Wartime Princess (6 page)

 

 

It's really irritating. Lilibet has to go off and practise her speech, and learn to use a microphone, all without me. It's bad enough that she has some of her lessons without me, too. She has special history ones with a teacher called Mr Marten from Eton College. Actually, it's not exciting history, like about Queen Elizabeth and the Spanish Armada, or King Henry VIII and his wives. It's called constitutional history, and sounds deadly dull. It's stuff she needs to know for when she's queen. She says it's interesting, but she would say that. If it was me I'd be gazing out of the window humming dance tunes, but Lilibet's very good at concentrating.

She was revising French today, when Crawfie left the room. After a minute or two I looked up. She was staring into space.

‘What are you daydreaming about?' I asked.

She smiled. ‘I was wondering if Philip might hear my speech next week.'

I laughed. ‘Don't be silly. He's at sea!'

She looked cross. ‘My broadcast is to all the children of the British Empire,' she said. ‘He might be somewhere where he can hear it.'

I giggled. ‘He might, but I doubt if the ship's captain will make everyone stop work for
Children's Hour
, just for Philip!'

She giggled, too, just as Crawfie came in and said, ‘How are those French verbs coming along, Elizabeth? Are they amusing you?'

Lilibet and I spluttered with laughter, and in the end, even Crawfie laughed, though she didn't have a clue what she was laughing at.

 

 

My sister, Elizabeth, has been on the wireless, and SO HAVE I!!!

I sat beside her while she did her speech. First the announcer said, ‘This is one of the most important days in the history of
Children's Hour
', then he introduced her.

I've heard Lilibet practise her speech so many times with Mummy that I must know it by heart. She told the children who've been evacuated that we understand how awful it is to be away from people you love. That's true, because our parents have to go away on long overseas visits. Lilibet said everything would turn out all right and then, just at the end, she said, ‘My sister is by my side, and we are both going to say good night to you. Come on, Margaret.'

And then I was allowed to say, ‘Good night, children!'

Lilibet finished by saying, ‘Good night, and good luck to you all.'

Afterwards we said how strange it is that thousands and thousands of children could hear us. Papa said grown-ups would listen, too. Imagine all those people stopping whatever they were doing to listen to us. Well, to Lilibet. So exciting!

 

 

A noisy night, up and down to the dungeon shelters. Some bombs landed in Windsor yesterday evening, and then more at about half past five this morning. We hate going down below, but it's for our safety. Lilibet said it's better than going down into the tube stations, which is what Londoners have to do. I saw mice on the rails when we visited the underground. Imagine sleeping down there with creatures crawling over you. Ugh!

 

 

My sister made me laugh until I cried today. Her tutor, Mr Marten, usually cycles from Eton College to the castle for her lessons, but sometimes, like today, she goes to his study.

Lilibet imitated him sucking his handkerchief, leaning back to stare into space and knocking piles of books over. She says there's a pet raven in his study, which I can't believe. She keeps an eye on it in case it perches on the back of her chair and pecks her ear. It's so unusual to see Lilibet doing silly things, and she was so funny. She should be silly more often!

In return, I pretended to be the housemaid, flat on the floor, stretching under my bed to reach the slipper I'd kicked beneath it. Her legs go up and down like scissors and she grunts like a pig.

I love watching people. Once Mummy entertained a very elderly guest to tea. His nose was screwed up as if he'd smelt something nasty, and his lips twitched in one corner. As I offered cake, I made sure he couldn't see me, and I wrinkled my nose and twitched like mad. Lilibet actually giggled, and Mummy had an awful time trying not to laugh. I sort of got into trouble for that, but Papa said I'm his little ray of sunshine, and I keep everyone cheery and that's worth gold in wartime. I mustn't do it again, though, he said.

Keeping people cheerful isn't as good as joining up, but it's something.

Greece is in the war now. Philip told Lilibet all about it in his latest letter. She writes back straight away. I hate it when people do that, because it means you have to start another letter so soon after the one you've just sent.

 

 

Papa has rushed to Coventry. The whole city's been terribly badly bombed. Six hundred people were killed. Allah says it gave the poor Londoners a break from the bombing that's been going on night after night, though that seems to have stopped now.

‘Wouldn't it be wonderful if the war ended tomorrow,' I said to Lilibet. ‘Everything would go back to normal.'

‘If only it could,' she said, ‘then all our soldiers, sailors and airmen could come home safely.'

I know which sailor she was thinking about. Prince Philip! She mentions him whenever she can. At breakfast, she's always saying, ‘Philip says this, and Philip says that.'

‘I think you're sweet on him,' I whispered one day when we were making Christmas cards. ‘Don't be stupid,' she said. ‘You don't know what you're talking about. What does “sweet on him” mean, anyway?'

I made a kissy noise, and she turned the colour of raspberry juice, I swear she did!

We've been warned that Christmas won't be like our normal Christmases. Nothing's normal. There's that horrid blackout, and the rooms don't look the same. The pictures have been taken away to be stored safely. Lilibet and I quite liked all those portraits looking down on us. Empty frames make the walls look dreary. All the china and glass has been safely stored. The glittering chandeliers have gone, too. Mummy says they'd cost a fortune to replace if they were smashed.

Everywhere's gloomy. Even the light bulbs in our bedrooms are gloomy.

 

 

I must stop teasing Lilibet about Philip. I got sent from the dining table to my room the other day for singing ‘Elizabeth and Philip sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G'. It was a bad time to do it, as we had some Guards officers for lunch. Not for lunch, to lunch.

Poor Lilibet. She hoped Philip might visit us over Christmas and he isn't going to. She's down in the dumps today. I hope she gets another letter before Christmas to cheer her up.

Mummy and Papa are spending lots of time with us. We've played them all the piano tunes we've been practising, and sung some French duets and I've recited some funny poems with all the voices. I think Mummy's a bit tired of listening to us, but Papa keeps smiling.

I sing solos to them, too. They say I've a lovely voice, even better than Lilibet's, which is very nice. That reminded me about the singing lessons I want, so I asked again.

Papa laughed. ‘Certainly not!' And he wouldn't budge.

That surprised me! Even if he says no, I can usually wheedle and get him to change his mind. This time he was definite.

Lilibet asked, ‘Why can't she, Papa? I have my history lessons. It would be nice for Margaret to have something special for herself.'

Papa ruffled my hair. ‘Singing lessons are a waste of time.'

‘They're not!' said Mummy and Lilibet together.

‘They are!' he said. ‘And I'll tell you how I know. Your Aunt Mary, the Princess Royal, had many singing lessons, and they did her no good at all. She makes the most ghastly racket in church.'

That's interesting. I'll listen for her next time we're all at a wedding or some other service. I'll copy her, so there's two of us making a ghastly racket. What fun!

 

 

Lilibet got a letter! She's walking round with the biggest smile and is sweet to everybody. I think if I asked her right now to give me anything of hers that I wanted, I'd get it. But I wouldn't be so mean. Or would I? Hee hee!

Philip wrote a jolly note to me, too, and sent some jokes that I'm trying to learn. He's going to Malta, Lilibet says, though he doesn't say that in his letters. ‘You mustn't tell a soul,' she said. ‘If the enemy were to find out…'

I don't think the enemy are likely to find out from me where Philip is, and I shouldn't think they'd care much if they did. They wouldn't bother holding him to ransom. His family have no money, and they don't even have a country. In the 1920s his father was banished from Greece for life.

‘How do you know where he is?' I asked.

She gave a sly smile. ‘Haven't you heard of secret codes?'

I don't believe her. Papa must have told her. Philip's in the Royal Navy, and if it's royal then the King can find out anything he wants.

 

 

The first letter Lilibet had this year hasn't exactly cheered her up. Philip is still far away, visiting relations in Greece. He thinks they're all going to leave there soon.

‘Papa told Philip he may visit whenever he's able,' Lilibet said, ‘and he's promised to come when he's next in London. It'll be lovely to see him again.'

I grinned. ‘I bet you can't wait!'

I hope it's soon. He's rather a jolly type.

 

 

Lilibet didn't open all her letters today, I noticed. She tucked one in her pocket, and slipped away as soon as we were free of Crawfie. I followed, but I couldn't find her. She must have found a place where she can be private. My fault, I expect, because I do tease her.

She couldn't keep quiet for long, though. She was obviously bursting to tell someone about her letter.

‘Philip's having a splendid time in Greece,' she said. ‘He's visited the King, and his cousin Crown Prince Paul. They've enjoyed themselves in spite of the war; there are lots of parties, and they actually go up on the palace roof to watch the air raids.'

‘How brave!' I said.

‘How stupid!' said Lilibet. ‘He might get killed.'

She must wish she was there, I thought. Then I realised, no, she wishes he was here. She likes him a lot. A lot. Poor Lilibet.

 

 

Papa told Lilibet a secret. She asked if she could tell me, and he said yes. He's heard that Philip was very brave and did so well in battle that he was ‘mentioned in dispatches'. That doesn't sound too exciting, but Lilibet said it's a very good thing. She said it in such an important way that I feel I ought to use capitals. A Very Good Thing.

‘And, Margaret, guess what!' she went on. ‘He's coming back to England to sit some exams to become a sublieutenant!'

Without thinking, I told Crawfie about Philip being brave, and she said something to Lilibet, who came to me and said, ‘You shouldn't have told anyone. I won't tell you any more secrets.'

She will. She can't help it.

 

 

We had our photos taken, digging in our gardens, to show that we royals are Digging for Victory. As Lilibet and I posed, I sang quietly, ‘Dig, dig, dig, and your muscles will grow big,' and Lilibet laughed so much her foot slipped off her spade!

‘One more, please, Ma'am?' said the poor photographer.

No one will believe we were really digging, because of the clothes we wore. Allah says we must always be properly turned out when we're in public, but why do we always have to dress as if we're visiting an art gallery?

Papa says the moat at the Tower of London has been dug up, and is full of vegetables!

 

 

We've spent a week dressing some of our dolls. They'll be auctioned to raise money. I've never pricked my poor fingers so much. Allah, Crawfie, Bobo and Ruby all joined in, and Mummy supervised. The dolls looked lovely in the end, but I never want to see them again. One gentleman said we were good, generous girls to give our dolls away, but I never really liked them.

Some kind people sent Lilibet and me a model of a Spitfire aeroplane. It's so clever, because it's made out of bits of a German Dornier bomber that was shot down. When I heard that, I said, ‘We can't have a German bomber on our mantelpiece,' and I took it down. But Lilibet put it straight back.

‘The Spitfire will remind us of the dangerous work our airmen do,' she said, ‘and because it's made out of a German bomber, it will remind us that there's one fewer load of bombs to destroy our cities.'

She's right. She always is, which is annoying. It's because she thinks before she speaks, which I don't do very much.

 

 

Philip has been to visit. Lilibet was so excited when she heard he was coming. Papa swears Philip's grown. He's suntanned, and his hair's fairer than ever. And he's grown a little beard. My sister thinks it makes him look distinguished, but I heard Papa mutter, ‘Scruffy'.

Papa took Philip fishing, and we all had some great horse rides together. Philip made us laugh a lot at dinner with some of his stories about ship life. Mummy tutted quite a bit, but even she couldn't help laughing, because he's so noisy and funny. I can see why Lilibet likes him. I do, too, but he doesn't make me go pink.

After dinner each evening, we played very noisy card games of things like racing demon. Mummy says I get over-excited and start squeaking, but you should see Philip! He loves to win!

He totted up the scores at the end of each game. He almost always won, and Crawfie thinks his arithmetic needs some attention.

Now he's gone, but he's left something behind. Lilibet doesn't know I know, but I do. He left a photograph of himself. I bet he's gone away with one of HRH Princess Elizabeth!

Lilibet really enjoyed his visit, and so did I.