A Brief History of the Private Life of Elizabeth II (10 page)

The Princess and Philip were, to a large extent, an attraction of opposites. Not only were their natures very different, his experiences and hers had very little in common. He was not, like many
of her friends among the Guards officers, from a background of landed estates and country pursuits. Nor did he have wealth that would have enabled him to keep pace with the lifestyle of the Royals.
He shared none of Elizabeth’s passion for the Turf (in later years he was said to disappear into the Royal Box at Ascot and watch cricket on television while the Queen attended to the races).
From the perspective of the senior British aristocracy he was an outsider. He was literally homeless, and had nothing to live on except his naval pay, which was £11 a week.

And what were the feelings of the young man himself? Shortly after he had passed out of Dartmouth in the summer before the war began, his uncle contacted an old acquaintance. Vice-Admiral Harold
Baillie-Grohman was Captain of the battleship HMS
Ramillies
in the Mediterranean, and Mountbatten requested that his nephew be assigned to the ship. When the young man arrived, he was
invited to the Captain’s cabin to meet his commanding officer. The Admiral was astonished when, in answer to questions about his future ambitions, Philip said: ‘My Uncle Dickie has
plans for me. He thinks I could marry Princess Elizabeth.’

‘Are you really fond of her?’ he was asked.

‘Oh, yes, very. I write to her every week.’

The Captain was sufficiently struck by this exchange to write it down verbatim.

In 1941 the diarist Henry ‘Chips’ Channon met Philip at a cocktail party and recorded matter-of-factly: ‘Prince Philip of Greece was there. He is to be our Prince Consort and
that is why he is serving in our Navy.’ Gossip and rumour had married them off many years before they became engaged.
By the end of the war it was common knowledge
throughout the Navy that Philip was to court the Princess. He made no attempt to silence such speculation.

With her role in the Royal family becoming established, and even her hobby now decided upon, it became clear that – in the minds of the Princess and the young naval officer – another
important issue had also been settled.

With the war over, Princess Elizabeth’s public duties became more routine. She now visited towns and factories rather than camps or troops in training, and often carried
out these functions in company with her parents or her grandmother. Although young and undeniably pretty, Elizabeth dressed very much like her mother – they had the same dressmaker –
and therefore had a tendency to look older than her years. As an emerging public personality she was the focus of considerable interest, and she was even the subject of a film –
Heir to
the Throne.
It was to be the first of numerous documentaries that would show the public the nature of her life and work.

The years between 1945 and her accession in 1952 were a brief interlude by the standards of a long life. Within this period she experienced apprenticeship, courtship, marriage and children
– a chance to know something approaching normality as well as a relative freedom from responsibility.

But such things were always, and only, relative. She had by now taken on the patronage, or presidency, of several
organisations: the RSPCC, the Royal College of Music, the
Life Saving Society, the Red Cross, the Student Nurses’ Association. She already spent her days answering letters, accepting – or declining – invitations, attending lunches,
watching demonstrations of industry or military precision or emergency procedure, and making speeches.

As she settled into this routine of public duties, the qualities that were to characterise her in the future became apparent. She was aware that she lacked her mother’s social gifts, and
the smiles she offered to crowds and to photographers were bashful and often unsure. It was known by those close to her that she spent an anxious time before dinners wondering who she would sit
next to and what she would talk to them about, and she was soon to make a point of reading notes in advance on people in such situations. There is something rather touching about the notion of a
20-year-old practising conversation. Instead of spontaneity and wit she had diligence and a good memory. She sharpened the skills she possessed in order to make up for those she lacked. She was
described, tongue-in-cheek, at this stage of her life as being ‘like a very healthy, sound, responsible prefect in a boarding school, marked out to be head girl’. Her shyness, in any
case, endeared her to her father’s subjects.

The matter about which she felt most reticent was Philip. Her feelings for him had not changed, and her determination to marry him was obvious. The King still had difficulty in accepting that
she had fallen for him so quickly and so young. His uncle Lord Mountbatten was persistent in pushing his suit, as he had been since the young people had first met. He had been at Dartmouth on the
day of the Royal Family’s visit, and had taken pains to ensure that his nephew was highly conspicuous. It was he who had arranged for Philip to look after the girls.

Mountbatten was a man of charm and brilliance, but these qualities were almost eclipsed by vanity and ambition. A career naval officer like his father – who had been hounded
from office in the First World War because of a German name and background – he was a cousin of the Windsors but his own family (the Battenbergs had anglicised their name) was a
very minor and unimportant branch of European royalty, and he passionately wanted to see it grow in prestige and influence. His handsome and personable nephew, with whom he had had few dealings
until half-a-dozen years earlier, could be a means of achieving this. The Princess obviously liked Philip but her mother was less impressed. The Queen distrusted Mountbatten, whose motives she
recognised, and his sponsorship of Philip did not stand in the young man’s favour. Even the candidate himself became alarmed by the vigour with which his uncle seemed to be forcing matters,
pleading in a letter: ‘Please, I beg of you, not too much advice in an affair of the heart or I shall be forced to do the wooing by proxy.’

If this sounds like some Byzantine plot to capture the throne it is worth remembering that, until within living memory, this is how all dynasties tended to operate. From the time she reached
adolescence there had been speculation about Princess Elizabeth’s future husband. It would have been entirely natural that possible candidates for the hand of the Princess should be
considered. Any suitable young man could have been discussed, and would have had supporters and detractors. Those who knew the Princess and her parents might have made suggestions, perhaps
arranging for her to meet someone in order to see how they got on together. This is by no means unusual behaviour among the Queen’s subjects, many of whom owe happy marriages to precisely
that sort of arranged meeting.

People in the Royal Family were not, as they are today, free to fall in love with ordinary members of the public and marry them. The pool from which a young man could be drawn was by definition
very small, for not only were there qualifications of birth but of temperament. Her husband must have credibility with the peoples of the Empire as well as being capable
of
living a life of unremitting duty. In addition to that, he must actually love her. The days of dynastic marriages – mere political alliances between ruling houses – had ended with the
Great War. King George VI, whose own happiness was entirely due to marrying for love, would not have considered letting Elizabeth or Margaret be wed for any other reason. Like any indulgent father
he would take a great deal of convincing that
any
young man was good enough for his daughter.

The senior aristocracy was seen as the most likely place to find a husband for the Princess and one or two young dukes – Grafton and Rutland – were discreetly considered, though both
were soon to make marriage plans of their own.

The King was fond enough of Philip, whose extrovert nature was in such stark contrast to his own, but a number of his courtiers were not enthusiastic. He was a member of a Royal House but it was
not one that was ancient, powerful or stable, and his father – divorced and living hand-to-mouth around Europe – had left an unedifying reputation. Philip himself was the nephew of a
marquess – Milford Haven – but showed none of the quiet urbanity that was the ideal of the aristocracy. He had been to a British boarding school but it was not the kind of traditional,
top-drawer establishment that would have been taken seriously by courtiers. He obviously had a rebellious streak – it has been suggested that this might have hindered his career had he stayed
in the Navy – and officials could sense friction ahead. Again, the fact that Mountbatten, himself something of an outsider, was behind him did his cause little good. He could be blunt and
disrespectful toward older people and it was wondered, given his striking looks, overwhelming confidence and social popularity (he enjoyed the friendship of women, and this could be
misinterpreted), whether he would be able to resist temptation enough to be a faithful husband. The King’s Private Secretary saw him as: ‘rough, uneducated and [would] probably [be]
unfaithful’.

Philip was to mature into a phlegmatic, often charming but frequently outspoken man. His accent and appearance, his attitudes and his sporting interests all epitomise the
English aristocracy. He would come to personify the British Establishment. It is strange to think that he was once disapproved of by that same Establishment for not fitting with its notion of what
was proper. Many decades later, when Princess Diana felt harassed by the expectations of senior courtiers, it surprised some people to learn that she had had support from Prince Philip. He, too,
had run the gauntlet of snobbish disapproval.

As shown, he had the support of Queen Mary. She had known him since his childhood – she used to invite him to tea at the Palace – and had cherished the hope that he would marry her
granddaughter. Although some rough corners might have to be knocked off, she saw in him qualities of drive, energy and confidence that would be useful to the monarchy, a counterbalance to the
modesty of her son and granddaughter.

The British public proved surprisingly reluctant to take to him. Once he had been seen in public with the Princess – the first occasion was the wedding of Patricia Mountbatten – the
press began to speculate openly. As the question of an engagement hovered, assumed but unspoken and unconfirmed (the Palace kept issuing denials when the matter was raised), there remained a
feeling that Elizabeth could do better. However handsome he might be, whatever his war-record might have been, opinion would have preferred that the Princess marry a compatriot. Philip was seen as
a foreigner in spite of his education, service and connections. A photograph of him, taken during the war and showing him with a beard (Elizabeth had kept the picture on her desk) was published and
in that clean-shaven era it made him look like some Ruritanian grandee and certainly not like a man to be taken seriously. A poll of readers carried out by the
Sunday Pictorial
found that 40
per cent disapproved of a match between them.

Elizabeth would naturally have found it humiliating to have her relationship debated in the national press and, feeling that it was no one’s business but her own, she
could be nettled if even well-wishers brought up the matter. She was shocked when, during a visit to a factory, someone called out: ‘Where’s Philip?’ ‘That was
horrible!’ she said. ‘Poor Lil,’ her sister commiserated. ‘Nothing of your own. Not even your love affair.’

In the autumn of 1946, Philip was invited to Balmoral. In a sense he, too, was waiting to see what would happen. He has given the impression that the understanding between them gradually
deepened into certainty, and perhaps the whole Household was in suspense awaiting the news. The purpose of his stay there was, at least partly, to give him a final and thorough vetting as to his
suitability for life in the Royal Family. It has been speculated that there is what is called ‘the Balmoral test’. Any prospective spouse who fails to enjoy the spartan surroundings, or
the tiring days spent tramping the hills in the rain, will not do. One who immediately passed this had been Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, while a conspicuous failure was her sister-in-law, Wallis Simpson
(on first glimpsing the tartan carpets, she had exclaimed: ‘Those will have to go!’). If there is such a test, there was little danger that Philip would be found wanting. As a schoolboy
at Gordonstoun he was already accustomed to living in northern Scotland. He was keen on outdoor pursuits, and adapted without difficulty to the shooting-and-stalking culture of Deeside.

Philip and Elizabeth became engaged at some point during those weeks. Royal betrothals are not always secret – we know exactly when and where Victoria proposed to Albert, and even what was
said – but in this case both partners have kept the details to themselves.

Yet there was no public announcement. The King wanted to delay the news until after a visit to South Africa that would be made early in 1947. All four members of the immediate Royal
Family were to go, and they would be away for four months. Elizabeth, for the second and last time in her life, collided with the wishes of her parents. The first time, over the issue
of joining the ATS, she had got her way, though with a compromise – having to live at home – that robbed the experience of much of its value. Now she wished to marry sooner rather than
later. Despite her stubbornness, she gave way to her parents. It cost her some anguish to do so, but she not only accepted her father’s request to delay, she also – once she had married
and the waiting was over – wrote to the King and told him that he had been right to insist on this. In comparison with the arguments that many young women have with their parents, these
contretemps
seem mild indeed, even though the issues at stake were significant. They show both what a placid and conciliatory nature the Princess had, and what a loving family she belonged
to.