Wartime Princess (13 page)

 

 

I'm so tired. We all went out this afternoon, driving through the East End. It's totally devastated. I hope never to see anything like that in our country ever again.

 

 

There've been so many celebrations to attend! Lots of victory parades, and today a special thanksgiving service at St Paul's Cathedral. Lilibet and I rode backwards in the carriage, of course – yuk. We had an escort of the Household Cavalry, who all looked wonderful. They must have been polishing their uniforms – and their horses – all night! It's so lovely to have magnificent processions again. Last night there was a celebration concert at the Royal Albert Hall. Tonight I'm so tired, I can hardly move. Victory's exhausting!

 

 

Mummy and Papa are off to the Channel Islands for a visit tomorrow. I wish I could go. I've never been abroad. I know the Channel Islands aren't exactly abroad, but you do have to go by ship or aeroplane.

 

 

It's general election day. I don't know why they're bothering. How could anyone vote for someone other than Mr Churchill, after all he's done for our country? Anyway, we won't know the results for ages, because in some parts of the country, voting's later in the month. Also, there are lots of votes to come in from people serving in the forces overseas. They must all have their say.

 

 

I don't believe it! Lilibet can't believe it! Papa says it's the way of the world. Mr Churchill has lost the election. Our new prime minister is Mr Clement Attlee, the leader of the Labour party.

I don't understand. Mr Churchill's a hero! Well, I hope Mr Attlee does just as good a job of leading the country. He's with Papa right this minute.

 

 

Lilibet said at breakfast, ‘President Roosevelt wasn't able to visit us, but at least we can offer a British welcome to President Truman.'

‘Is he coming over?' I asked.

‘Margaret, Papa's going to meet him today! Where has your head been?

In my wretched school books, that's where my head's been. I really thought that when the war was over, everything would be different, but it's all just the same. The only difference is that I don't have Lilibet's company in the schoolroom and I hardly see her except when we're doing official things.

Oh well, there'll be a big reception for the president. That will liven things up.

 

 

Papa has had talks with President Truman, and so has Mr Attlee. When Papa flops down in Mummy's sitting room afterwards, he looks absolutely exhausted. He never usually wants to talk about anything that was discussed, but Lilibet told me that tonight he sent everyone out of the room, footmen and all, and talked privately to Mummy.

‘Everybody has to talk to someone,' she said. ‘Even a king.'

When she becomes queen, which I hope will be when she's a lot, lot older, she'll need someone to talk to. I'll be there for her.

But I think she'd prefer that someone to be Philip.

 

 

There's been the most terrible thing. Yesterday an American
a
er
o
plane dropped a bomb on a place called Hiroshima, in Japan. Papa said almost three quarters of the city was wiped out, flattened. With one bomb! But this was nothing like the bombs in the war. It was far worse – worse than the V2s, even. It's called an atomic bomb and it even had a name: ‘Little Boy'. They say it must have killed at least eighty thousand people.

I shall pray that nothing like that ever happens again, anywhere in the world.

 

 

The Americans had another bomb. It was called ‘Fat Man'. Yesterday they dropped it on a Japanese city, called Nagasaki. Thousands and thousands more people are dead.

Papa looks grey. Lilibet is as agitated as it's possible to be, because she knows Philip's in Tokyo Bay. I begged her to come and play tennis, to take her mind off him, but he was all she talked about as we changed ends. It was ‘Philip wrote that…' and ‘When Philip comes back…' all the time. He writes practically every week, so there was plenty to say. In the end, we gave up tennis and sat on a bench and chatted.

‘He'll be quite safe,' I told her. ‘The Americans won't drop one of those bombs on British ships, will they?'

‘I know,' she said, ‘but after Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed, who knows what's next?'

‘Papa told me the Japanese will surrender soon,' I said. ‘Probably next week.' That last bit was a lie, but I thought it would cheer her up, so it's a little white lie. No harm done, as Allah says.

 

 

I must be psychic! I have foretold the future! The Japanese have surrendered! The war's over, throughout the world. Mr Attlee will announce it on the wireless at midnight. Tomorrow will be another day of celebration – VJ Day. That means Victory over Japan.

How wonderful!

And Lilibet had a letter from Philip this morning, so, as Allah said, all's right with her world.

 

 

I'm absolutely worn out. We woke yesterday to rain. There was the State Opening of Parliament before any VJ celebrations. Not even victory throughout the world can stop that! No one cared about the weather, anyway.

Crowds gathered early outside the palace, even more than on VE Day. A report came through that every street in the centre of London was crowded. As the day wore on, there were about a hundred thousand people swarming around outside and along the Mall, Papa reckoned.

Some of the politicians and important army, navy and air force people had dreadful trouble getting into the palace. Even the poor foreign secretary had to use one of the back entrances. He was extremely hot and bothered, Papa said, when he was shown in.

Late in the afternoon the sun shone, and we made several appearances. Lilibet said it almost took her breath away when she stepped on to the balcony and saw the ocean of heads, and felt the warmth of the people and their love for the King.

At nine in the evening, poor Papa had to make a speech. Although it's something he normally loathes, we knew how proud he was to do it on such a day. He asked everyone to remember those who'd died, or who'd lost a loved one, and to remember the suffering of prisoners of war. He ended by saying, ‘… from the bottom of my heart I thank my peoples for all they have done, not only for themselves but for mankind.' I think he meant that all people, everywhere, are going to have a better future.

Afterwards, when he was having a well-earned drink, Lilibet took my hand and perched on the edge of the sofa, next to him. ‘Papa,' she said.

He groaned. ‘I know what you're going to ask. Do you have to?'

‘It's once in a lifetime,' she said.

‘Twice,' he growled. Then he smiled. ‘Go on, then, out you go –'

She leapt up. ‘And Margaret? Oh, thank you, Papa!'

‘Hold on,' he said. ‘I want you to come back and tell me who's going with you.'

Soon we were off out in the streets again. This time more people recognized Lilibet than before. It didn't matter, because everyone was so good-natured. I was a little annoyed that hardly anyone noticed me, but I suppose she's in the newspapers more than me.

At one point, remembering how I used to watch her at Windsor in case a German spy was stalking her, I realized there are probably German spies still in London who've never been caught. Then I looked at the mass of young people, old people, children on shoulders, and thought of the way they cheer us and love us. If any German thought to harm my sister, he'd be spifflicated.

When we finally staggered home it was all I could do to flop in an armchair and drink my hot cocoa.

I kicked my shoes off. ‘Oh, Lilibet, wasn't it a wonderful day?'

She sipped her drink. ‘It was. In fact,' she said, ‘it would have been perfect if Philip had been here to share it, instead of stuck in Tokyo Bay. It can't be much fun there.'

‘He'll soon be home,' I said. She looked so lost, so full of longing, I didn't know what else to say.

 

 

Lilibet heard that Papa's going to have a meeting with the King of Greece.

‘It's to talk about Greece's future now the war's over,' she said. ‘Margaret, do you think they'll talk about Philip and me? Oh, they must talk about us.'

I took a deep breath. ‘Do you really think Papa will be happy about you and Philip – you know, being together? He's got all those German relations, hasn't he?'

‘So do we have German relations,' she said, a little snappily, I thought. ‘Don't forget that until the First World War our family weren't called Windsor. We belonged to the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. We have plenty of Germans in our family.'

‘Yes,' I said patiently, ‘but not that sort of German. Not Nazis.'

Lilibet picked up her book and said crossly, ‘Anyway, we're not going to be – together – as you put it.'

So there.

 

 

When the news was broadcast that the Japanese had signed the formal surrender document on the American battleship
Missouri
, Lilibet said, ‘It's strange to think that Philip's so near that ship, in Tokyo Bay.'

She looked down at her tea cup and I wanted to hug her so badly, but with all the family there, it wouldn't have been a good idea.

 

 

Poor Lilibet was thrown from her horse yesterday. She's only bruised, but Mummy never takes chances, and has ordered her to rest. I keep her company as much as I can.

She's been reading piles of magazines. She told me they're beginning to speculate about who she's likely to marry.

‘They've suggested a duke, a lord, a Guards officer, Englishmen, an American,' she said. ‘And guess who else?'

‘Clark Gable? Frank Sinatra? Rumpelstiltskin?'

She laughed.

‘Oh, all right then,' I said, ‘how about His Royal Highness Prince Philip of Greece?'

Now she blushed!

‘It's so silly,' she said. ‘I can't imagine why they're interested in something that isn't happening.'

‘Don't be daft,' I said. ‘You're a pretty princess, who's heir to the British throne – of course they're interested.'

I doubt if they'll be as interested when the time comes for me to marry. I'm just princess number two, and heir to nothing very much. I expect I'll meet someone, fall in love, get married and live happily ever after. That's my plan, anyway.

 

 

Lilibet's so busy, we don't meet often, but when we do, we can't stop talking.

After a party the other night, I curled up on the sofa in her sitting room, and we gossiped about everyone. I made her laugh by mimicking one or two (or six!) of the more pompous guests. Sometimes people try to impress us because we're royal, but it never has the right effect. I'm forever grateful that Mummy encouraged us not to let our feelings show. I can generally keep a straight face whatever happens, but not always. My sister's expression never cracks. If some poor soul made an embarrassing noise in front of her, they'd be convinced she hadn't even noticed.

Lilibet said suddenly, ‘You know I love Philip, don't you? I know you do.'

I nodded. ‘But I haven't said so to anyone, honestly.'

‘I didn't think you would,' she said, which pleased me. ‘Oh, Margaret, I feel so sorry for girls who don't have a sister.'

So do I.

 

 

Lilibet said Mummy picked up the photograph of Philip and said, ‘We must have him to stay at Balmoral next summer. What do you think, darling?'

Lilibet told me, ‘I was so thrilled that I said, “Oh yes, please,” and I think now Mummy knows how I feel.'

I'm quite sure Mummy knew already. And if she does, so does Papa.

 

 

It's lovely to see Papa wind down, as he always does at Sandringham. He looks so thin – ‘drawn', Lilibet says.

The one wretched thing that spoils every Christmas is Papa's broadcast. I know he can't relax until it's over, and we're all concerned because he's doing this Christmas message without Mr Logue's help. But he'll get through. He must. We'll all be there with him.

 

 

Lilibet's beside herself with delight, and cannot wait to return to London. Philip's ship,
Whelp
, is being decommissioned, which means she'll no longer be on active service. This takes time, so she'll be in Portsmouth for a couple of months, and who's in charge of the decommissioning? Philip!

‘I should see him often,' Lilibet told me. ‘Portsmouth isn't a million miles away from London, and he's sure to be staying in Uncle Dickie's house in Chester Street.'

 

 

Our poor, darling Allah has died. She's been ill, but we didn't realize how serious it was. I can't imagine our lives without her. Mummy's terribly upset. Allah was her nanny, too, when she was young.

I'm so glad we still have Bobo and Ruby. And Crawfie, of course. Oh dear, I keep crying. It's such a shock.

Papa still looks so worn. He was more cheerful now he's had a relaxing little holiday, but he's upset about Allah, too.