) on the top floor of the Ritz in Piccadilly. However, the management also granted the Queen a rare privilege: She was given the key to a Ladies Cloakroom in the basement and often took refuge there with her infant son and his nurse during the evening bombing raids of the September Blitz. Her husband, King Zog preferred to work late into the night in his sitting room upstairs, usually in the company of his sisters. On at least two occasions, Geraldine and Zog narrowly escaped death or serious injury when their hotel suite was damaged by the impact of bombs falling nearby. The Queen now wanted to be of some use and proposed undertaking a first aid course organised by the Red Cross. Unfortunately, the King would not give his approval. Being a devout Roman Catholic, Her Majesty insisted on attending Sunday Mass at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Farm Street, Mayfair.

As the air raids worsened, the Queen persuaded her husband to leave London. The entourage moved temporarily to the Berystede Hotel at Sunninghill in Berkshire until Geraldine managed to secure the lease on a large house nearby, Forest Ridge. The King’s six sisters were accommodated at a neighbouring property, Lowood, while other officials lived in the Sunninghill School House. The Queen was now at liberty to go to the local cinemas with her husband or enjoy long walks in nearby woods with Leka and his newly acquired Cocker Spaniel, ‘Woozy’. She also took tea with Queen Victoria’s granddaughters, the Princesses Helena Victoria and Marie Louise, who had also relocated from London to Englemere House in Ascot. However, Geraldine was constantly anxious for the safety of her family, who were now scattered between the South of France and Hungary and of whom she had heard little.

In November, there were several daytime air raids over Sunninghill and Ascot; a school was destroyed and the local church damaged. The Queen also found that ‘although life was pleasant [at Sunninghill], we were very cramped for space.’ Eventually, Geraldine learned that a much larger property, Parmoor House, at Frieth, near Henley-on-Thames, was for lease following the death of the owner, so she ‘raced there immediately’ and signed a long-lease. The house required extensive modernisation: electricity was installed, along with a new kitchen and extra bathrooms. Fortunately, the King’s sister, Princess Adile, was a competent cook and also attended to the grocery shopping. Geraldine, meanwhile, kept chickens for their eggs.

During this period (1941-46) at Parmoor House, the King and Queen received many official visitors including retired British diplomats who had served in Tirana (one of whom, Sir Andrew Ryan, acted as liaison officer between the King and the Foreign Office) and leaders of various governments-in-exile, such as de Gaulle of France. The highlight of the ‘social season’ at Parmoor was a reception for ‘Loyal Albanians’ held on 28 November each year to celebrate Albania’s National Day. Furthermore, at Christmas, members of the local Home Guard would call-by to sing carols to the King, Queen and their entourage.

In due course, Prince Leka received tutoring at home from Xheladin Nushi, who had been a school teacher in Albania. This was supplemented by lessons from Geoffrey Slater, the headmaster of Lane End School. Mr Slater’s wife, Florence, taught English to King Zog. Queen Geraldine also ensured that the German-speaking Swiss staff (a governess and two nurses who attended to Zog’s ailing sister, Princess Ruhije) spoke only in French in public out of tact.

The Queen often ventured to Marlow (accompanied by two burly bodyguards) to shop and to have her hair coiffed at ‘Maison George’. She might also take tea with a local worthy such as General Percy’s niece, Anne Ritchie. Geraldine regularly attended St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church in the town. Occasionally, Her Majesty undertook an official engagement: In May 1945, she travelled to Northamptonshire to open a fete at Gosgrove to raise funds for a new village hall.

Perhaps the Queen’s closest friend in England was Lady Darnley (née Rosemary Potter) whose mother-in-law lived nearby at Bellehatch Park. Geraldine would also visit Rosemary at her Kent home, Cobham Hall and would stand as Godmother to her friend’s daughter, Melissa Geraldine. Lord Darnley kindly arranged for the Albanian royals to have a holiday at Portmeirion in Wales. This was followed by a ‘bucket and spade’ type holiday at Brighton.

However, by the time the British government recognised the communist regime of Enver Hoxha as the provisional government of Albania, in November 1945, King Zog had decided to move to Egypt, at the invitation of King Farouk. Albania was declared a republic on 11 January 1946, so officially the Albanian monarchy had ceased to exist. For Geraldine, however, her lasting memories of Parmoor House and Frieth were ‘of happy days….It was an honour to live in England…’

Queen of Albania’s Wartime Escape from France.

After an attack on their rented home at Pontoise, Queen Geraldine and her husband, King Zog of Albania, decided to relocate to Paris’ Hôtel Plaza Athénée in early June 1940. The Albanian Queen was growing increasingly anxious: Geraldine rarely saw her husband who was always occupied with meetings, while hotel life was not at all to her liking. Furthermore, her fourteen-month-old child, Leka, exasperated at being constantly on the move, screamed loudly when anyone tried to pick him up. But even more disturbing was the sound of gunfire from advancing German troops, who were now literally on the outskirts of Paris. Why, the Queen demanded of her husband, were they still in Paris?

Perhaps to placate his wife, the King had rented a hotel-pension at Royan, near Bordeaux. Yet, still he prevaricated. Indeed, it was only at eight o’clock on the eve of German troops entering Paris, that Zog finally agreed to travel south, by which time the Diplomatic Corps and French Government had long departed for Tours. The Albanian convoy was composed 36 people travelling in six cars with a luggage lorry bringing up the rear. The King and Queen’s car was a large, scarlet Mercedes-Benz, which had been their wedding gift from Hitler.

Conditions on the road to their first stop at Orleans were hazardous. The cars were not permitted to use their headlights and were forced to edge their way in the darkness through a continual stream of refugees coming out of Paris. By the following morning, the Albanian party had only travelled twenty kilometres. However, they were at least thankful that they were still ahead of the Germans who had now entered Paris. Later in the day, the convoy was brought to an abrupt halt when it was discovered that the car carrying little Leka, his nurse and bodyguard (along with the Queen’s jewels and a box of gold Napoleon coins) had disappeared. Fortuitously, the vehicle soon re-joined the convoy: the Hungarian driver, being unsure of the roads, had taken a wrong turning amid the chaos of soldiers retreating from the front.

The outskirts of Orleans were reached in the afternoon to the noise of an air raid overhead. While most people sheltered in the ditches, Queen Geraldine and her son took refuge in a nearby station building. King Zog remained resolutely in his car. The town was by now full of refugees and with no accommodation being available, the entourage moved on, eventually stopping for the night at a shooting lodge. The next few days were equally harrowing, with long delays caused by a shortage of petrol and nights spent together out of doors, huddling together for comfort.

It was fully a week before Royan was reached, a journey which would normally have taken a day. Unfortunately, the military commander of the town had requisitioned the property the King had leased but the local Mayor, taking pity on Queen Geraldine and her child, arranged for the duo to stay in a local hotel, while the others had the use of his summer residence nearby. Eventually, all were reunited in an abandoned convent only a few kilometres away.

The King, meanwhile, travelled into Bordeaux where he eventually made contact with the British Consul, Oliver Harvey, requesting visas and sea transport to England. Zog also backed this up with a telegram to King George VI. However, although the British were courteous, the Albanian King was required to prove that he had the financial wherewithal to support both himself, his family and an entourage of around thirty. Having satisfied the British as to his liquidity, the King and his party boarded the SS Ettrick (which was already full of returning wounded soldiers) at St Jean-de-Luz on the evening of 24 June. The boat was due to set sail for Liverpool next morning. However, just as the Queen was about to embark, some drunken soldiers snatched her personal jewellery case. This was later ‘rescued’ thanks to the efforts of Geraldine’s Hungarian chauffeur.

It was with a sense of relief that the Albanian royal party now sailed to England where, as I will reveal in a later article, they set up home in rural Buckinghamshire.

Queen Geraldine of Albania Escapes Mussolini’s Army…

In May 1940, as she looked out of the window of her recently acquired home, a rented château at Pontoise, north of Paris, Queen Geraldine of the Albanians was decidedly ill-at-ease. Indeed, Her Majesty had barely unpacked her suitcases when news came through that Germans troops had already entered France at Sedan and were pushing towards Paris and the English Channel coast.

The Queen’s apprehension was understandable: In the preceding thirteen months, she had given birth to a much-anticipated son, Leka, on 5 April 1939, and then been forced to flee the Royal Palace in Tirana, twenty-four hours later, in her night dress, to avoid capture by advancing Italian troops. Mussolini’s henchmen had invaded Albania following the refusal by Geraldine’s husband, King Zog, to sign a pact of protection with Italy. After a difficult car journey to the Greek border lying on a mattress with her baby alongside, the exhausted and emaciated Geraldine spent three long weeks in a musty Greek hotel room, in the market town of Florina, trying to recover her strength.

King Zog subsequently escaped Albania and decided that he, his immediate family and a large entourage (which included fearsome gun-toting guards) should spend time in Istanbul. Geraldine loved this city’s friendliness and thought this would be a splendid place to settle. However, when a delegation of French politicians offered the Albanian Royal Family sanctuary in France, King Zog agreed.

The journey to Paris was at times tortuous and involved a long detour through Romania (and a lunchtime encounter with King Carol), Poland and the Baltic countries to summery Sweden, where little Leka was found to be suffering from pneumonia. Following his recovery, the Albanian party sailed to Antwerp and then travelled on by car to the Château de la Maye in Versailles. Surely now, Geraldine thought, she might be able to settle after nearly five months on the move.

However, on 1 September 1939, German troops invaded Poland. Britain and France declared war on Germany two days later. King Zog became concerned that the château might be vulnerable to bombing should there be air-raids on nearby Paris, so he decided to relocate his family and retainers to a hotel at La Baule in Brittany. It was a pleasant interlude for Geraldine with long walks by the sea and romantic meals with her husband in nearby restaurants.

Nevertheless, King Zog soon found that he was too removed from political and military events in Paris. Suddenly, the couple’s ‘honeymoon’ was over and Queen Geraldine was on the move again, back to Versailles and the delights of the Hotel Trianon Palace. There was a further move-this time at the Queen’s insistence-to a house at Le Mesnil-Saint-Denis (which proved too hard to heat) before settling at the royal group’s current location, the Château de Méry at Pontoise.

However, one evening, only a few days after the Queen had been gazing out of the chateau window, the village nearby was bombed and a house used by the King’s bodyguards in the chateau’s grounds also suffered damage. The local Mayor was convinced that the presence of Albanian Royal Family had been the reason for the attack and asked King Zog to leave. It was a bitter blow but as nothing compared to what awaited the family in the weeks ahead following the fall of Paris……

Plots and Intrigues: The Duke and Duchess of Windsor in Madrid, June 1940

Late on the evening of 20 June 1940, a large Buick crossed the border from France into Spain and proceeded with all speed to Barcelona. Two of the occupants were the former King Edward VIII and his American wife, Wallis. Now styled the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, the couple had arrived in neutral Spain to seek temporary sanctuary from advancing enemy forces in France and also to take stock as to what the future held. The couple had already been much shaken by the apparent indifference shown by officials in Whitehall to their fate.

However, the government in London had now little option but to act as there was always the possibility that, should the royal duo decide to remain in the Iberian Peninsula, they might run the risk of being captured by the Germans or used by them for propaganda purposes. This was a realistic view to take as there was a large network of Nazi agents spread throughout Spain. In addition, General Franco’s Falangist government was regarded by London as having pro-German sympathies. Particularly feared in Allied circles was El Caudillo’s brother-in-law (and the Interior Minister) Ramón Serrano Suñer. The latter was a friend of the German Ambassador, Baron Eberhard von Stohrer. The British Ambassador, Sir Samuel Hoare (whom the Duke knew well having served alongside him in the First World War) had been somewhat surprised by the arrival of his former sovereign but soon received firm instructions from his Foreign Office bosses to ‘offer…hospitality and assistance.’ Unfortunately, Hoare booked his royal charges into the Ritz which was a well-known hotspot of German intrigue and a favourite dining place of the German Ambassador.

On 22 June, Winston Churchill, keen to have the Duke safely out of danger’s way, telegraphed the British Embassy at Madrid and requested ‘Your Royal Highness to come home as soon as possible.’ Furthermore, the Prime Minister informed Hoare that a flying-boat was being sent to Lisbon, on 24 June, to convey the Duke and Duchess to Poole in England. All this information was passed on to the royal duo by the Ambassador in person on their arrival at the Ritz, from Barcelona, on the evening of 23 June. Sir Samuel also informed the royals that a house, Saighton Grange in Cheshire, had been put at their disposal by the Duke of Westminster.

The Germans had other ideas: They (and in particular the Foreign Minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop) wanted to keep the Duke in Spain as long as possible. Circumstances were currently working in the their favour: The Portuguese dictator, Antonio de Oliveira Salazar, was currently hosting a visit from the Duke’s younger brother, Prince George, the Duke of Kent. He was leading the British delegation attending commemorations to celebrate 800 years of Portuguese independence. Salazar, whose private sympathies were for England, was determined that nothing should detract form Prince George’s visit and made this clear to officials in London. Thus, the Duke of Windsor’s journey to Lisbon was postponed until after his brother’s departure from Lisbon on 2 July.

In the meantime, German operatives in Madrid (aided by the Spanish press under the control of the pro-Nazi Serrano Suñer) were soon spreading rumours that Prince Edward had fallen out with the British government and had come to Madrid in order to negotiate his homeland’s withdrawal from the war. Another fanciful tale was that the Duke would be arrested if he set foot in Britain, a fact that had to hastily denied by London.

There were also other issues to take into consideration: In particular, Edward began to question whether he would be given some sort of official employment, for he did not want to be regarded as ‘an embarrassment to all concerned, myself included.’ The Duke also wondered how the Duchess would be treated by his family in the future, particularly as to her ‘status’. He made contact with Churchill by telegram, on 24 June, in an attempt to receive assurances. However, the British Prime Minister was wise enough to realise that he had currently enough problems to deal with without becoming involved in a royal feud between the ex-King and the Palace. Churchill’s response, next day, was evasive at best,’ It will be better for Your Royal Highness to come to England as arranged, when everything can be considered.’

On 25 June, the Duke of Windsor held a press conference at the British Embassy. This was carefully stage-managed by Sir Samuel and Edward was at pains to emphasise that Britain would be victorious. Nevertheless, the ex-King was dissatisfied with Churchill’s answer and cabled back that he would not return to England, ‘until everything has been considered and I know the result.’ Edward was also keen to elaborate on the ‘status’ question in a separate note to Hoare, explaining that he and the Duchess should be received regularly at Buckingham Palace so that they would not find themselves ‘regarded by the British public as in a different status to other members of the family.’

Of course, the deepening rift soon reached the ears of the German Embassy who now sought to use it to their advantage: Why not persuade the Duke to take up residence in ‘neutral’ Spain (for he spoke the language and was popular among the aristocracy and with the people) from where he might, over time, be coaxed into making helpful noises about England and Germany reaching a negotiated peace? The Spanish Foreign Minister, Colonel Luis Beigbeder, at Ribbentrop’s urging, went so far as to offer the Duke the use of a Palace, la Casa del rey moro at Ronda, in Andalusia, as a residence, should he decided to prolong his Spanish visit.

Meanwhile, the King’s Private Secretary at Buckingham Palace, Sir Alexander Hardinge, seemed determined to deny his former master a future role, informing Churchill, on 28 June, that he simply did not believe that it was possible for the Duke, ‘as an ex-King to perform any useful service in this country.’ The British Prime Minister was in many ways now caught between a rock and a hard place as telegrams continued to fly between London and Madrid. And then, suddenly, it was Edward himself who offered a solution: He would be prepared to take an official posting overseas! But how had this change of heart come about? Hoare acknowledged to Churchill that he had been quietly working for a solution behind the scenes and had also persuaded the Duke to limit his ‘status’ demand to a one-off, short meeting between himself and his wife and the King and Queen. This ‘audience’ would subsequently be acknowledged in the Court Circular.

Otherwise, the Duke and Duchess met with friends (including the Spanish diplomat, Don Javier ‘Tiger’ Bermejillo who had served in the Spanish Embassy in London and took them on a sightseeing tour to Toledo). Sir Samuel, keen to keep his royal charge in patriotic mode as well as extend his list of contacts (for Hoare had only been posted to Madrid a few weeks earlier), also hosted a large cocktail party-attended by 500-at the British Embassy. Indeed, this occasion was merely the pinnacle of the hospitality extended to the Duke and Duchess at the legation throughout the nine days they were in Madrid. The Ambassador, of course, was no fool: It was far more preferable to have the royal duo lunch or dine under his watchful eye than expose them to the trickery and chicanery of the Ritz’s dining salon.

On 2 July, the Duke left Madrid for Portugal. For the moment Ribbentrop must have been somewhat miffed that his quarry had eluded him. However, there was always the possibility that Edward (who seems still to have been undecided as to what to do) might be susceptible to German overtures during his stopover in Lisbon, particularly if he did not receive a final, suitable offer from London.

The Duke and Duchess of Windsor flee the French Riviera…

In the spring of 1940, the Duke of Windsor (King Edward VIII prior to his abdication in December 1936) was attached (with the rank of Major-General) to the British Military Mission to the French Command in Vincennes. He was tasked with making tours of various French Army Sectors to report on the quality of the defences, as well as the morale and bearing of the French troops. Following the completion of his last trip in March, the Duke had returned to the opulent rented house he shared with his wife, Wallis, on Paris’ fashionable Boulevard Suchet, where he remained twiddling his thumbs throughout April into May, as no further work was currently forthcoming. The nearest he came to any action was entertaining the British Ambassador to dinner.

Soon everything was about to change: On 10 May, German forces invaded France and the Low Countries. The Duke went to Mission HQ at Vincennes each day where he was initially kept busy studying troop movements on wall maps and undertaking useful liaison work with the French forces at the front. The Duchess of Windsor, meanwhile, was occupied with work for the French Red Cross and Le Colis de Trianon, a charity which distributed ‘soldiers’ boxes’ and comforts to the troops. Matters reached a head, on 16 May, when German Panzer divisions reached the Oise, having successfully crossed the Ardennes and the Meuse with minimal opposition. Panic ensued in Paris and the British Embassy began evacuating all female members of staff, as well as the wives of British diplomats. The Duke, on his own initiative, rushed home and, parrying aside her objections, instructed his wife to pack as he was relocating her southwards for her own safety. Within hours the duo were en route to Biarritz. Although, the roads were packed with refugees heading South, the royal couple managed to find overnight accommodation at Blois from a sympathetic innkeeper who recognised the Duchess, who had overnighted there previously, at the time of the Abdication crisis.

On 17 May, the Duke and Duchess reached Biarritz. After checking his wife into the opulent Hotel du Palais, the Duke headed back north to resume his duties with the Mission. However, the situation there was growing ever more dangerous and the Duke’s brother, Prince Henry of Gloucester, who was serving as Chief Liaison Officer to General Gort, the Commander-in-Chief of the British Expeditionary Force, was winched out of Boulogne on 19 May and flown back to England. However, as there was no guidance from London regarding his own (increasingly perilous) position and, having been assured by his superior, Major-General Howard-Vyse, that there was ‘nothing for him to do’, Edward decided to take matters into his own hands: He proposed a plan whereby, as he later put it to the British Ambassador, Sir Ronald Campbell, he would return to Biarritz to collect his wife and then ‘settle the Duchess in’ at their holiday home, the Château de la Croë at Antibes. From there, he could easily undertake a tour of inspection of French forces on the border with Italy. The Duke did, of course, obtain permission in advance from Howard-Vyse who thought it ‘a good idea.’ Thus, on 27 May, Edward was formally seconded to the French Armée des Alpes and the couple’s house in Paris’ fashionable Boulevard Suchet was soon closed up for the duration of the war. On the beaches to the north at Dunkirk, London had already set in motion ‘Operation Dynamo’, the plan for evacuating the British Expeditionary Force and other Allied troops who had been completely surrounded by German troops.

At La Croë, which they reached on 29 May, the Duchess packed up the Duke’s family silver (which was to be stored at a château in Aix-en-Provence), while the Duke travelled to Nice to report for duty. Antibes was filled with troops and a strict black out was in force and, when not otherwise occupied, the royal couple camped out nervously, eating off tin plates to await further developments. A nearby neighbour was a Captain George Wood and his wife Rosa. The Captain knew the Duke reasonably well as had been attached to the British Legation in Vienna during Edward’s sojourn at Schloss Enzesfeldt, following his Abdication in 1936. The Duchess’ childhood friend Kitty Rodgers and her husband Hermann were also ensconced along the coast at their Villa Lou Viei at Cannes. Inevitably, word of their presence soon reached press who soon posited that Edward had ‘resigned his military appointment’. This was denied by the Ministry of Information on 8 June.

From the North the news was devastating. By 10 June, the Germans were on the doorstep of Paris and the French government had evacuated to Tours (and subsequently to Bordeaux). But of more relevance to the Duke and Duchess on the French Riviera, this was the day Italy declared war on France and Great Britain. Fortunately, the French forces managed to repel an attack by Mussolini’s troops the following day (this came as no surprise to Edward as, during his recent tour of inspection, he had found the French defences in the Alps to be ‘excellent’). The only physical manifestation of the war at La Croë was when the sirens sounded during an Axis air attack on the airbase at St-Raphael to the west. Nevertheless, the writing was on the wall for both the Duke and the Duchess. They had to find a way to escape or risk capture.

On 16 June, the Duke decided to seek the advice of the British Consul-Generals at Nice and Marseilles and eventually a plan was formed whereby Edward and his wife, along with their neighbours, the George Woods’, would join a consular convoy to the Spanish frontier organised by Major Hugh Dodds, the Consul-General at Nice and the Vice-Consul at Menton, Martin Dean. The Windsor’s Buick, driven by their chauffeur Ladbrook, was filled to bursting, for in addition to themselves, the royal duo were accompanied by the Duchess’ maid and the Duke’s comptroller, Major Gray Philips, as well as three Cairn dogs. A lorry containing the royal luggage followed on behind. The group left La Croë on the Duchess of Windsor’s birthday, 19 June, just three days after Marshal Henri Pétain had assumed the office of Prime Minister and was on the verge of signing an armistice with Germany. The main problem now was that neither the Duke nor Duchess had the relevant visa to enter Spain. There was also the possibility that the Duke-who was careful to travel in civilian clothes- might be arrested by the Spanish authorities on the basis that he was a serving British army officer entering a neutral country. Nevertheless, there was little option but to keep going as Italian planes were bombing Cannes as they passed through and there was word that German forces had already reached Lyon.

After an uncomfortable night spent at a hostelry in Arles, the party set off at dawn for the Spanish frontier, inching their way along congested roads. Throughout the journey the Duke, who was perhaps better known in southern Europe as the iconic Prince of Wales of yesteryear, managed to pass through the many barricades manned by locals en route by announcing, ‘Je suis le Prince de Galles. Laissez-moi passer s’il vous plait.’ On reaching Perpignan, however, no amount of Princely charm seemed to work on the Spanish consul and it was only after the Duke made a telephone call to the Spanish Ambassador to France, José Félix de Lequerica, that the party were allowed to pass through the frontier around 7pm.

An hour later, at the British Embassy in Madrid, the Ambassador, Sir Samuel Hoare, informed the Foreign Office of the Duke and Duchess’ arrival in Spain. The royal couple spent the first night on Spanish soil in a hotel in Barcelona. Next morning-21 June-the Duke called on the British Consul-General in Barcelona and sent the following telegram to London: ‘Having received no instructions have arrived in Spain to avoid capture. Proceeding to Madrid. Edward.’ However, far from being safe in this neutral country, the Duke and Duchess were about to enter a world of subterfuge, plots and intrigues….

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King of the Belgians Freed by US Troops.

When German troops invaded Belgium, on 10 May 1940, King Leopold III of the Belgians decided (in direct opposition to the advice of the Belgian Cabinet who were relocating to London) to remain with his people rather than go into exile. On 28 May, with the military situation now all but hopeless, the King (who was in Bruges) decided to surrender the Belgian army to prevent further bloodshed both among his troops and the general populace. He also released a message, telling his people, ‘I will not leave you in these tragic moments. I shall stay with you to protect you and your families and your fate will be mine.’

On Hitler’s orders, Leopold was taken captive and sent back to Brussels, on 29 May. There, he was met at the entrance hall of his home , the Château de Laeken, by a German officer. As the hour was early, the King then proceeded to his bedroom to rest. Looking out of the window, he spotted two German foot soldiers keeping guard. This military presence quickly made him realise that he was now a prisoner-of-war in his own home.

At first life for the royal family (the widowed King and his three children, Josephine-Charlotte, Baudouin and Albert) was reasonably comfortable, despite the fact that half of the Château was soon commandeered by the German occupying forces. Furthermore, Hitler was keenly aware of the need to keep Leopold under close surveillance and so he appointed an experienced German diplomat, Colonel Werner Kiewitz as ‘gardien en chef’ to the King. Kiewitz was a fluent French speaker and any communications between Hitler and the King (and vice-versa) were channelled through him. He also acted as a ‘gatekeeper’, controlling all access to the King and accompanying him on any trips outside of the palace. When Leopold subsequently made a request to swap his palace for a villa, ‘Les Bouleaux’, at Tervuren, it was promptly turned down. The King did eventually have an audience with Hitler at Berchtesgaden, on 19 November 1940, in an attempt to persuade the Führer to release Belgian POWs, and issue a public statement about Belgium’s future independence. Sadly, the meeting proved unproductive.

However, romance was in the air and, on 11 September 1941, the King remarried in a religious ceremony held in the Royal Chapel at Laeken. His second wife was the British-born Lilian Baels, the daughter of a former Governor of West Flanders. She was given the title of the La Princesse de Réthy. Lilian gave birth to a son Alexandre in July, 1942.

Prior to the Allies landing in Normandy on 6 June 1944, Leopold had made a ‘testament politique’ for he had a premonition that the Germans might seek to relocate him and his family from Belgium. Indeed, there had already been an earlier threat to do this after the King had written to Hitler, in November 1942, remonstrating against Belgians being sent to work in factories in Germany, as forced labour. Leopold had aggravated the situation by also raising the matter twice with the President of the Red Cross in Belgium, Doctor Nolf. Indeed, on 18 February 1943, the Führer sent a special envoy (General Muller) to Brussels by air to inform the Belgian monarch that his approaches to the Red Cross (as well as those to Berlin) had irritated Hitler and instructing Leopold, ‘on pain of deportation’ to not further violate the restrictions imposed on him as a prisoner-of-war. In fact, Hitler was now firmly of the view that if the Allies mounted an invasion on mainland Europe, the King should be moved to Hirschstein Castle near Dresden.

Sure enough, on the evening of 6 June 1944, while Allied troops were beginning their invasion of Normandy, Colonel Kiewitz called on His Majesty and informed him politely that, on the direct orders of the Führer, he was being moved to a new location in Germany. They were to leave at 7am the following day. Despite the King making a last-minute appeal to the German Military Governor, General Alexander Von Falkenhausen, the decision stood. Leopold was permitted to take only one suitcase and was driven away in a German staff car accompanied by Kiewitz and an SS motorcycle escort. The first stop on the journey was made at 4pm at the Château Royal at Ciergnon. It was only at this stage that the King was informed by Kiewitz that his wife and children were also to be deported from Belgium. Fortunately, Leopold was able to make contact with Lilian via a direct telephone line to Laeken. Thereafter, although the King had still not yet been informed of his final destination, he was required to resume his journey, stopping for the night at the Hotel Brasseur, in the city of Luxembourg. Leopold eventually reached Hirschstein Castle, a medieval edifice situated on a promontory on the banks of the River Elbe, on the evening of 9 June.

In the meantime, following upon her telephone converation with her husband, on 7 June, the Princesse de Réthy had attempted to delay her departure by protesting that some of the children were ill. Furthermore, on 8 June, she lodged a formal appeal with the occupying power. This was backed up by a telegram sent directly to Hitler by the German-born Queen Mother, Elisabeth. The King had also written a note to the German authorities from Ciergnon indicating that he wished his wife and children to remain in Belgium. However, all these attempts were in vain. At 3am, on 9 June, a Major Bunting called on the Princess and informed her that her appeal had ‘been rejected’ and that she and her party were due to depart Laeken later that day. Lilian was a formidable woman and she immediately contacted Cardinal Van Roey, the Belgian Primate, as well as senior officials of the judiciary, to intercede on her behalf. Nonetheless, she eventually had no option but to comply with the German order and, at 6.30 that evening, she and her children (driven in a requisitioned royal car) headed a convoy of several cars and two lorries (carrying food and fuel) which was escorted by a group of German army outriders and a detachment of the Gestapo. Included in the Princess’ party was the children’s tutor, Vicomte Gatien du Parc Locmaria and the King’s Private Secretary, Monsieur Willy Weemaes. The Court Physician, Dr. Charles Rahier was a late addition.

Princess Lilian’s convoy followed roughly the same 500-mile route as that of the King, with the first night being spent at the Hotel Brasseur in the city of Luxembourg and that of 10-11 June at the Hotel Elephant in Weimar. It was during her stay at the latter, that Lilian was peremptorily informed that most of those accompanying her were ‘not authorised’ to proceed further. Worse still, she and her son Alexander were to travel separately from the King’s older children. Following some ‘violent protestations’ on the part of the Princess, the latter idea was quickly abandoned. Furthermore, some of the accompanying party-including the tutor and private secretary-were allowed to proceed. The somewhat diminished convoy arrived at the gates of Hirschstein Castle late on the evening of 11 June.

Meanwhile, on 14 June, radio stations in Belgium broadcast the news that the King and his family had been removed from the Château de Laeken, at the personal request of the Führer. The reason given was that the recent ‘Anglo-American’ air attacks over Laeken had rendered this location unsafe. The King’s new residence, listeners were assured, was of a standard ‘in keeping with his rank and position’. This was somewhat stretching the truth, for although the accommodation at Hirschstein was adequate (if somewhat cramped) and the family were able to take daily exercise in the extensive grounds, other conditions there were far from ideal: a new ‘gaoler’ named Colonel Otto Lurker had been appointed. He was terrified that his charges might try to escape, so he deprived them of all contact with the outside world. Soon, letters from friends sent through emissaries in neutral countries, such as Sweden and Switzerland, were intercepted with a vengeance. Furthermore, the property was surrounded by three-metre-high walls topped with barbed wire and patrolled by a team of guard dogs. For good measure, a unit of sixty SS Guards (ultimately overseen by a Gruppenführer Von Alvensleben) kept up a constant (and vigilant) watch over their royal prisoners.

On 1 February 1945, Von Alvensleben informed the King that, owing to the rapid advance of Russian forces, he and his family’s stay at Hirschstein Castle was over. He was relocating them to southern Germany, on his own initiative. However, only Leopold and his family were to be taken there. The other Belgians in the group would be transferred to another location. The King refused to agree to this and immediately telegraphed Von Kaltenbrunner in Brussels. An impasse followed but on 6 March, Colonel Lurker informed His Majesty that he and his family were now being sent to Austria. Leopold, Lilian and the children would travel by car, while other members of the royal party were to take the train.

The 300-mile journey, which commenced at 4am on 7 March, was not without incident. During a snowstorm in Munich, the royalties were forced to take shelter for the night in seedy hotel and on other occasions their progress was interrupted by Allied aircraft patrolling overhead. Indeed, when the royal family reached the outskirts of Salzburg the following day, they were forced to abandon their cars and seek shelter in a tunnel for three hours. Thus, it was late in the evening of 8 March before the little group reached their final location, a villa in Strobl, some 50km south east of Salzburg, on the shores of Lake Wolfgangsee. Conditions there were similar to those at Hirschstein, with the property again being surrounded by a barbed wire fence patrolled by guard dogs. However, the military guard had now risen to seventy. Furthermore, the accommodation was somewhat incommodious and food was scarcer to come by. Indeed, the children seemed to be constantly hungry. For the King, the one high point was the receipt of a letter-the first in nearly eleven months- from his mother, Queen Elisabeth. Nevertheless, Colonel Lurker remained a menacing presence.

On 29 March, American troops advanced into Austria, a fact of which the King remained completely unaware. Similarly, in Belgium, the liberation of which had been completed by 4 February, there was no clue as to the King’s whereabouts, so tight had been Lurker’s control of information. Then, on 7 May, while looking out of a window, Leopold spied an American tank approaching the villa. As the German guards seemed to have suddenly disappeared, he sent out one of his officials to investigate. Soon, two officers of the US Seventh Army, a Colonel Wilson and his colleague Major Howard, entered the hall of the royal residence and were astonished to find the King and his family standing there. According to Leopold’s recollection, when he informed the Americans of the whereabouts of the SS guards, they exclaimed, ‘Come on. Let’s go and shoot them!’ However, the King soon diffused the situation by saying, ‘ No, not in our house.’ He then indicated that the guards should be taken prisoner by the Americans and then brought before their Commanding Officer for questioning, adding , ‘He will decided their fate.’ Leopold’s reward was to receive a final Nazi salute and a cheeky ‘Heil Hitler’ from his former captors, as they were taken away in trucks.

Meanwhile, the King-who was now dizzy with the joy of freedom and determined to return to Brussels as soon as was practicable-requested that General Alexander Patch, who commanded the US Seventh Army, be informed of his whereabouts. This news was duly passed on by Patch to the Belgian authorities. Events then moved on quickly: Leopold’s brother Charles (who had recently been appointed Regent in his brother’s absence) arrived at Strobl on 9 May accompanied by the Belgian Prime Minister, Achille Van Acker, and representatives from other political parties. It gradually became apparent, following various meetings at Strobl and later at Saint Wolfgang (to where the royal party had relocated on 18 May) that Leopold’s return home was going to be much delayed due to various complications including social and political unrest. As the King was no longer regarded as a symbol of unity in Belgium, the question of his abdication also hung ominously in the air.

In October 1945, the King and his family moved to Switzerland and installed themselves in the smart Villa Reposoir at Pregny, a suburb of Geneva. They were to remain there until 22 July 1950 when they returned to Brussels. However, following the King’s homecoming, the situation showed no sign of settling down and support among government ministers was hemorrhaging . Thus, on 31 July, Leopold was forced to delegate his powers to Baudouin, who was now given the title of Prince Royal. On 16 July 1951, King Leopold III formally abdicated and Baudouin ascended the throne. It was a sad ending to a reign, which in the early years with his first wife, the iconic Queen Astrid at Leopold’s side, had shown such promise.

Norwegian Royal Visit to the US.

Crown Prince Olav and Crown Princess Märtha of Norway undertook an extensive ten-week, 15000 mile tour of the United States in the Spring and Summer of 1939 with the aim of strengthening ties between Norway and the United States. The royalties reached New York on 27 April aboard the Norwegian-American liner Oslofjord which unfortunately rammed and sank a pilot boat as it entered the city’s port in foggy weather. Nevertheless, thousands of New Yorkers were on hand to greet the royals with a traditional ticker tape parade down Broadway.

However, the tour truly kicked off, on 28 April, with a two-night stay with President and Mrs Roosevelt at their country estate, at Hyde Park, some ninety miles north of the ‘Big Apple’. Olav and his wife came ashore at Poughkeepsie at 4pm having travelled up the Hudson River aboard the presidential yacht Potomac from New York. The following afternoon, Märtha and the Prince were treated to an informal picnic lunch of hot dogs and apple pie at Top Cottage and a good rapport was struck up between the President and his guests by the time they departed on 30 April. In commemoration of the visit, the royal couple would later send the Roosevelts a gilded coffee service by the renowned Norwegian designer, David Andersen.

On 1 May, the royals paid a visit to the World’s Fair at New York’s Flushing Meadow to inspect the Norwegian Pavilion. The New York Times noted that the Crown Prince made a speech in which he saw no sign of peace in the world of tomorrow. The following evening, Olav and Märtha attended a Fleet Ball at the Waldorf Astoria given in honour of naval officers from over thirty nations whose battleships were currently moored in or near the city. On 3 May, the couple were the guests-of-honour at a ‘State Banquet’ given by the Official Committee for Norway’s Participation in the New York World Fair.

Thereafter, the royal couple’s duties through thirty-four states varied considerably but the focus was on visiting areas with close dynastic connections to Norway, particularly in the Mid-West. During three days spent in Chicago, Illinois, in early May, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess toured the Norwegian-American Hospital and Nurses’ Home, were guests-of-honour at a grand dinner attended by 1500 guests at the Loop Hotel, paid a visit to the University of Chicago and were feted by a crowd of 4000 during a visit to the United Evangelical Lutheran Church at Oak Park. Märtha even managed to sneak in a private visit to a nearby department store by ditching the flags on the official car so as to travel relatively incognito. The royal duo then travelled westwards by rail to La Crosse in Wisconsin where, on 6 May they were swept in a Cadillac with an outrider escort to the home of Mrs. Helga Gundersen for lunch. This was followed by an impressive street parade through the town featuring a marching band and cheerleaders. At the post-parade reception at Riverside Park, the Crown Princess was presented with an enormous bouquet of red roses, while the Crown Prince received a walking cane and a silk top hat. Olav and Märtha then departed by train for an overnight stay in Decorah, Iowa where they dined with Dr Sabo, the Norwegian Vice-Consul, opened a gymnasium and the Crown Prince presented gifts to the local Norwegian-American Historical Museum from the National Association of Museums in Norway.

The royalties reached Los Angeles in time for the Norway Independence Day celebrations on 17 May which were held at Sycamore Grove Park. The event included a display of traditional Norwegian dancing and a male choir singing a hearty rendition of the Norwegian National Anthem, ‘Ja, Vi Elsker Dette Landet.’ Olav and Märtha had previously been introduced to fellow countrywoman and Olympic figure skater turned movie star, Sonja Henie, who was part of the official welcoming committee. However, the royal party had little time to catch their breath as they were scheduled to be in San Francisco next day, to act as host and hostess at the Norwegian Pavilion at the Golden Gate International Exposition on Treasure Island. The couple were much impressed by the Pavilion which was in fact a massive log cabin in the shape of a horseshoe with a large raftered lounge at the centre. The Prince and Princess remained in the city for several days.

Although it was late Spring, the Norwegian visitors must at times have felt they had been transported homewards. During a subsequent visit to Oregon, a snow storm required the royalties to shelter under a tarpaulin while dedicating a new ski lift at Mount Hood. Fortunately, the recently-constructed Timberline Lodge Hotel nearby offered the sort of comforting facilities necessary for a good warm-up as the Princess was dressed in a flimsy black crepe dress more suitable for summery climes. Then, on 24 May, after a formal lunch at the Paradise Inn in the resort of Paradise, the royal couple went on a skiing trip down Mount Ranier. The Seattle Times noted cheekily that Olav’s ski attire ran to a ‘cap that had seen better days and a battered leather jacket.’ However, the Crown Prince proved to be an accomplished skier and soon left the majority of his party (including his wife Martha) lagging a good quarter-of-a-mile behind. On their return to Paradise, a banquet was given at the Inn, where the royal guests of honour, dress in their best evening finery, dined on crab cocktail, steak, asparagus, potatoes and fresh strawberry pie.

On 27 May, the royal duo attended one of the most moving events on their schedule: the dedication of a Memorial to Zakarias Martin Taftezon, the first Norwegian settler to traverse North America to Puget Sound, at the Stanwood Lutheran Cemetery in Washington State. The Crown Prince and Princess departed the next day for Seattle (with ninety pieces of luggage) to attend a festival at the Seattle Civic Auditorium. Olav also paid a solo visit to a Seattle lumber mill and was later intrigued to inspect the construction site of the Grand Coulee Dam over the Columbia River. The month of May ended with a visit to the city of Spokane where a civic welcome had been arranged at the Pavilion on Bernard Street. This stop was apt choice as Norwegian settlers had settled nearby in “Little Norway” in the mid-19th century. As with many of the stops, the city had an active Sons of Norway branch.

As June dawned, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess had moved on eastwards into Montana where several days was spent in the scenic but icy Glacier National Park. For fun the couple were given (and gamely wore) a matching pair of ‘his and hers’ cowboy outfits prior to taking to the local trails on horseback. A sightseeing tour of the Grand Canyon was another highlight as was observing the geysers and wildlife (including a family of bears) from an open-topped car in Yellowstone National Park.

On occasion-such as the visit to Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota on 8 June (where the Prince received the College’s first honorary doctorate at a specially delayed graduation ceremony)-the royal couple would stay overnight in a local private home (on this occasion that of Congressman L.B. Hanna). This was convenient as it allowed the duo to carry out three further engagements in the neighbouring town of Fargo the following day before moving on to Fergus Falls. Before departing Minnesota the couple attended an event hosted by the Governor at the State Fair grounds in St Paul’s, the State Capital.

The tour reached Sioux Falls in South Dakota on 14 June where Olav and Martha again received a rousing welcome as they drove down South Phillips Avenue. A visit to Madison, the State Capital of Wisconsin followed with yet another State Dinner appointment, this time hosted by the Governor, Julius P Heil. The royal duo then motored, next morning, to Heg Memorial Park in Racine County to join in celebrations for the centenary of the foundation of the Norway-Moskego settlement. This was a true family event for thousands came from surrounding communities to picnic and listen to music from a Drum and Bugle Corps and the Waterford High School Band. Crowds also turned out in force in Milwaukee, on 21 June, when the Prince and Princess were feted all the way down Wisconsin Avenue to a Norwegian-American cultural event at Juneau Park.

Honorary degrees were also still very much on the itinerary as is evidenced when the duo subsequently paid a visit to the historical College of William and Mary in Williamsburg (founded in 1693 by British Royal Charter). On this occasion Olav was awarded a Doctor of Laws degree (LL.D.). The state of Virginia was also the setting for a spell at the celebrated West Virginia Resort in White Sulphur Springs. A rest must have been badly needed for a full examination of the tour schedule reveals that the majority of the couple’s time had been spent in a repetitive cycle of meeting and greeting, listening to speeches, replying to said speeches, watching dance displays, attending official lunch and dinners, in addition to the receiving of Honorary degrees.

Märtha and Olav arrived in Washington D.C., on 27 June, to a warm greeting at Union Station from the Secretary of State and Mrs Cordell Hull. Two days later, they and the Norwegian Minister were treated to tea with the President in South Portico of the White House. The Prince had earlier met with the Vice-President at the Capitol and lunched with members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. The royal party also undertook a private tour of Mount Vernon, the home of the first President of the United States. The final day of June was spent in Philadelphia where the Crown Prince and Crown Princess paid a visit to the Independence Hall to sign the visitor’s book and were praised in the local press for their ‘democratic manner’. The Philadelphia Inquirer also noted that the couple had-to date-travelled to 35 cities (the number of towns and outposts being too numerous to cite with accuracy) and that the Prince had delivered 264 speeches or words of thanks.

Following a visit to Boston on 1 July, Crown Prince Olav celebrated his 36th birthday on 2 July with his wife as a guest of William A. Coolidge, a fellow graduate of Balliol College, Oxford, at his estate in Topsfield, Massachusetts. Coolidge was a well-known lawyer and financier and had laid on a surprise for his Nordic friend: a huge birthday cake (weighing 75 pounds) bearing the armorials of the Crown Prince set between two Norwegian flags and with 36 candles set around the base.

The royal duo ended their tour back in New York, from where they set sail aboard the Norwegian-American Line liner Stavangerfjord for home on 6 July. Addressing a crowd earlier in the day at the unveiling of statue of the Norwegian explorer Leir Erikson, Crown Prince Olav stated, ‘We carry with us today a chest of memories that we will treasure as long as we live.’ Interestingly, although Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark and his wife Ingrid had been undertaking a similar tour of the States, it is the tour by the Norwegian royal couple that has truly enthralled readers over the decades.