The Good Servant, page 27
The Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are making preparations now for all the packing. Dozens of day clothes, work wear, relaxing wear, evening gowns, hats, gloves, bags, shoes, jewellery … the list goes on.
The Princesses will not be travelling with them but are very excited anyway. We have promised the Queen that we shall write often and if they can manage a telephone call to us we shall hold Dookie up to the mouthpiece so that the Queen can hear his panting. Margaret suggested pinching him to make him bark.
The Dowager Queen Mary has been very kind to me. When the King and Queen are away she has lined up several outings for the girls when they are not in the schoolroom with me. She will take them to museums, art galleries and even the Bank of England to see all the gold bars in the vault. How wonderful to have a grandmother who can open such doors to them.
I know you were asking about George in your last letter. I had a letter from him just yesterday and he is quite well. The bank keeps him busy in Aberdeen but I hope to see him in London soon. It seems strange to think our engagement has gone on for nearly two years now. My, how the time has flown! Mother, I know you wish to know when the wedding will be, but as I said in my last letter, we will have to wait a while longer. I cannot let the Princesses or their parents down. I would feel like a soldier who has deserted his post. With the royal tour approaching and all this talk of trouble in Europe, I simply cannot abandon them now. George completely understands, and if he is content to wait for me, could not you try to be content too?
But I don’t mean to grumble at you, Mother. Anyway, you must look out for any photographs and articles about the royal trip to Canada and America. I shall be making a scrapbook with the Princesses to give to their parents on their return. And I am thinking of starting a Girl Guides group for the girls and the daughters of palace employees.
With love,
Marion x
Quebec, May 1939
Dear Joan,
What an appalling crossing we have had the misfortune to encounter. The Atlantic was bleak and grey, shrouded in thick fog and the horn was blowing incessantly. The melancholy blasts were echoed back like a twang on a piece of wire. We very nearly struck an iceberg. The poor captain was hassled by passengers telling him it was at the exact spot where the Titanic went down. As if they knew!
Landing in Quebec, we were met by an enormous crowd, all wanting to catch a glimpse of the King and Queen. I am told that the fashion papers applaud Mr Hartnell’s designs and are holding the Queen up as a fashion plate. She is very gratified indeed.
We are now on the most vulgar train – a silver, blue and gold ‘streamliner’, I am told. It has a lounge car, offices, two royal bedrooms and many ordinary bedrooms or bunks for the rest of us. Thank God I have a bed, no matter how narrow.
With my highest esteem,
Tommy
Buckingham Palace, June 1939
Dear Mother and Dad,
The royal tour of Canada and America is going very well. Do you see the photos in the Scottish papers? I get every paper each day, for the Princesses are looking for articles to cut out and stick in their scrapbooks.
Lilibet is very interested in the reported speeches that her parents make, and the commentaries of the British journalists accompanying them.
Margaret loves the photographs of her parents looking so elegant or doing something funny.
Did you see the photograph of them at Niagara Falls? Spectacular! And now they are in America. I hear from Ainslie that the venture is going better than he could have imagined.
They are meeting with President Franklin D. Roosevelt and the First Lady Mrs Eleanor Roosevelt today or tomorrow. I can’t work out the time differences. I have read that Mrs Roosevelt is very popular and very unaffected in her manners. She’s described as ‘Rather Homespun. Not concerned with balls or grand cuisine. She likes scrambled eggs and something called square dancing.’ Doesn’t that sound fun?
They have been away for nearly three weeks and we are all missing them.
I am missing George terribly, too. Thank you so much for looking after him for me. He is such a dear and praises your dinners so that I worry my cooking won’t be up to your standards.
I can’t wait to be back home for the summer. Christmas with you all seems a long time ago. I’ll let you know my dates as soon as I have confirmation of when the family will be at Balmoral. We might go to the Braemar games again?
My love to you and Dad and please give George a hug from me when you see him next.
Marion xx
Buckingham Palace, 22nd June 1939
‘Your Majesty, welcome home.’ Crawfie dropped into her now-expert deep curtsey.
‘Mummy!’ Lilibet and Margaret jumped up from behind their desks and smothered their mother in hugs and kisses as she stood in the schoolroom door.
Margaret was beside herself. ‘We were very good. We didn’t wake you up even though we knew you and Daddy were home!’
‘Where is Daddy?’ asked Lilibet. ‘I have missed you both so much.’
‘And we have missed you very much. Daddy is working, but you will see him tonight.’
‘Was the boat ride home nice?’
‘Yes, Margaret, it was better than the first crossing. Very foggy with the foghorn booming all night and all day. Daddy slept through it all because he’s used to being on boats, but it took me a while to get used to it.’
Lilibet left her mother’s side and ran to the bookshelf. ‘Look what we have made for you.’ She carefully carried two large scrapbooks to her mother’s lap.
‘Ooh. And what is this?’ the Queen asked. ‘Crawfie, may I sit with you all to look through this? I would like to tell them some stories of the trip.’
‘Of course, ma’am.’
The girls got settled next to the Queen, nuzzling against her as she turned the pages.
‘Look, there’s Mrs Roosevelt,’ Margaret said.
‘So it is. Do you know she writes her own newspaper column called “My Day”?’ asked the Queen.
‘What does she write about?’ asked Lilibet.
‘Oh, she talks about what she does with the President at work and at home.’ She laughed. ‘She tried to persuade me to do something similar, but what on earth would I have to say in a newspaper column?’
‘You could talk about the people you meet,’ Margaret offered, ‘and our gardening and the games we play.’
‘Darling, you will learn that we do not speak to the newspapers. I am certainly not going to write anything about our family life.’
‘But why not?’ asked Lilibet.
‘Because people do not want to know that we are just like them. They’d be bored by us in a moment.’
‘Oh.’ Margaret turned another page. ‘I stuck that one in. It’s the President, isn’t it?’
‘Clever girl. Yes, that is Mr Roosevelt. He is our friend and he has promised to help us if we ever get into trouble with another country.’
Lilibet nodded. ‘That’s good. I like him.’
‘So do Daddy and I,’ the Queen said. ‘And, on our last night Mr and Mrs Roosevelt organized a picnic at their own home, or rather their “backyard”, as they call the garden. Daddy drank beer straight from the bottle and we ate hot dogs.’
‘Hot dogs, euggh,’ said Margaret. ‘I don’t like the sound of them.’
‘You didn’t eat a dog, did you, Mummy?’ Lilibet asked anxiously.
‘They are not real dogs. They are sausages in a large bridge roll, taken straight off the barbecue grill and served on paper plates. I asked the President how I should eat one, and he told me to push it into my mouth and keep pushing until it was gone! Daddy ate two like that, but I really didn’t have the heart to follow suit. After some gentle enquiries, a knife and fork were found for me. It was delicious. I was delighted.’
Margaret and Lilibet looked at each other and then back at their mother. ‘Can we have hot dogs for dinner?’ they asked.
Chapter Forty
Dunfermline, 25th July 1939
Marion was lying in bed in her old bedroom. It appeared to get smaller year by year, but the fading wallpaper of pink roses still made her smile. Her stepfather had put it up as a surprise for her homecoming, after a nasty bout of scarlet fever had hospitalized her. She remembered how weak she had been when her parents had collected her. Her stepfather had carried her up the stairs, and when she saw how he had transformed her room, she had cried, and clung to him.
Now she yawned and stretched.
It was day one of her summer holidays and she would see George in a couple of hours. She was glad to be out of London and away from the concern growing over Hitler’s Germany. She knew now that fascism was not about simply organizing a country well, and was ashamed that she had been so naïve to have thought so. It was about dictatorship and prejudice and violence. In Germany it was called National Socialism, or Nazism, and they were attacking Jewish people. The previous November Nazi soldiers, shamefully helped by German civilians, had smashed and burned Synagogues and Jewish homes all over Germany. The streets had been filled with broken glass and so it had been called Kristallnacht. Marion couldn’t bear that they had given a murderous night such a pretty name.
She rubbed her eyes. She knew more than she should, because Mr Chamberlain, the Prime Minister and his colleague, Mr Churchill, were at the Palace almost every day. What they had to say often filtered down to the servants’ hall via footmen. She hadn’t seen Tommy for a while, but he must be in the thick of it. She and Alah and Bobo had recently started a nighttime ritual of gathered prayer – just the three of them, praying that peace would hold and God’s grace be with the world.
She had got home last night, tired but happy to catch up with all her parents’ news, especially that of George. She longed to see him.
In return, she had told her mother about a day out on the royal yacht. She had accompanied the girls with the King and Queen on a short voyage to Dartmouth Naval College, and there they had met a delightful boy, who showed off to the Princesses by leaping over tennis court nets. He was a Greek prince called Philip. The Princesses, especially Lilibet, who was now thirteen, had seemed rather taken by him.
Someone knocked lightly on Marion’s door. ‘Come in, Dad.’
He poked his head round. ‘How did you know it was me?’
‘Because Mother would have made more noise.’
They both laughed.
‘I’ve brought you tea,’ he said, putting the cup and saucer on the table by her alarm clock, then sitting on the edge of her bed. ‘She’s on the phone to someone from church.’
‘Oh no!’ Marion sat up. ‘I hope she’s not organizing one of her tea parties. I hate it when they all come round and ask me questions.’
They kept still, straining their ears to hear Maggie’s side of the conversation in the hall.
‘And the royal yacht Victoria and Albert is wonderful,’ Maggie was saying. ‘It’s like a palace inside – very Victorian, everything served on Crown Derby china. Of course, Marion is very used to that sort of thing now, but I would love to see it for myself.’
Marion was horrified. She leapt out of bed, bouncing her dad’s tea into his saucer, and ran out on to the landing. ‘Mother! Mother, would you stop gossiping!’ she hissed
‘It’s only Jeanie from church.’ Maggie flapped a hand at her daughter and smiled. ‘She’ll not tell anyone. Sorry, Jeanie, Marion is upset about me talking to you … Aye, I’ve told her that …’
Marion clattered down the stairs and stood in front of her mother. ‘Put the phone down,’ she mouthed.
‘I have to go now, Jeanie. I’m awful sorry … No no, I’m fine. I’ll tell Marion. Bye, now.’
Marion was steaming. ‘I am never telling you anything about my work again! How many times do I have to tell you, Mother? I could lose my job because of your tattling.’
‘Och, away with you. I only mentioned your trip to Dartmouth and that young man who escorted Lilibet and Margaret all day.’
‘Mother! She is the Princess Elizabeth to you.’
‘Oh, here we go. Can I not be happy that Lilibet attracted a nice boy who rowed after the departing royal yacht until he had to turn back?’ She turned and walked to the kitchen. ‘Are we not allowed a little romance in these dark times?’
Marion was glowering at her. ‘Mother, she is only thirteen!’
‘Exactly. So, she’s hardly going to meet him again, is she? It’s all innocent enough.’
‘That’s not the point.’
The doorbell rang and startled Marion. ‘That will be George, and I’m not dressed!’
Later, George drove Marion quietly away, saying nothing while she railed against her mother’s loose tongue and general inability to be discreet. Finally, she ran out of anger and sighed. ‘Thank you for taking me out of there.’ She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. ‘How do you put up with me?’
‘It’s best you get it off your chest.’
She smiled. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Up to Loch Leven for some fresh air. I think you need some space.’
‘Dear George. What a wonderful thought. If you had told me, I would have packed a rug and maybe a picnic.’
‘Why would I spoil a surprise? And anyway, that’s all taken care of.’
George’s smile melted her heart. He was so good to her. He had his odd little angry moments every now and then, but that was just him. She understood why he had been so upset when she had postponed the wedding but neither of them expected it to be for over two years. Since then, they had both started saving hard and although their long-distance love affair had survived, they were yet to set a date.
In the two years they had been engaged, she had fallen in love with him over and over again. It was true they weren’t able to see each other nearly as often she’d like. George was usually working in Aberdeen, and was only able to come to London once every month or so; even when he was there, Marion found it hard to escape the Palace in order to see him. But when they were together, it felt safe and right. This summer, George had managed to get some time off work and had come to Dunfermline, ready to spend as much time with her as possible. Marion hoped this summer would be perfect.
They parked by the little ferry which would take them over to the island where Loch Leven Castle stood. George seemed to know the place, and once they were off the ferry he took Marion straight to a hidden grassy spot at the foot of the ruined castle walls, overlooking the water. Here they were sheltered from the breeze, and from prying eyes.
‘You spread this out and sit down,’ he said, throwing her a tartan blanket. ‘I’ll set up our lunch.’
She lay back on the rug, feeling the warmth of the Scottish sun on her. ‘Is this where you picked my lucky heather?’
He looked puzzled.
She laughed. ‘You remember, the heather you gave me when we met in Windsor Park? You said that every time I looked at it, you would be thinking of me.’
He smiled quickly. ‘Absolutely, I picked it here. Have you still got it?’
‘Of course, I have. It is really very special to me. As are you.’
He beamed, then handed her a sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘Smoked salmon.’
‘Thank you.’ She unwrapped it and took a bite. ‘Delicious.’
George lay down next to her and propped himself up by one elbow. ‘Am I really special to you?’
‘Yes.’ She understood he needed reassurance. ‘You are.’
‘Enough to set our wedding date?’
She hesitated.
‘Marion, I don’t think I can wait much longer. It’s been two years. Working at Drummonds is as important to me as your work is to you but I need you to be with me. I am the manager of an important bank, and it’s only right that I have a wife. And I miss you so much.’
‘Oh George, I know.’ She began to placate him, nervous that his mood might change and the day be spoiled. ‘But we have lots of time.’
‘You say that because you are young.’ He turned his gaze to the water. ‘Marion, I’m sixteen years older than you.’
She smiled. ‘That doesn’t matter. I like that you’re older. I like the way you feel like my protector. I feel secure with you. Nothing will hurt me if I’m with you. I feel safe.’
‘Marion, if we are fortunate enough to have children, I want to be young enough to enjoy them.’
She stopped eating. ‘You really want children?
‘Yes. As long as you want them?’
‘Yes.’ She felt her heart warm, and said again more firmly, ‘Yes!’
‘Well, we had better get a move on.’ He took her hand. ‘After all, you are thirty now.’
‘Only just! I may be an old spinster but there’s plenty of life in me yet!’
‘I am not joking, Marion. If a war does happen, I shall volunteer immediately, as I did in the Great War.’
Marion frowned. ‘Surely not? Your age would be against you.’
‘I have the rank of major still, and the active service experience. Unfortunately they will call the experienced service men first. I want to marry you before I die, to know you have a child to remind you of me. If God sees fit, I want a son to bear my name.’
Balmoral, 7th August 1939
Darling Joan,
Fourteen hours from King’s Cross to Ballater – the royal train does not allow speed to interfere with comfort. I still get the childlike excitement of sleeping on a train and very comfortable my quarters were too. Rather good grub in the lavish dining car also.
The royal cars came on the train. Can you believe it? Driven very skilfully onto the enormous freight wagons.
The horses and dogs, poor creatures, have the misfortune to travel by road.
I have unpacked and was relieved to find I had remembered my slippers, as all royal houses are rather chilly – this one is particularly so.
Tomorrow there is fishing. Rain is forecast but that won’t deter the King. He and the Queen are excellent fly fishers and will be standing waist-deep in the chill river no doubt. I may leave them to it and go riding with the Princesses. They are utterly fearless and I imagine we shall have some fun.
