Wartime Princess (4 page)

 

 

Lilibet's allowed to stay up tonight to listen to the last
Bandwagon
programme. I'm not. I'm cross. I refuse to go to sleep until she comes up. I know she has to do some special things because of learning to be queen, but listening to the wireless isn't one of them.

 

 

Papa has gone to visit the troops in France. I won't breathe until he's back. Lilibet's worried, too. She listens to the news whenever she's allowed to.

 

 

Scotland is the coldest place in winter. The ground was so white this morning I truly thought it had snowed in the night. But it was simply frost. Not the thin frost we get in London – it's really thick. Our windows are covered in it by morning, and today my bath sponge was frozen. Ruby said she could crack walnuts with it.

When Papa comes home, I'll choose the right moment to ask if I can have proper singing lessons.

 

 

Papa's safely home. He actually went to the Front, where the fighting is. I think they have a line of British soldiers, with German ones opposite, and that's the Front. Papa went into a trench and he met the president and got a French medal.

 

 

Hurrah! The day after tomorrow we're off to Sandringham for Christmas with Mummy and Papa! I hope Norfolk's not as cold as Scotland.

In the morning, Crawfie's taking us to Woolworths to buy Christmas presents. Shopping's so exciting. Most children can do it any day of their lives if they want to, but we hardly ever do. Perhaps they get bored with shopping. I never would!

Lilibet said, ‘You must make a list, Margaret, of the people you want to buy presents for. You could also note down any ideas you have.'

Lists are boring. What I'd really like is to have Crawfie take us into Woolworths and say to the manager, ‘Their Royal Highnesses may wander among the counters by themselves for hours, and buy whatever they wish.' But that won't happen. Mummy says princesses have many privileges (I used to think that meant toys) so they shouldn't complain if there's something they can't have, or can't do.

I often wonder what life is like for children who aren't royal. Do they ever wonder about us? Lilibet thinks they do. She says we must always set them a good example. That can be quite trying.

 

 

I'm worn out. We've had so many guests, and we've sung and danced and played games till we're all exhausted! Christmas is when Lilibet and I make all the grown-ups join in when we play charades or cards or sardines. It gets quite noisy!

I wish we could keep the Christmas tree for ever.

Christmas Day meant Papa speaking on the wireless. He wore his admiral's uniform for the photographs, and looked very handsome. There were a couple of sticky stammering bits which made us hold our breath, but then he got going and it was lovely, thanks to all his hard work and Mr Logue's. I am so proud of Papa.

Mummy gave Lilibet and me a gift of a beautiful leather diary, and she asked us to write in it every day. I'm not good at remembering to do things, and I'm sure I shan't always be able to think of things to write. It will probably end up something like: ‘Ate breakfast. Did geography. Drank orange juice. Played outside. Had drawing lesson. Went for a walk. Had tea with Mummy and Papa. Groomed ponies. Read a story. Went to bed.'

Lilibet says she'll remind me to write in my diary. I'm sure she will. She doesn't forget things like that, and if Mummy asks her to do something, she does it. She's very obedient. I'm sure that sometimes she thinks, ‘Oh, botheration!' when she's told to do something, but she'd never say it. I would.

I'll still keep my secret diary. I can always say, ‘Botheration!' in here!

 

 

Lilibet told me she's had several letters from Prince Philip. I never knew! He's in the Royal Navy now, so is quite grown up.

I'm going to write to him, too. I told Lilibet and she said I'm too young to be writing to boys. I said, ‘He's not a boy, he's a cousin,' and that made her laugh.

It's the end of the year – the year the war began. I hope next year will be the year it ends.

Today I asked Papa about singing lessons. He said not just at the moment.

I was upset, but Lilibet said, ‘Come on, Margaret. Put on a brave face.'

I made such a silly face that she spluttered with laughter, and everyone turned to look at her. That made her go red.

‘Stop it at once,' she said.

‘You must get used to being stared at if you're going to be queen!' I said.

Now Papa made a face. ‘I hope that won't be for a long time yet!'

I felt sick. I'm always teasing Lilibet about when she's queen. I never thought. For her to become Queen Elizabeth, my darling papa would have to be.

I can't write it. It makes tears come, just thinking about it.

 

 

It's soooo cold. That's the bad news. The good news is that we're soon going to move to Royal Lodge, at Windsor. It's our country home, and we've always spent weekends there. Our ponies are there, and there's lots of space for the dogs, so it will be lovely. We're going to live there until the war's over. Although it's in Windsor Great Park, it's about three miles from Windsor Castle, which is in the Home Park.

Papa still has to be in London some of the time, and go out on visits, so Mummy will be going with him, but they've promised to come to Royal Lodge for the night whenever they can. That will be lovely. Much better than being so far away in Scotland.

 

 

Lilibet and I have our own ration books. Mine says ‘Name: Her Royal Highness Princess Margaret Rose', and for my address, it says ‘The Royal Lodge, Windsor Great Park.'

 

 

Royal Lodge isn't pink any more! The house has been painted a gloomy nothing sort of colour. That's to camouflage it. A German bomber could easily spot a pink house in a park. Mummy absolutely hates the colour, but she says she'll think of England and grin and bear it.

The first thing Lilibet and I did was run down to see Y Bwthyn Bach, which is Welsh for ‘The Little House'. The people of Wales gave it to us. I was only two when it arrived, so I don't remember seeing it for the first time. Lilibet remembers, though. It was her sixth birthday and she said she couldn't believe it was her own little cottage. It has a thatched roof and it's so pretty. We play house in there, and our friends come, too. We tidy and dust – all the things housemaids do.

We each have a patch of garden, so we went to see that.

‘The gardeners have kept it beautifully tidy while we were away,' said Lilibet. ‘There's not a weed in sight. We must find them and thank them.'

We talked about what we'll grow this year. ‘Flowers,' said Lilibet. ‘Lots of flowers to cheer everyone's spirits. What about you, Margaret?'

‘Potatoes,' I said. ‘Then if potatoes are ever rationed, the family will have plenty.'

‘That's a lovely idea,' she said. But she's growing flowers all the same.

It's too cold and frosty to think of gardening. More snow's coming, Papa says, so we can do lovely things instead, like building snowmen and playing snowballs.

 

 

Lilibet had a letter from Philip. He's being posted to a ship, but he's not allowed to say where. She was a little moody after she read the letter. I think it's because she knows she won't see him for ages.

‘Maybe the war will be over in a few weeks, then he can come to stay,' I said.

She hugged me and said I'm the best sister ever. I'm the only one as far as she's concerned, so it's jolly good luck for her that I am the best!

 

 

Lilibet's happy today because she's had another letter from Philip.

‘His ship can't be very comfortable,' she told me. ‘It's so hot down below that the junior officers prefer to sleep in armchairs in the gunroom.'

‘What's a gunroom?' I asked.

She shrugged. ‘Where they keep guns, I suppose, though it doesn't seem likely.'

Later on, we asked Papa what a gunroom was. It's the junior officers' mess. A mess is not what it sounds like – it's where they dine and read and play cards and so on. Knowing boys, I expect it actually is a mess.

We played duets this afternoon on the piano. You could tell Lilibet was happy; she thumped away at the keys, and didn't mind at all when I made mistakes. She never actually says anything about my mistakes, but I can tell it's annoying.

 

 

‘
The beastly Germans have invaded Denmark,' Lilibet told me this afternoon. ‘How sad for poor Philip.'

‘It's sad for the Danish people,' I said, ‘but why is it sad for Philip? He's probably nowhere near there.'

‘Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark?'

‘Oh,' I said, as the penny dropped. ‘That's rotten, then.'

I did think it was strange that she told everyone she met about ‘poor Philip'. She seems to think about him rather a lot. Mummy said he must come and stay when he's on leave. That cheered Lilibet up no end. She doesn't get that excited when our other boy cousins are invited.

Then I heard that Hitler didn't just invade Denmark. He's invaded Norway and the Netherlands, too. Lilibet didn't mention them. She didn't mention any of our relations in those countries, either, but I bet she'll say a prayer for them tonight. Lilibet doesn't forget much.

Photographs in the gardens today. Jackets and skirts and jumpers, which aren't really garden-y, but Mummy likes us to be smart. Lilibet and I looked exactly alike, except I had socks on and she didn't. We posed and smiled, and crossed streams and did everything the photographer wanted. I was constantly in danger of getting my shoes and socks wet, because I have to charge across stepping stones instead of taking it steadily. Luckily, Lilibet's always there, ready to grab me when I wobble.

Afterwards we posed on a wall with Mummy and Papa. Jane and Dookie joined us, but no matter how hard Papa tried, they refused to look at the camera. Not everyone obeys the King!

 

 

Lilibet's birthday. She's fourteen – almost grown up. I don't like her getting older, because she doesn't like to play so much. I can't remember when we last groomed our little horses together. She does sit and chat sometimes, when I'm doing it. And she tells me if I'm doing it wrong.

‘It doesn't matter if I do it wrong,' I said the other evening.

‘Yes, it does,' she said. ‘You must always try to do things the right way, Margaret. Anyway, horses don't like being brushed in the wrong direction.'

‘They haven't complained,' I said, and she laughed.

Today she's had hundreds of cards and telegrams and presents, including the usual two pearls from Papa, to add to those already on her necklace. When she's twenty-one, it will be complete.

I happened to notice (because I peeked) that one birthday card has made it to Lilibet's bedside drawer. It's easy to guess who that one's from. Philip! She gets embarrassed when I tease her about him, so I haven't mentioned the card. But I might.

There was one disappointment – no icing on the birthday cake, because sugar's rationed. But Lilibet said it doesn't matter, because icing's so sickly. She didn't think that last year when she saved her icing till I'd eaten mine, then ate hers very slowly, to make me jealous. But her little plan went wrong, because Crawfie gave me her icing, so I had mine last after all!

 

 

I didn't say anything to Lilibet about her keeping Philip's card in her bedside drawer. I don't want to upset her. I'll remember it, though, in case I need to tease her!

 

 

We've moved again, but only three miles away, to Windsor Castle. Mummy says it's just for a while, maybe a week or so. I love looking out of the window and seeing people start out for a stroll at the far end of the Long Walk. I go away and do something, and when I come back they're still going. The walk is over two and a half miles long!

Everyone's talking about a speech Mr Winston Churchill, our new prime minister, made yesterday. It was about how all he has to offer are blood, toil, tears and sweat, and how we're aiming at victory. He says we'll win, however long and hard the road may be.

It doesn't look as if the war's going to finish any time soon.

 

 

Ten days ago, that awful Adolf Hitler invaded the Netherlands. Well, his armies did. He doesn't do any fighting himself.

The Queen of the Netherlands, Wilhelmina, has come to England. Papa met her at Liverpool Street station, and took her to stay at Buckingham Palace. It will be nice for her to have Mummy to talk to.

Lilibet said, ‘Poor Queen Wilhelmina. How hateful it must be to see foreigners taking over your country.'

Then she went quiet. I wondered if she was imagining what it would be like if it happened to her, when she becomes queen. It made me think. When she's Queen Elizabeth, she'll have the same sorts of worries that Papa has. She'll have to read all those papers that come in red boxes every day. She'll have to have meetings with the prime minister. And she'll worry about our people all the time, like Mummy and Papa do. I don't think it's much fun ruling a country. I'd rather stay just a princess.