As the rumours of war intensified in the first days of September, 1939, Queen Mary was holidaying at the royal family’s Norfolk estate at Sandringham, close to the ancient market town of King’s Lynn. On the morning that war with Germany was declared, 3 September, the Queen was listening to a radio broadcast by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, on the vicar’s radio in her stall at the small estate church of St Mary Magdalene. Soon thereafter, the local parishioners were temporarily diverted from their devotions by the drone of the local air raid siren. This was a false alarm, being merely a test of the system. Presumably, the Queen Dowager spent the rest of what remained of that first Sunday of wartime in a state of nervous anticipation.
In the early hours of 4 September, Queen Mary was roused from her sleep by another ‘alarm.’ She and her detective Green and her grandchildren Prince Edward and Princess Alexandra of Kent (the children of Prince George, the Duke of Kent and his wife Marina, who were temporarily under her care) all rushed to the basement, where they sat stoically until the ‘all clear’ was sounded at 3.30 am. Although Mary returned to her bed, she remained wide-awake till morning.
Indeed, by 10am the Queen Dowager and her large entourage of staff had already packed their cases and departed ‘the Big House’, under a pre-arranged plan, for an even grander edifice, Badminton House, in rural Gloucestershire. This was the home of the Duke of Beaufort (‘Master’) and his wife, Mary, who was a niece of Queen Mary. As the Duke had already joined his Regiment, it was Mary Beaufort who was faced with the daunting prospect of greeting her royal aunt and her staff of around fifty, along with seventy pieces of the Queen’s luggage.
Queen Mary-who had lunched en route at the Northamptonshire home of Lord and Lady Spencer at Althorp-quickly selected a first-floor bedroom, with a splendid view over across the park, together with an adjacent sitting room and bathroom. For her private dining room, she made use of the so-called Oak Room, the main feature of which was its dark, heavy Jacobean panelling. Yet, even this generous accommodation was deemed insufficient, so she commandeered a large dining-room to serve as a formal drawing room for receiving important guests. To protect her royal personage, four despatch riders were on constant call to lead the way to safety in case of a sudden attack or a German invasion. They were augmented by 120 men of the local Gloucestershire Regiment who were quartered in the old stables. Of course, Inspector George Gardner, the Queen’s personal police protection officer, was also on hand.
It must be said that the Queen Dowager never wanted to go to the country. She would far preferred to have remained at Marlborough House, but the King persuaded his mother that if she were to remain in London, he would be constantly fretting over her wellbeing. To combat her initial restlessness and feelings of uselessness, ‘Bertie’ ensured that Mary should receive regular news summaries from the Foreign Office. These were sent down by motorbike courier in official red leather dispatch boxes. Another weapon to combat country boredom was Queen Mary’s weekly train visits up to London, during which she sometimes lunched with the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace and visited her favourite shops. Filled with purpose, the Dowager was up with the lark to catch the 8.28 train from nearby Chippenham. The journey took two hours. Her only complaint was that the blackout requirements, on the evening return trip, hampered her ability to read.
Looking out of her bedroom window one day, Queen Mary espied a whole wall of the house covered in ivy ‘of 50 years standing.’ She had always hated the plant with a vengeance, believing that it was destructive to a building’s stone work. Some of the park’s trees were also covered in the dastardly plant. Soon, her Equerry, Sir John Coke, was pressed into joining his mistress for a morning of clearing ivy. This ‘Ivy Squad’ was eventually augmented by the enrolment of Her Majesty’s duty Lady-in-Waiting and Private Secretary, aided by any visiting guests. Given the old Queen’s zeal, it is not surprising that Badminton’s considerable stock of Ivy was quickly exhausted.
Undeterred, by the autumn of 1940, Queen Mary turned her attention, most afternoons, to the clearance of areas of the local woodlands. A ‘Wooding Squad’ was established, mainly composed of the four dispatch riders and their royal charge. As Mary now rarely went to London due to the German bombing campaign or ‘Blitz’ (during which most of Marlborough House’s windows were blown-out, as were many of the interior doors), this diversion proved particularly welcome. The Queen was a thoughtful ‘employer’ and happily passed round cigarettes to her workers during their breaktime from chopping and sawing, always ensuring, of course, to have one herself. Mary also took great pains to find out the birthdays of her ‘wooders’, so that she could give them a small gift.
However, the Dowager Queen’s efforts at undertaking a salvage campaign to collect scrap iron for the war effort proved less successful. Her enthusiasm often led her into ‘salvaging’ the local farmers’ perfectly serviceable field implements which had to be discreetly returned to them at a later date. Yet, her dedication to the task is evidence that her patriotic heart was in the right place. Mary’s patriotism was also apparent in her insistence on obeying the strict rationing rules. Many was the evening that a dinner guest left her table hungry after consuming only half a snipe. By contrast, the Queen loved to fill her rooms with exuberant displays of geraniums and orchids, the latter often sourced (doubtless at great expense) from neighbouring nursery gardens.
Another outlet for Queen Mary’s talents was to undertake a varied array of official engagements in the locality, be it visiting a munitions factory or a hospital or a woollen mill or a group of evacuees from London. Although Her Majesty’s movements were meant to shrouded in secrecy, on a visit to a spitfire production factory at Trowbridge, one of the workers let the secret slip, so a group of children were there to greet her as she alighted from her old green Daimler saloon ‘prim as always’ with her trademark rolled-up umbrella in one hand. Sometimes, on her outings, Mary would come across members of the military plodding along the road and she soon took to offering them lifts. Many were unaware of who this kind and inquisitive old lady was, particularly in the case of foreign combatants.
For relaxation the Queen Dowager often visited antique shops in nearby Bath. She also enjoyed embroidery (or ‘stitchery’ as she sometimes referred to it). Mary would also visit local gardens and if it happened to be raining, she would don a pair of short rubber boots and prod tentatively at the flower beds with her stick or umbrella. Family members often visited, particularly her youngest son, the Duke of Kent, and his sister Mary, the Princess Royal. The Duke’s death in an air accident in northern Scotland, in August, 1942 was a severe shock. However, Mary stoically put her own feelings aside and arranged to motor to Buckinghamshire next day, to comfort his widow, Marina. The only night the Queen Dowager spent away from Badminton during the entire war period, was at Windsor Castle on the eve of the Duke’s funeral on 29 August.
On occasion, Badminton was subjected to air raids due to its proximity to Bristol and Bath. Queen Mary initially ‘descended’ to a reinforced room on the ground floor where, dressed to perfection and sitting bolt upright, she would attempt to solve a crossword puzzle. Eventually, she decided to remain upstairs in bed and take her chances. However, Mary was less sanguine when it came to the bombing of her beloved Marlborough House noting, ‘The dear old House cannot stand much more of this, & I tremble each day for news of it’s having succumbed.’
By early 1945, the old Queen had resumed her journeys up to London. Their primary purpose was so that she could assess the extent of the damage to Marlborough House, with a view to preparing the place for her eventual return. From the outset, it became clear that only her private suite of rooms could be made habitable in time for her return home, as materials to undertake repairs were almost impossible to obtain.
After celebrating VE day (8 May) with a visit to the local pub (where the villagers were celebrating with a sing-song), Queen Mary departed Badminton on 11 June. She insisted on personally bidding farewell to the Heads of each of the nine ‘departments’ of the estate and presented a gift to each. It was an emotional occasion and with tears streaming down her face, the Dowager acknowledged to Mr Perks, the Head Gardener, ‘Oh, I have been happy here! Here I’ve been anybody to everybody, and back in London I shall have to begin being Queen Mary all over again.’ She also admitted to having ‘gained much’ from her time there, which is an understatement given that, prior to moving to Badminton, she had not even known what hay looked like.
The writer of this blog is the author of a new biography: Princess Olga of Yugoslavia Her Life and Times published by Grosvenor House Publishing and available as a hardback from Amazon and other on-line booksellers and local bookshops.
In May 1946, a tall, aristocratic lady spent the day helping the homeless in Cassino. However, when a helper referred to her as ‘Your Majesty’, the individual suddenly realised that she had become Queen of Italy. The lady in question was Marie-José, the daughter of the late King Albert I of the Belgians and his wife Queen Elisabeth. Yet, how had this situation come to pass?
Princess Marie-José was born in Ostend in August 1906. She was the youngest child of King Albert I of the Belgians and his consort, Duchess Elisabeth in Bavaria. Through the latter, she was a grandniece of the iconic Empress Elisabeth of Austria (‘Sisi’). The Princess was raised initially at the Chateau of Laeken in Brussels, with a country home at Ciergnon. As the battles of World War I were fought in mainland Europe, many of her primary school years in England where she attended school at the Ursuline Convent High School in Brentwood, Essex. A particular influence was Miss Hammersley, a genteel Englishwoman who fussed over her charge. In 1917, Miss Hammersley would accompany Marie-José to Italy where the Princess attended the Istituto Statale della Santissima Annunziata in Florence. Classes were traditionally taught here in Italian, English and German. With the coming of peace, Princess Marie-José would return to Brussels where, in 1919, she enrolled at the Sacre Coeur Institute at Linthout under the guidance of the Mother Superior Jacquemin. She would remain there until the age of eighteen and receive a good and sound Catholic education.
Marie-José as a child in Belgium.
A visitor to the port of Antwerp in Belgium in the the autumn of 1922 was Umberto, the Prince of Piedmont and heir to the throne of Italy. He arrived in Antwerp aboard the ship Ferruccio to officially represent Italy at the opening of a new canal. He was received by Marie-José and her brothers. The Princess was subsequently shown over the ship by Umberto (whom she had met several years earlier while in Italy) and was impressed by his tanned appearance, jet black hair and dapper white military uniform. It was a brief meeting, during which the Prince of Piedmont’s visits to Rhodes, Benghazi and Tripoli were discussed. There must have been a sufficient spark between them, for the following September, the Belgian Royal Family were invited for a month-long visit to Racconigi Castle near Turin. Although military and official duties meant that Umberto only made one brief appearance, it gave Marie-José a flavour of what life was like in the House of Savoy. This visit must also have proved to be successful as the following year, Umberto’s mother, Queen Elena wrote to tell a friend in Belgium that she continued to hope for a union between her son and Princess Marie-José.
Marie-José prior to her marriage.
Thus it was, in January 1930, following a long romance, the Princess married Umberto in the historic Paolina Chapel of Rome’s Quirinal Palace. Initially, Marie-José and Umberto lived in the Royal Palace in Turin. However, unlike her more deferential husband (who always referred to his father, King Victor Emanuele, as ‘Majesty’) the Belgian Princess was much more of a free spirit. She preferred organising musical evenings and working with the Red Cross to observing strict court etiquette. From the outset, Marie-José was also passionate about studying the history of the House of Savoy, into which she had married.
However, a move to Naples, in November 1931 (where Umberto had been appointed Commandant of the 25th Infantry), was to prove fortuitous. The couple could escape the confines of the city’s Royal Palace for relaxing weekends at the Villa Rosebery in the seaside suburb of Posillipo. Marie-José also felt more emancipated among the happy and relaxed Neapolitans: She played tennis thrice-weekly at the Villa Communale and established a Public Refectory to feed the poor of the city. Fulfilled and in love, she later described this era as ‘the best times in our marriage.’ The culmination of her joy was the birth of a beloved daughter, Maria Pia, on 24 September, 1934.
The marriage of the Prince and Princess of Piedmont in Rome, 1930
Yet, this was also a difficult period. Marie-José’s father, King Albert, died in a climbing accident during her pregnancy and she was advised not to travel to Belgium for the funeral. Then, in August 1935, her beloved Swedish sister-in-law, Queen Astrid, was killed in a horrific car accident in Switzerland. Always in the background too were the troubling machinations of Mussolini’s right-wing government, or more particularly his invasion of Ethiopia in October 1935. While the Princess had grave reservations over Il Duce’s actions and policies, she coped by trying to be of practical use. Marie-José trained as a nurse and undertook a course in tropical medicine. Her hospital work would soon earn her the title, ‘Sister Marie-José.’ During a tour of Italian troops in Africa in 1936, the Princess was troubled by the poor facilities and low morale of the troops. She was incensed too by Mussolini’s propaganda machine, which described her as the ‘Empress of Ethiopia.’
With the passage of time, Marie-José bemoaned Il Duce’s increasing closeness to Hitler. This would eventually result in a confrontation, when the Princess decided that the proceeds of her Neapolitan fund-raising concerts should be donated to her ‘Princess of Piedmont Work Fund’ rather than the Fascist’s ‘National Work Fund.’ A major beneficiary of her Fund’s largesse was the National Association for Southern Italy which was overseen by the eminent archaeologist and anti-Fascist, Umberto Bianco. The Fascist regime in Rome was furious. Nor were they enamoured with Marie-José’s association with ‘liberals’ such as the Archbishop of Naples, Cardinal Alessio Ascaresi and the philosopher Benedetto Croce, whose home was raided by Fascist troopers.
In February, 1937, the Princess of Piedmont gave birth to a son, Vittorio Emanuele. She was not best pleased to learn that the Fascist Grand Council had the power to deliberate on the suitability of an Heir to reign and confronted Mussolini over the matter. He was unnerved by her direct approach, so different from that of her father-in-law, the King, whom Marie-José felt was complacent in his dealings with the Fascists. ‘A monarch’ Marie-José chided her husband Umberto, ‘should be there for all his people.’ A meeting with Hitler in Naples did little to dissuade her from her ‘democratic’ outlook. Indeed, in September 1938, the Princess met with the First World War hero, Marshal Pietro Badoglio at Racconigi Castle to discuss a plan to remove Mussolini and persuade the ‘discredited’ King Victor Emanuele to abdicate, thus paving the way for an anti-Fascist government. However, the Munich Agreement of 29 September short-circuited this attempt.
Marie-José in Red Cross Uniform.
When Italy declared war on Great Britain and France, in June 1940, Marie-José informed a lady-in-waiting that the monarchy in Italy was ‘finished.’ She was already reeling from news of the invasion of her homeland of Belgium by Nazi forces on 10 May. Indeed, the Princess had been ‘tipped-off’ about Germany’s intentions by a sympathetic Pope Pius on 6 May. However, Marie-José’s attempts to alert the Belgian government were thwarted by the Belgian Ambassador in Rome who dismissed the warning as an ‘enemy rumour.’
No matter what her personal feelings were, the Princess now focused on helping those in need. Following the birth of her third child, Maria Gabriella, she spent the summer of 1940, working with the Red Cross on the Western Front and even organised a hospital train to transport the wounded from the Front. In September, Marie-José paid a visit to Brussels for discussions with her brother, King Leopold III, who had decided to see-out the German occupation with his people. He asked his beloved sister to meet with Hitler to request the repatriation of Belgian prisoners-of-war and ask for much-needed food supplies. Once again, the Princess put her individual feelings aside for the sake of her homeland and paid a visit to the Fuhrer at Berchtesgaden on 17 October. He seemed disinterested, although Marie-José pressed on doggedly and spoke to him of the ‘many sufferings inflicted on the Belgian people.’ She also encouraged her brother to enter into a dialogue with Hitler on the various matters.
By the time that Italy had declared war on the United States, in December 1941, the Princess had already reached the conclusion that her adopted homeland could not win the war. She again attempted to reach out to Marshal Badoglio and impress on him the need to remove the Fascists and end the war. Events backed her viewpoint: In late 1942, Italy was suffering from military reversals in Libya and Russia. The Marshal, however, was awaiting a signal from the ‘constitutional’ King and he in turn was seeking a signal from the people!
Undeterred, the Princess carried on with her work in hospitals and among the homeless and dispossessed, the numbers of whom had increased greatly as a result of Allied bombing. Marie-José was moved too by the people’s displays of affection towards her as she visited her refectories in Rome and Naples. By now pregnant with her fourth child, Maria Beatrice, the Princess sometimes took shelter in local houses from the bombing, where she was given coffee and, on one occasion, a bunch of flowers from the garden.
Mussolini, by contrast, appeared distracted and careworn. The swagger had gone as Italy’s defeats mounted. When the Allies invaded Sicily on 10 July 1943, King Victor Emanuele finally decided to act and, on 25 July, when Il Duce came to the King’s Villa Savoia for an audience, he was arrested. Tellingly, Il Duce shouted out, ‘It is the Princess of Piedmont [Marie-José’s official royal title] who will be happy.’ Clearly, Mussolini realised that this ‘democratic’ Princess from Belgium was one of his greatest enemies.
Unfortunately, Marie-José relations with King Victor Emanuele were also far from good: They had not spoken in a long time and he must surely have been made aware of ‘the Belgian’ (as he referred to Marie-José) and her recent approaches to the Allies, through Cardinal Montini of the Vatican’s State Department. This was in an attempt to clarify what the Allied position would be if Italy was to withdraw from the war following a coup. On 6 August, the Princess was summoned by the King and ordered to cease all political activities. She was also told to leave Rome within 24 hours for ‘reasons of security.’
Following Italy’s surrender to the Allies on 8 September 1943, an official of the Royal House visited Marie-José at her current location at the Chateau de Serre in the Aosta Valley and requested that she move to Switzerland. This was probably for her own safety as German forces now swept into Italy and occupied the central and northern areas. The Princess and her four children initially settled at the Hotel Excelsior in Montreux and later moved to the Hotel Montana, Oberhofen. Her enemy, Mussolini, had meanwhile been ‘liberated’ by the Germans and set up the ‘puppet’ Salo Republic. The King and other members of the Italian Royal Family remained in Naples, which was occupied by the Allies on 11 October. Italy declared war on Germany on 13 October.
Although Marie-José now wished to join Partisan forces to fight the Nazi forces in northern Italy, she realised that if she was discovered, there could be reprisals for the local population. Instead, the Princess settled for smuggling weapons to the Swiss frontier for use over the border in Italy. This was very risky as she was under constant surveillance by the Swiss authorities and enemy agents too.
On 23 January 1944, the Italian diplomat Gallarati Scotti met with Marie-José at Oberhofen. He discussed a plan to install the Princess as Regent for her son, Vittorio Emanuele, and hopefully bring the monarchy closer to the people. Marie-José was, after all, viewed as a democrat, with no connections to Mussolini or his right-wing Fascist regime. However, those currently in power decided that any future royal authority was instead to rest with her husband Umberto, who was appointed Lieutenant-General of the Realm in June 1944, with full regal powers, following the liberation of Rome by the Allies. It would not be until the end of April 1945 that Marie-José returned to Italy, crossing the Alps on foot from Switzerland, escorted by two mountain guides. Communist resistance fighters then escorted her to the Chateau de Sarre. Touchingly, her subsequent attendance at a Te Deum in nearby Aosta Cathedral was greeted with warm applause from fellow worshippers.
The Queen of Italy
In May 1945, the Princess moved to Turin and opened a Red Cross canteen to aid the homeless. Finally, she reached Rome, travelling by air from Turin, on 16 June, for a welcome reunion with Umberto whom she had not seen for two years. Yet, she was also haunted by the site of the ruins of once vibrant towns she flew over en route. In August, the royal children (who had been staying at Glion where, at one stage Maria Pia and Maria Gabriella had both succumbed to typhus) also returned home to Rome. Umberto had, meanwhile, opened a wing of the Quirinal to house the homeless, so Marie-José sold some jewellery to help provide much-needed funds to open yet another canteen, as well as a workroom for local women to make clothes. Nevertheless, there were many who opposed Umberto, feeling that he had not stood up sufficiently to Mussolini. Umberto then decided that a referendum should be held on the future of the monarchy. This would take place in June 1946. In the interim, King Victor Emanuele abdicated on May 9 and left for exile in Egypt. Umberto was now King of Italy and Marie-José was his Queen Consort. But for how long?
Interestingly, by the time that the aforementioned helper, in Cassino, had referred to her as ‘Majesty’, Marie-José was already mentally preparing for exile. Her hunch was right, for following the referendum (in which she voted at a local school, submitting a blank ballot paper), she was informed privately that 54% had voted in favour of a republic. The King now instructed his wife to leave immediately for Portugal. But first she telephoned officials from all her charities, emphasising that their work must go on. On 5 June, Marie-José and the children flew from Rome to her beloved Naples and the Villa Rosebery. She queried to anyone who would listen, ‘Why can I not stay here as an ordinary citizen?’ However, next morning, she and her family boarded the vessel Dukes of Abruzzes, bound for Lisbon. As she watched the coast of Italy disappear into the distance, the now ex-Queen reflected, ‘For the first time I am free of all the falseness and hypocrisy which has surrounded me.’ Suddenly, her ‘reign’ of less than one month was over. She now became known for posterity as La Regina di Maggio (The May Queen).
Following confirmation of the referendum results, Umberto subsequently joined his family on an estate at Sintra, the Quinta de Bella Vista. He and Marie-José found life together difficult. She later complained that ‘Umberto was anguished, overcome by an inner suffering he could not share. It started to unnerve me and made me ill-at-ease in my own home.’ The couple’s daughter, Princess Maria Pia, observed that her parents were ‘very different’ characters. Umberto was ‘very serious and conscious of his role’ while her mother, ‘loved to laugh and walk in the street alone. [My father] would never have done this.’
Matters in the marriage came to head when Marie-José was given a transfusion of the wrong blood type during an appendix operation. She immediately fell into a coma and when she regained consciousness, it was discovered that her eyesight was severely impaired due to retinal haemorrhaging. The Queen moved to Switzerland for a course of treatment under the ophthalmologist Adolphe Franceschetti. However, the damage was found to be permanent and was such that if she looked downwards, she could see nothing. Marie-José now remained forever wary of descending stairs. Sadly, it had proved politically inappropriate for Umberto to follow his wife to Switzerland and Marie-José, taken aback by her husband’s apparent failure to react to her situation, assumed that he craved solitude.
In due course, the Queen purchased a small castle, Merlinge, near Gy. Her son Vittorio joined her there, with her other children visiting at regular intervals from Portugal. She now rarely talked about the past but admitted to missing the warmth of Naples. Her days were filled with undertaking research into the House of Savoy, about which she wrote several books. Another interest was music and this led her to establish The Queen Marie-José International Musical Composition Prize. Travel also proved a draw and , accompanied by her mother Queen Elisabeth of the Belgians, Marie-José travelled to India (where she met Nehru) and to China.
Marie-José in the 1950’s at a royal event.
By the 1980’s age was catching up with both Marie-José and Umberto. The latter died in March 1983, following a long and painful battle against cancer. He and his wife had always kept in touch and the Queen often visited him in hospital. Marie-José soldiered on, often in pain and making use of a stick: In March 1988, she made her first visit to Italy since 1946, visiting Aosta to attend a historical conference followed by a tour of the Royal Palace in Turin and the State Archives. When asked what she thought of Italian monarchists, she cleverly replied, ‘I am a Queen, but I am not a Monarchist.’
In older age, Marie-José fell in love with Mexico during visits to her daughter Maria Beatrice in Cuernavaca. She subsequently purchased a villa there with a pool, in which she would swim everyday. The Queen entertained a wide array of visitors including her nephew, King Albert II of the Belgians. Although Marie-José’s body might now be failing her, her mind was certainly not. Maria Beatrice would recall her mother’s ‘young spirit’ and ‘modern way of thinking.’
Marie-José in old age in Mexico.
In 1995, in a reflective mood, Marie-José undertook a visit to Belgium. The following year, she decided to return to live in Switzerland, this time with her son, Vittorio Emanuele. The latter organised an outdoor party to celebrate his mother’s 90th birthday on 4 August 1996, a birthday she shared with Britain’s Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, who was six years older. In 1999, Marie-José visited Florence to receive the Freedom of the City and the following year, she received an invitation to attend Queen Elizabeth’s 100th birthday celebrations in London. Sadly, she was too frail to accept.
Her Majesty Queen Marie-José of Italy, Princess of Belgium, died on January 27, 2001 in the Canton of Geneva Hospital, at the grand old age of 94. She had recognised family members until the end. At her funeral at Hautcombe Abbey, on 2 February, her coffin, draped with the flag of Belgium and the arms of her beloved House of Savoy, was carried in by family members and European royalties. Her beloved Alpini choir sang some favourite songs and the Sardinian anthem, ‘Conservat Deu Su Re Sardu’ (sung at her wedding) echoed through the Abbey. It is a measure of the individual that as the years pass, the Queen is still remembered with great affection.
It was a most touching gesture of the Queen to lend her diamond fringe tiara to her granddaughter Princess Beatrice of York on her recent wedding day. Interestingly, Her Majesty had worn the self-same tiara at her own wedding to the Duke of Edinburgh in November 1947. Fortunately, for Beatrice, there was no mishap, or drama, involved in the wearing of it. The same cannot be said for the then Princess Elizabeth as, on the morning of her wedding day, the tiara’s fragile frame snapped, as the bride-to-be was dressing. Fortunately, the court jeweller was on hand to rush it-accompanied by a police escort-to his workroom for a quick but necessary repair.
But what is the history of this sparkling jewel which the catty diarist, Henry ‘Chips’ Channon referred to, dismissively, as ‘an ugly spiked tiara’? According to Suzy Menkes in her worthy examination of royal jewellery, the Royal Jewels and Leslie Fields in the exhaustively-researched Queen’s Jewels, the ‘sunray’ tiara was made, around 1830, to be worn as a necklace from brilliant-cut stones belonging to King George III (and referred to as the King George III fringe tiara). Fields indicates that Queen Victoria was the first person to use it as a tiara, when the graduated necklace was mounted on a thin wire band. In her book, she even includes an image of a young Victoria wearing it in a Winterhalter painting, carrying her infant son Prince Arthur (later the Duke of Connaught) in her arms. This necklace/tiara was one of an extensive list of items of jewellery (sometimes referred to as the ‘Crown Jewellery’, to distinguish it from the Sovereign’s personal gems) left in perpetuity to the Crown by Victoria on her death in 1901.
This tiara/necklace eventually passed into the hands of that most acquisitive of royal consorts, Queen Mary. However, this is where the story takes an unexpected and confusing turn. According to more recent sources (and meticulously highlighted in a post in the blog, The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor in 2017), although Queen Mary did wear this 1830 version as a tiara, she also subsequently had a similar-styled tiara made from stones from a necklace she had received as a wedding present from Queen Victoria in 1893. This new ‘Queen Mary Fringe Tiara’ was manufactured by E. Wolff & Co. for the royal jewellers, Garrard and Company, in 1919 and was apparently easier to wear. She passed this version on to her daughter-in-law, Queen Elizabeth (along with a portion of the Crown Jewellery) following the accession of her second son, Albert (‘Bertie’), to the throne as King George VI in December 1936.
While both Menkes and Field state that it was the 1830 version which was worn by Princess Elizabeth as the ‘something borrowed’ on her wedding day in 1947, the more recent sources, including Hugh Roberts in his publication The Queen’s Diamonds, point to the later 1919 Queen Mary Fringe Tiara version’s use. He and the Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor Blogspot (17 February 2012) also point out that the two tiaras are frequently confused, as was the case when the Queen wore the later version in a formal portrait to be used in New Zealand to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee. The tiara was also worn by Princess Beatrice’s Aunt, Princess Anne (the Princess Royal) on her wedding day in November 1973.
Queen Elizabeth was glad of the acquisition of jewels from Queen Mary-which she wore on a tour of Canada in the summer of 1939-for as she revealed to the photographer, Cecil Beaton, ‘The choice [of jewellery available] is not very great, you know.’ Although this is an exaggeration, it was a tactful acknowledgement by her successor that Queen Mary, now Queen Dowager, still held on to the vast majority of royal gems, much of which had been amassed from often impecunious relatives during her husband, King George V’s reign. Fortunately, Queen Elizabeth’s jewellery box would be augmented by a wonderful bequest from the shrewd Scottish brewery heiress, Mrs Ronnie Greville in 1942.
This pleasant little Victorian Gothic church was the location of the wedding of Princess Beatrice of York. The chapel stands ‘across the way’ (as Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, a frequent worshipper there, would say) from the Royal Lodge in Windsor Great Park, the current home of Prince Andrew, Duke of York. George IV-who used the Royal Lodge as a private retreat in the 1820’s-was the first royal to worship at All Saints from around 1825. Indeed, it was he who commissioned the English architect, Jeffry Wyatville to design it. (Other sources point to the influence of architect John Nash).
Queen Victoria later worshipped there too and had the chapel rebuilt, during the early 1860’s, to designs by Samuel Sanders Teulon and Anthony Salvin. This included the addition of a new chancel, extra seating for worshippers and a stained-glass window dedicated to the memory of her mother, the Duchess of Kent and Strathearn, who died in 1861. There is a also a window to the memory of Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein, the son of Prince Christian and his wife Princess Helena, who lived nearby at Cumberland Lodge. Their beloved ‘Christle’ died of enteric fever in Pretoria in 1900, while serving with British forces in South Africa during the Boer War.
Around 1931, the future King George VI (then Duke of York) and his wife Elizabeth took up residence at the (much-reconstructed) Royal Lodge. The couple were regular worshippers at the chapel. When the Duke of York ascended the throne in 1936, he subsequently had various alterations undertaken including the installation of a new ceiling (designed by the architect and designer Edward Maufe) in the Chancel, as well as the addition of a royal pew (carefully positioned to allow for privacy), new choir stalls and a screen for the organ.
Following Queen Elizabeth’s death at Royal Lodge on 30 March 2002, the Queen Mother’s mortal remains rested at the Altar of All Saints prior to being taken to London for the Lying-in-State at Westminster Hall in the Palace of Westminster. Today the Queen worships at All Saints when she is in residence at Windsor. Those who live and work in the Great Park may also attend services.
Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of King George VI, was due to turn 21 on 21 April, 1947. The Royal Family were on a tour of South Africa at this time and it was decided that the young princess should make a ‘dedication’ broadcast to the Empire from Government House, Cape Town on the evening of her birthday. There was, however, a problem. The beam radio link between Cape Town and the BBC in London was unreliable and often subject to extreme interference. Frank Gillard, a former BBC Wartime Correspondent, was covering the tour and sent a memo expressing his concern to Sir Alan Lascelles, the King’s Private Secretary. What if, he queried, the Empire were waiting patiently for the broadcast and nothing happened? It would look ridiculous.
Fortunately, Gillard and his colleagues came up with an excellent solution. The Princess could pre-record her broadcast on high-quality discs which could then be flown to London to be used as a fail-safe should the ‘live’ broadcast from Cape Town fail to materialise or be interrupted in any way. The ‘stand-by’ version was pre-recorded on the evening of Sunday, 4 April at the Victoria Falls Hotel in Southern Rhodesia, where the royal family were enjoying a brief stay on their current leg of the tour. The King emphasised to an already nervous Gillard that ‘this will probably be the most important broadcast of my daughter’s life.’ No pressure then!
There was another useful aspect to this exercise: When Gillard had perused the prepared script with the King and Queen, all were horrified by the ‘pompous platitudes’ expressed within it. They and Princess Elizabeth subsequently sat down together and spent two hours completely revising the text. Shortly after sundown, the Princess sat at a table with a large BBC microphone atop to pre-record the broadcast. Gillard remembers that she was ‘composed, confident and extremely cooperative.’ Within hours, the discs bearing the recording were being flown to London for use if required.
As it happened, the beam radio signal to London was working a treat on 21 April and a ‘live’ broadcast was possible from Government House, Cape Town. The words, ‘I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great Imperial family to which we all belong’ rang out over the airwaves and are remembered to this day, with great affection, by those listening. It is not surprising that South Africa has a special place in the Queen’s heart. It must also be remembered that she was the last monarch of the Union of South Africa prior to the country becoming a republic in May,1961. However, she returned to make two State Visits, in 1995 and 1999, the former at the invitation of President Mandela.
Late on the evening of June 23, 1955, a flotilla of ships sailed up the Oslofjord to the delight of watching crowds from the shore. Fireworks were set off and bonfires pricked the gloom near the island of Maerdøy. At the front of the flotilla, which was otherwise composed of British Royal Navy frigates and the Norwegian destroyers, Oslo and Stavanger, was the Royal Yacht Britannia which had sailed from Rosyth in Scotland on 21 June. Faintly visible on deck were the ‘yacht’s’ principal occupants: Queen Elizabeth II and her husband the Duke of Edinburgh, who were about to commence a State Visit to Norway next day (the first of the Queen’s reign to a country outside of the British Commonwealth).
After anchoring overnight in the Fjord, at 11 a.m. on 24 June, the Britannia entered the inner harbour at Oslo and the guns on the ramparts of historical Akershus Fortress roared out in greeting. By now, the Royal Yacht was surrounded by a selection of small craft, all jostling in the waves so their occupants might better obtain a sighting of the royal couple. Similarly, the surrounding quaysides were filled with curious onlookers. Crown Prince Olav, a first cousin of the Queen’s late father King George VI, set off from the quay in his launch for the Britannia to welcome the distinguished guests to Norway on behalf of the King and bring them safely ashore. Later, at the Quay of Honour (Honnorbrygga), 82-year-old King Haakon carefully descended the steps to greet the Queen (who also happened to be his Great-Niece) with a courtly bow and a kiss of her hand. The Duke of Edinburgh, sporting the ribbon and the star of the Grand Cross of the Order of St Olav on his Admiral’s uniform, received a firm handshake.
After a ceremonial drive up Carl Johan, Oslo’s main thoroughfare, which was packed to bursting with spectators (including 400 British schoolchildren) the royal party reached the Royal Palace. Although not on the official schedule, the British royalty made an appearance on the balcony with their Norwegian counterparts, who included Princess Astrid (acting as official hostess, a role she had assumed following the death of her mother, Crown Princess Märtha, the previous year) and her elder sister, Princess Ragnhild, who had made a special journey from her home in Brazil.
The Queen’s first engagement was a visit to the fortress of Akershus, accompanied by the Duke and King Haakon, to pay her respects to Norway’s war dead and lay a wreath of white lilies and roses at the War Memorial. The royal party then moved on to the City Hall where the Mayor, Brynjulf Bull, led them on a tour of the magnificent murals, sculptures and tapestries. It is fair to say Her Majesty was greatly interested in what she observed and asked many questions of her host. However, the commemoration of those who had perished in battle was once again the focus when the Queen and Duke visited the British War Graves section at Vestre Gravlund cemetery. This was a very British occasion, with the Royal Marine’s band (from Britannia) playing the British National Anthem and the Queen laying a wreath of white roses at the British War Cross, followed by buglers sounding the Last Post and Reveille. Her Majesty subsequently made a point of inspecting the graves and meeting with Mrs Inga Kristoffersen who tended the grounds.
From there, the royal party drove out to Holmenkollen to observe the ski jump ‘in summer dress’ with empty stands and a distinct absence of snow. Earlier, they had taken tea nearby with the Canadian Minister to Norway, Mr Chester Rønning, at the Canadian Legation (for it must be remembered that Her Majesty is also the Queen of Canada). Then came the climax of the first day, the State Banquet at the Royal Palace, where the British visitors shook hands with the guests in the Red Room, to the accompaniment of tunes played by the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation band. In the Banqueting Hall, the tables had been dressed with red, blue and white flowers as a nod to the colours of the British Union Jack flag. In his welcoming speech, King Haakon referred to the many Norwegians who had spent time in the Britain during World War II and emphasised his belief that there ‘will always exist the strongest bonds of friendship’, between the Britain and Norway. The Queen replied by stating that ‘we were truly happy to have so many gallant Norwegians with us’ and noted that King Haakon had ‘sustained and uplifted’ her parents, King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, during the Second World War by his ‘courage and resolution.’
On their second day in Norway, a Saturday, the Queen and the Duke visited the Bygdøy Peninsula. The couple first paid a visit the Folk Museum, where they were much impressed by the 12th century wooden Stave Church from the village of Gol in Viken county, which had been painstakingly re-erected on the present site, in 1884, thanks to funds provided by King Oscar II of Sweden and Norway. The duo also toured a traditional Norwegian farmstead and a selection of rooms in townhouses furnished in the style of different historic periods. The inspection ended with a display of folk dancing accompanied by fiddle music. Just as exciting was Her Majesty’s meeting with the adventurer Thor Heyerdahl as she arrived to inspect the Kon-tiki raft in which he had sailed 8,000 kilometres across the Pacific Ocean from South America to the Tuamotu Islands. Thor kindly presented the Queen with a model of the raft. The nautical theme continued when the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh subsequently visited the polar exploration vessel ‘Fram’ used by the Norwegian explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen on their Arctic and Antarctic expeditions. The Viking Long Ships-the oldest relics of Norway’s maritime tradition-were also examined.
Around 4pm, the British royalties arrived at the British Embassy to preside over a garden party attended by 1500 invitees, the majority being from the British community in Norway. The Queen, dressed in a floral print dress, was escorted throughout by the British Ambassador, Mr Peter Scarlett. They made a wide sweep of the gardens as Her Majesty was anxious to speak to as many of her guests as possible and she questioned them about where they lived and what had brought them to live in Norway. The Queen later planted a cherry tree as a memento of her visit.
In the evening, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh joined King Haakon, members of the Norwegian royal family, government ministers and members of the diplomatic corps for a performance of Ibsen’s Peer Gynt at the National Theatre. Her Majesty made an impressive sight as she took her seat in the dress circle wearing an ice blue evening dress accessorised with a diamond tiara and necklace. The red ribbon and the star of the Grand Cross of the Order of St Olav-with which the Queen had just been invested-provided a striking contrast.
Despite the lateness of the hour the previous evening, the British royal duo were up bright and early to attend Divine Service at St Edmund’s Anglican Church, the neo-gothic style church of the British community in Oslo (and once frequented by the Queen’s late Great-Aunt, Queen Maud, the British-born Consort of King Haakon). Inside, the altar was decorated with pink carnations as this was known to be one of the Queen’s favourite flowers. The Bishop of Fulham-who has episcopal oversight over Anglican churches in Norway-presided, assisted by the British Embassy Chaplain.
Thereafter, the Queen and the Duke drove out to the village of Asker, twelve miles south-west of Oslo, to have lunch at Crown Prince Olav’s private home on the Skaugum estate. Princess Astrid, Olav’s youngest daughter, again acted as hostess on this semi-private occasion where other guests included the British Foreign Secretary, Harold Macmillan. Then all too soon it was time for the British royal party to leave for Oslo.
When the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh’s car arrived at the Quay of Honour at 6.25pm, the Norwegian and British vessels which would escort Britannia out to sea were already departing. King Haakon had preceded the Queen to the Quay and the farewell ceremony between the two Sovereigns was brief. The King of Norway, in a sombre suit, conducted Her Majesty to the bottom of the steps to her waiting launch, bent down and kissed her hand. To the delight of the watching crowd, the Queen impulsively stroked His Majesty’s cheek before joining the Duke on board. Suddenly, the watching crowd erupted,’ Come Back! Come back again soon!’ Meanwhile, in the background, the guns of Akershus Fortress echoed across the Oslofjord.
At 7.25pm the Norwegian royal family and some other notables, were taken out to the Britannia for a final dinner. Then, as the Royal Yacht prepared to get up steam, King Haakon and his party boarded the Norwegian Royal launch, Stjernen, which then proceeded in the direction of a small reef south of Bygdøy, on which stands the Dyna lighthouse. At 9.41pm the Britannia slipped her moorings and slid gracefully down the fjord passing the launch and the lighthouse. The Norwegian State Visit of 1955 had now ended in the most delightful fashion on an evening of pale blue sky and pink clouds.
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.
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.
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.
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…’
