Read Online Game of Crowns: Elizabeth, Camilla, Kate, and the Throne by Christopher Andersen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Andersen
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crammed with volumes ranging from biographies of prominent figures in British history to Agatha Christie mysteries and books on gardening. There would be changes over the years—the wallpaper, for example, would go from a calming blue green to apricot then back to blue green—but one thing would remain constant throughout the Queen’s reign: At or near her feet there would always be at least one corgi, usually snoring.
Early in the day she methodically plucked envelopes from a basket on her desk—some of the two or three hundred letters written to the monarch each day—quickly scanned them, and then scribbled notes about how each letter should be answered by her ladies-in-waiting. In addition to feeling an obligation to respond to people who “often write such personal things,” Elizabeth believed these letters offered a valuable daily snapshot of what was going on in the minds of her subjects—a look into what was “worrying people.”
Beginning around 11:00 a.m. on most weekdays, the Queen was also called upon to receive the credentials of newly appointed ambassadors, bid farewell to departing envoys, and give whatamounted to a brief private audience to a wide range of high commissioners, senior military personnel, jurists, clerics, artists, scientists, and visiting dignitaries from throughout the Commonwealth. These always took place in the palace’s cavernous, coral-accented Bow Room, where, once the Queen gave the signal, two footmen threw open the twelve-foot-high doors to announce the next awestruck visitor.
Equerries had already briefed each guest on the proper protocol: Take a single step into the room, curtsy or bow, take three more steps into the room, bow or curtsy once more, shake the Queen’s hand only after she has extended her hand, then wait for her to begin the conversation. Elizabeth, having already been briefed on each guest, usually confined the encounter to a ten-minute standing chat, although sometimes a visitor would be asked to sit with her in one of the room’s damask-covered Louis XVI settees. She would signal the end of each conversation by extending her hand to the guest, at which point an equerry would politely lead that person away in preparation for the next visitor.
Every day just before lunch, the Queen downed the same bracing cocktail—two parts Dubonnet and one part gin over two ice cubes, with a single slice of lemon. Occasionally she hosted a half-dozen or so luminaries—“meritocrats” from the worlds of literature, religion, the arts, education, business, medicine, and sports. The brainchild of Prince Philip, these lunches were designed to keep the Queen abreast of what was going on in the world beyond palace walls. The fact that none of the guests knew each other or had anything in common added to what the noted photographer and artist Cecil Beaton described as the Queen’s “underappreciated sense of mischief.”
Usually, however, Elizabeth had her midday meal alone. GrilledDover sole on a bed of wilted spinach was a particular favorite, or perhaps chicken served with fresh vegetables and cheese from the royal farm at Windsor Castle. Lunch seldom lasted more than forty-five minutes, and if she didn’t have to leave the palace to unveil a plaque or make a speech (she averaged around four hundred such engagements each year), the Queen was back at her desk by 1:00 p.m., hard at work on the royal boxes. At two-thirty, she normally went for a long walk with her corgis in the palace gardens. This was the Queen’s principal “alone” time—only the royal gardeners were permitted in the vicinity when Elizabeth emerged for her walk, and even they were told not to speak or even look at her.
With the exception of the occasional fitting or primping by her hairdresser, the next two hours would often be devoted to brief meetings with members of her Privy Council followed by another stab at the seemingly bottomless royal dispatch boxes. At 5:00 p.m., the Queen dropped
Early in the day she methodically plucked envelopes from a basket on her desk—some of the two or three hundred letters written to the monarch each day—quickly scanned them, and then scribbled notes about how each letter should be answered by her ladies-in-waiting. In addition to feeling an obligation to respond to people who “often write such personal things,” Elizabeth believed these letters offered a valuable daily snapshot of what was going on in the minds of her subjects—a look into what was “worrying people.”
Beginning around 11:00 a.m. on most weekdays, the Queen was also called upon to receive the credentials of newly appointed ambassadors, bid farewell to departing envoys, and give whatamounted to a brief private audience to a wide range of high commissioners, senior military personnel, jurists, clerics, artists, scientists, and visiting dignitaries from throughout the Commonwealth. These always took place in the palace’s cavernous, coral-accented Bow Room, where, once the Queen gave the signal, two footmen threw open the twelve-foot-high doors to announce the next awestruck visitor.
Equerries had already briefed each guest on the proper protocol: Take a single step into the room, curtsy or bow, take three more steps into the room, bow or curtsy once more, shake the Queen’s hand only after she has extended her hand, then wait for her to begin the conversation. Elizabeth, having already been briefed on each guest, usually confined the encounter to a ten-minute standing chat, although sometimes a visitor would be asked to sit with her in one of the room’s damask-covered Louis XVI settees. She would signal the end of each conversation by extending her hand to the guest, at which point an equerry would politely lead that person away in preparation for the next visitor.
Every day just before lunch, the Queen downed the same bracing cocktail—two parts Dubonnet and one part gin over two ice cubes, with a single slice of lemon. Occasionally she hosted a half-dozen or so luminaries—“meritocrats” from the worlds of literature, religion, the arts, education, business, medicine, and sports. The brainchild of Prince Philip, these lunches were designed to keep the Queen abreast of what was going on in the world beyond palace walls. The fact that none of the guests knew each other or had anything in common added to what the noted photographer and artist Cecil Beaton described as the Queen’s “underappreciated sense of mischief.”
Usually, however, Elizabeth had her midday meal alone. GrilledDover sole on a bed of wilted spinach was a particular favorite, or perhaps chicken served with fresh vegetables and cheese from the royal farm at Windsor Castle. Lunch seldom lasted more than forty-five minutes, and if she didn’t have to leave the palace to unveil a plaque or make a speech (she averaged around four hundred such engagements each year), the Queen was back at her desk by 1:00 p.m., hard at work on the royal boxes. At two-thirty, she normally went for a long walk with her corgis in the palace gardens. This was the Queen’s principal “alone” time—only the royal gardeners were permitted in the vicinity when Elizabeth emerged for her walk, and even they were told not to speak or even look at her.
With the exception of the occasional fitting or primping by her hairdresser, the next two hours would often be devoted to brief meetings with members of her Privy Council followed by another stab at the seemingly bottomless royal dispatch boxes. At 5:00 p.m., the Queen dropped
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