Part 7 (1/2)

The supreme moment of the day was timed for 12:30 P.M. P.M., when the Archbishop of Canterbury anointed Her Majesty with sacred holy oil and placed the crown on her head, proclaiming her Queen Elizabeth II ”by the Grace of G.o.d, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, Sovereign of the British Orders of Knighthood, Captain General of the Royal Regiment of Artillery.”

Those words enthroned the monarch, whose blood flows from the Saxon King Egbert through Henry VIII and Mary Queen of Scots, linking Elizabeth II to almost* every English sovereign since William the Conqueror. As Queen, she became Supreme Governor of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith. Her royal prerogative gave her ten powers: dismiss the government; declare war; disband the army; sell all the s.h.i.+ps in the navy; dismiss the civil service; give territory away to a foreign power; make anyone a peer; declare a state of emergency; pardon all offenders; establish a university in any parish. every English sovereign since William the Conqueror. As Queen, she became Supreme Governor of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith. Her royal prerogative gave her ten powers: dismiss the government; declare war; disband the army; sell all the s.h.i.+ps in the navy; dismiss the civil service; give territory away to a foreign power; make anyone a peer; declare a state of emergency; pardon all offenders; establish a university in any parish.

As a const.i.tutional monarch, she reigns but does not rule. Her only rights are to be consulted, to be informed, to encourage, and to warn, and even those are more limited than they were in the days of her ancestors. Her role is mostly ceremonial, and her activities-opening Parliament, signing legislation, appointing officials, bestowing medals and t.i.tles-are ritual. In practice, her official actions are no more than mandatory approvals of her government's wishes. Still, her symbolic power is considerable, for as ”the Queen” she personifies Great Britain. The government is ”Her Majesty's Government,” not Britain's government. British pa.s.sports are issued ”in the Name of Her Majesty,” not in the name of the state. Her face appears on stamps and coins. Her royal arms dominate the judiciary. Her royal insignia governs the church. Cabinet ministers are her ministers, state departments are her agencies, and those living within her realm are her subjects. There are no citizens, only subjects, in Great Britain, and the country's armed forces and the police serve ”the Queen,” not the people.

Her greatest power as Queen is the emotional hold she exerts on her people, who toast her health at every formal banquet and dinner and whose National Anthem beseeches G.o.d to protect her. As the fountainhead of such honor, she is a sacred symbol that elevates her above criticism. From this pinnacle she commands absolute fealty.

”Because of her exalted position,” wrote the Duke of Windsor in his coronation article for an American magazine, ”it is possible for the monarch by the influence of example and personality to impart a character and coloring to an era in a manner that lies quite outside the day-to-day functions of government.”

After the Archbishop set the crown on her head, Prince Philip rose to be the first to pay her homage. In the full dress uniform of Admiral of the Fleet, he walked to the foot of the throne, took off his coronet, and bowed. He walked up the five steps and knelt at his wife's feet. She took his hands in her own as he said: I, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly wors.h.i.+p; and faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. So help me G.o.d. I, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly wors.h.i.+p; and faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. So help me G.o.d.

He touched her crown and kissed her left cheek before returning to his chair.

”It was a gesture which had all the humility of a subject and the tenderness of a husband,” wrote a British journalist, ”and for a brief moment the Queen pressed her cheek close and firm to her husband.”

That night the young Queen paid public tribute to the man she had married. In a radio address to her loyal subjects, she pledged ”with all my heart” to devote her life to the service of her people. ”In this resolve,” she said, ”I have my husband to support me.”

The Queen entered Westminster Abbey to the shouts of ”Vivat Regina!” As she departed, trumpets sounded and church bells pealed. Enraptured crowds cheered as the stately coaches of seventy-four foreign powers made their way along the coronation route. Despite the downpour, Queen Salote of Tonga rode in an open carriage, the only head of state to do so. An enormous woman, she waved her huge, fleshy arms to greet bystanders and completely overshadowed the frail little man sharing her carriage.

”What's sitting across from her?” someone asked.

”Her lunch,” said Noel Coward.

The Sultans of Brunei, Joh.o.r.e, Perak, Lahej, Kelantan, Selangor, and Zanzibar pa.s.sed in colorful turbans, silk saris, and extravagant plumage. The native dress of the Zulus, Arabs, Indians, Chinese, and Nepalese dazzled bystanders. To heighten the drama of the parade, BBC technicians laid microphones on the ground to magnify the thundering beat of the horses' hooves and tape-recorded nightingales to sing continuously in Berkeley Square.

The emotion reduced some men to tears. ”When her carriage went past, I felt as if my heart were bursting,” said Richard Smith, a soldier on duty. ”We were virtually crying as we presented arms to the Queen. We were no more than ten yards away, and I don't think I've seen anything as beautiful in all my life.”

Similar feelings swept through the Abbey. ”Although our preparation was intense, the one thing the rehearsals hadn't prepared us for was the emotion of the ceremony, especially the entry of the Queen and her procession,” said a radio announcer, John Snagge. ”I was overwhelmed: Handel's 'Music for Royal Fireworks' on the organ, everyone standing, then Parry's anthem-Oh, it was the most moving moment.”

The BBC engineer, who was supposed to black out close-ups of the Queen during the coronation, was so transfixed that he could not bring himself to cut the lights and censor her image.

”Gorgeous, she was,” recalled the engineer, Ben Shaw. ”I thought the close-up picture of her was so beautiful that I couldn't press the b.u.t.ton.”

As Queen, Elizabeth became the head of two separate churches-the Church of England, which is episcopalian, and the Church of Scotland, which is presbyterian. For her a.s.sumption of authority, she took the sacraments and wors.h.i.+ped in both churches. In England she prayed as an Anglican, and in Scotland as a Presbyterian. Having sworn to govern all her peoples according to their respective laws and customs, she traveled north soon after her coronation in London for a second coronation in Edinburgh to receive the ancient crown of Scotland.

”This was her first visit to Scotland as Queen, and, naturally, everyone expected her to come in her coronation robes,” recalled Margaret McCormick, who attended the event. ”I was in my Sunday best and was shocked when she appeared in a simple gray blue coat, because she looked so... so... so... ordinary. She should've honored the occasion more.”

In St. Giles Cathedral, the Queen, who was surrounded by the Scottish peerage in their velvet cloaks and coronets, looked strangely out of place in black leather shoes, a gray blue felt hat, and a street-length coat, especially next to the Duke of Edinburgh, who was dressed magnificently in a plumed helmet and gold-braided uniform. The most jarring part of the Queen's attire was the big black purse she was carrying in the crook of her arm. To the Scots she looked like a middle-cla.s.s housewife on her way to the grocery.

At the altar she stepped forward while the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon knelt before her in his coronation robes to proffer the crown of Scotland on a velvet cus.h.i.+on with gold ta.s.sels. As she reached toward him, her leather handbag, which was as large as a breadbox, almost hit him in the face. He quickly moved his head to avoid getting smacked by the royal purse.

In the official painting commemorating the ceremony, the Queen is shown receiving the ancient crown of Scotland but without her handbag. The Scottish portrait artist deliberately left out the purse because he could not bear to render his sovereign looking like a commoner.

The atmosphere around the Queen was so reverential that no one dared utter a word of criticism about her attire, which was viewed by some in Scotland as insulting. She would falter a few more times in her new role, but each misstep would be carefully papered over by her courtiers, whose mission in life was to burnish the myth that the monarch was perfect.

These courtiers, whose families had been in royal service for hundreds of years, were either military men or from the landed gentry. ”The circle around the throne is aristocratic,” editorialized the Daily Mirror, Daily Mirror, ”as insular and-there is no other word for it-as toffee-nosed as it has ever been.” The courtiers felt that their positions were ordained in the Book of Proverbs: ”A scribe skillful in his office, he shall find himself worthy of being a courtier.... Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.” With a heightened sense of superiority, these courtiers did for the Queen what they had always done for her father: they determined what she would do and say publicly and whom she would see, from debutantes to diplomats. The courtiers also protected the Crown from stain, blemish, and disgrace. They did this by controlling the flow of information to the public. ”as insular and-there is no other word for it-as toffee-nosed as it has ever been.” The courtiers felt that their positions were ordained in the Book of Proverbs: ”A scribe skillful in his office, he shall find himself worthy of being a courtier.... Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.” With a heightened sense of superiority, these courtiers did for the Queen what they had always done for her father: they determined what she would do and say publicly and whom she would see, from debutantes to diplomats. The courtiers also protected the Crown from stain, blemish, and disgrace. They did this by controlling the flow of information to the public.

In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, the courtiers expected reporters to be deferential, and for the most part the press obliged. This fandango between press and palace enabled the courtiers to fabricate news, withhold information, and impose restrictions without question. The courtiers manipulated the press to mold public opinion, and some of their efforts to make the monarch appear worthy of respect seem ridiculous in retrospect, but their dedication was unquestionable and their loyalty unswerving. In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, her courtiers sought to present her as grand yet genteel. They refused to admit that she enjoyed playing canasta or that for her first royal portrait sitting, she arrived carrying her tiara in an egg box. They reluctantly admitted that she loved horse races, a fact not worth denying because she was constantly at the track, but they claimed she never gambled.

”Her Majesty never bets, but she shows great delight when a royal horse wins,” the Queen's press secretary told US News & World Report. US News & World Report.

In fact, the Queen always bet on her horses and twice topped the list of money-winning owners on British tracks in 1954 and 1957. She even advised the Palace stewards when not to bet on her horses. Yet because gambling was illegal and something that the courtiers felt a revered monarch should not indulge in, they promoted the fairy tale that the Queen never wagered.

Within four years a critic denounced these courtiers as fusty, old-fas.h.i.+oned, and hidebound. The critic, Lord Altrincham, derided them as ”a second-rate lot.” Altrincham later renounced his hereditary t.i.tle and became known simply as John Grigg. An historian, he achieved recognition as the man who publicly criticized the Queen as ”priggish” and ”poorly educated” and lambasted all the Queen's men as blinkered and inept.

At the time of the coronation, such criticism was so outrageous as to be blasphemous. The monarchy was still revered enough that even those who served it were considered untouchable. The only voice of dissent being heard came from within the Palace walls, and that was the irascible growl of the Queen's husband, who was appalled by the inefficiency he found all around him.

p.r.o.nouncing his wife's courtiers ”creaky” and their administration of Buckingham Palace ”medieval,” Prince Philip scorched most of the 230 servants as ”G.o.dd.a.m.ned idiots who wait on each other-not on us.” Insisting on naval efficiency, he regarded the 690-room Palace as a leaky old rust-bucket that he had to make seaworthy. Beginning with the footmen, he said the practice of ”powdering” their hair with a messy mixture of soap, water, flour, and starch was ”old-fas.h.i.+oned and unmanly.” He stopped it. He p.r.o.nounced the Palace communications system ”hopelessly antiquated” and inst.i.tuted a system to get rid of the ”b.l.o.o.d.y pages running all over the place.” He ordered a modern intercom installed so that with a flick of a switch the Queen could contact him, her secretaries, the children's nannies, even her chef. Next, the gadget-minded Duke ordered intercoms put in every office and two-way radios put in all royal cars. He introduced Dictaphones, tape recorders, and automated filing systems. He had was.h.i.+ng machines installed in the Palace bas.e.m.e.nt to replace the platoon of laundresses scrubbing overtime on washboards. He ended the Palace system of running several dining rooms at full steam all day long just so the servants could eat. He commissioned small pantries with hot plates and refrigerators to be installed in the royal suites so servants would not have to walk three miles of corridors just to take the Queen her coffee every morning. He did away with placing a fresh bottle of Scotch by the monarch's bed, a quaint practice that had been going on since 1910 when Edward VII asked for a whiskey to counteract a cold. No one had ever canceled the order.

He did allow the Queen to keep her bagpiper. In a tradition started by Queen Victoria, the Pipe Major of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders marches across the terrace of the Palace at nine o'clock every morning, playing the bagpipes.

For the hidebound courtiers, who preferred having young pages in silk breeches run messages by foot, as they had done in the days of Queen Victoria, Philip was radically disruptive. They protested his time-motion studies of the staff and objected to his heliport behind the Palace to save commuting time. They opposed his plan for marketing surplus peas from the farmlands at Sandringham and sneered when he installed bread slicers and carrot-was.h.i.+ng machines. They objected when he ordered that Queen Victoria's orangerie at Windsor Castle be converted into a heated swimming pool. They especially disapproved of his mingling with the ma.s.ses and said he didn't distinguish between commoners and aristocrats. They cringed when he entertained labor leaders and shuddered when he invited movie stars to lunch with the Queen. Allowing film stars into Buckingham Palace was worse than permitting untouchables into a shrine.

”Why, that German princeling,” snapped the Queen's private secretary, Tommy Lascelles, who did not understand or appreciate Philip's efforts to keep his wife attuned to the real world.

”That man is no gentleman,” said Commander Sir Richard Colville, the Queen's press secretary, fuming. ”And he has no friends who are gentlemen.” For a courtier whose honor was invested in being considered a gentleman,* this was a debasing insult, but the swipe was pa.s.sed privately. As so-called gentlemen, the courtiers were careful to be correct in public because they could not afford to be openly hostile to the Queen's husband. On the surface they acted civilized, and in his presence they addressed him respectfully. Behind his back they savaged him. Philip, who cared little about being defined as a gentleman, barged ahead with his sweeping innovations. this was a debasing insult, but the swipe was pa.s.sed privately. As so-called gentlemen, the courtiers were careful to be correct in public because they could not afford to be openly hostile to the Queen's husband. On the surface they acted civilized, and in his presence they addressed him respectfully. Behind his back they savaged him. Philip, who cared little about being defined as a gentleman, barged ahead with his sweeping innovations.

”It's our job to make this monarchy business work,” he said. He functioned for the Queen in much the same way Eleanor Roosevelt had done for the President. She had been his eyes and ears, his emissary to the ma.s.ses. Philip was determined to revitalize the Crown and make it relevant to people's lives. He accepted honorary positions with groups like the National Playing Fields a.s.sociation and fought hard to establish the Duke of Edinburgh Awards Scheme, which rewards young people for outstanding achievements in sports, cultural activities, and voluntary service.

The Ministry of Education was highly suspicious of a scheme bearing the obvious imprint of Dr. Kurt Hahn, the German founder of Gordonstoun, which was Philip's alma mater. The Minister of Education was more than a little dubious about the Duke of Edinburgh. ”I had a rather difficult interview,” admitted Philip many years later. ”As with all our organization, it worked on the 'not invented here' syndrome. Anything you haven't thought of yourself is bound to be wrong.... But gradually, as they came to realize what the scheme was about, and that it wasn't a new Hitler Youth movement, people began to realize that there was some merit in it.”*

With frenetic energy Philip toured plants and factories and schools, constantly asking questions: ”How do you make that work? Can't you find a better way? Faster? More efficient?” He fought the courtiers at every turn, refusing to let them write his speeches and, worse, refusing to follow their advice to say nothing. He insisted on being heard, and to their dismay, he was.

As President of the British a.s.sociation for the Advancement of Science, he hectored the members for being complacent.

”It's no good shutting your eyes and saying, 'British is best' three times a day after meals and expecting it to be so,” he said. ”I'm afraid our no-men are a thousand times more harmful than the American yes-men. If we are to recover prosperity, we shall have to find ways of emanc.i.p.ating energy and enterprise from the frustrating control of the const.i.tutionally timid.”

The courtiers worried about negative press reaction to Philip's outspokenness. Already overworked, they had been trying for months to squelch a potential scandal involving the Queen's twenty-three-year-old sister, Princess Margaret, and Group Captain Peter Townsend, the thirty-eight-year-old equerry who had served her father since 1944 and was now working for her mother as Deputy Master of the Household. For months the courtiers had been denying rumors of a romance, but a newspaper photograph taken during the coronation showed the Princess flicking a piece of fluff from Townsend's shoulder. The intimacy of that small pa.s.sing gesture revealed the truth and threw the Palace into confusion.

A fighter pilot in World War II's Battle of Britain, Peter Townsend had received the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Distinguished Service Order for valor. He then became the King's favorite equerry. With the same gentle appeal of Leslie Howard playing Ashley Wilkes in Gone with the Wind, Gone with the Wind, Townsend was a charming man with humor. He was not robust and swaggering like Prince Philip, but slightly fragile and emotional. He stammered, which was one reason the King, who also stammered, loved him. Townsend had suffered a nervous breakdown in the RAF and had been grounded occasionally because of his incurable nervous eczema. To everyone who met him, he appeared graceful and considerate, the paradigm of an officer and a gentleman. ”We were all in love with him,” said British novelist Angela Lambert. ”He was handsome, brave, romantic and discreet,” wrote Francois Nourissier in Townsend was a charming man with humor. He was not robust and swaggering like Prince Philip, but slightly fragile and emotional. He stammered, which was one reason the King, who also stammered, loved him. Townsend had suffered a nervous breakdown in the RAF and had been grounded occasionally because of his incurable nervous eczema. To everyone who met him, he appeared graceful and considerate, the paradigm of an officer and a gentleman. ”We were all in love with him,” said British novelist Angela Lambert. ”He was handsome, brave, romantic and discreet,” wrote Francois Nourissier in Le Figaro Le Figaro upon his death in 1995. ”He was one of those men without whose heroism and sacrifice our lives would have been no doubt less free, less honourable. An England, which I hope still exists, invented a kind of complete man that was one of the successes of Europe. Peter Townsend was the last of this species, now threatened with extinction.” upon his death in 1995. ”He was one of those men without whose heroism and sacrifice our lives would have been no doubt less free, less honourable. An England, which I hope still exists, invented a kind of complete man that was one of the successes of Europe. Peter Townsend was the last of this species, now threatened with extinction.”

Townsend had known Margaret since she was fourteen years old and, as a favor to her parents, had escorted her to dances and horse shows. He had served as her riding companion and flown her plane in the King's Cup air races. By the time she was twenty-one she had fallen in love with him. She pursued him openly, and each time he resisted her advances, she resorted to her royal prerogatives.

Coming home from a dance one evening, she demanded that he carry her up the stairs. He demurred. She insisted. He still resisted.

”Peter, this is a royal order,” she said, stamping her foot.

The handsome equerry laughed and scooped her into his arms. ”Ever your obedient servant, ma'am,” he said, sweeping her up the staircase of Clarence House.

”Margaret was quite blatant,” said her friend Evelyn Prebensen, whose father, the Norwegian Amba.s.sador, was dean of the Diplomatic Corps in London. ”I spent a lot of time with her in those days and remember one Christmas when the King had promised Peter time off to be with his family. Margaret got it into her head that she wanted to play cards, and she insisted Peter play with her. So he was forced to forgo the holiday with his family and dance attendance on Margaret. No wonder his wife wandered.”

In 1952 Townsend was granted a divorce on the grounds of his wife's adultery and received custody of their two sons. Although he was the aggrieved party, his divorce traumatized the Queen's courtiers, who still felt haunted by the 1936 divorce that had led to the only voluntary abdication in British history and resulted in exile for the disgraced King. Divorce was considered such an abomination that the Lord Chamberlain,* Head of the Queen's Household in England, had to insure that no divorced person was ever allowed into the Queen's presence. Head of the Queen's Household in England, had to insure that no divorced person was ever allowed into the Queen's presence. He even excluded from the royal enclosure at Ascot such a distinguished figure as Laurence Olivier, considered England's greatest actor, because of his divorce. In Scotland, Lyon King of Arms was the moral arbiter, and he, too, struck the names of all divorced persons from royal guest lists. One Scottish n.o.bleman protested his exclusion from a royal visit to Edinburgh because he had been divorced. He even excluded from the royal enclosure at Ascot such a distinguished figure as Laurence Olivier, considered England's greatest actor, because of his divorce. In Scotland, Lyon King of Arms was the moral arbiter, and he, too, struck the names of all divorced persons from royal guest lists. One Scottish n.o.bleman protested his exclusion from a royal visit to Edinburgh because he had been divorced.

”My marriage was annulled,” said the n.o.bleman, ”and I've been remarried in the church.”

”That may well allow you into the Kingdom of Heaven,” said the Lyon King of Arms, ”but it will not get you into the Palace of Holyroodhouse.”