Read Online The Final Curtsey by Margaret Rhodes - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Rhodes
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had been evacuated from London to Surrey. I stayed at
Windsor Castle, with the Princesses, and caught the bus to Egham every day.
The castle had returned to its original role as a fortress and there was a plan for my cousins to disappear in the event of an invasion. It was, I believe, called the Coats Mission because it
was commanded by a high ranking officer called Coats. A hand-picked body of officers and men from the Brigade of Guards and the Household Cavalry, equipped with armoured cars, was on
twenty-four-hour call to take the King and Queen and their daughters to a safe house in the country should the German threat of invasion materialise. I don’t think there was much reason to
worry about that after 1940, but it was a comforting thought that they were around, until I learned that although the operation probably included the corgis, it did not include me.
Windsor Castle was a bit bleak in those days. Heavy black-out curtains made the rooms look gloomy and the furniture was naturally shrouded in dust covers. It seemed to be perpetual twilight. The
King and Queen, who came down from London at weekends, observed the food rationing regulations although the rations were supplemented by game birds and venison. The pudding every day was stewed
bottled plums, picked from the garden.
In order to save on vital supplies, we were only allowed three inches of water in the bath and the King commanded that a black line be painted as a sort of ablutionary Plimsoll line. It was, of
course, impossible actually to regulate this and I’m sure there were many who totally ignored His Majesty’s attempt to impose water rationing. Often there were air raids, and the Page
would come in, bow, and announce: ‘Purple warning, Your Majesty’, the signal that the Luftwaffe was zooming in. I remember one particularly heavy attack when we all had to go to the
shelter. We were roused in the middle of the night and first taken to the King and Queen’s bedroom where I think I saw the King take a revolver from the drawer of his bedside table. It was a
defensive precaution, bearing in mind the possibility of an enemy parachute drop aimed at his capture. I know too that Queen Elizabeth practised revolver shooting in the garden of Buckingham
Palace, particularly after the Palace was bombed, which meant huge numbers of rats ran free, so she was able to practise on moving targets.
We then walked what seemed like miles and miles, down into the bowels of the castle. On the trek Queen Elizabeth absolutely refused to be hurried, despite the efforts of courtiers to persuade
her to move faster. Hitler had described her as the most dangerous woman in Europe, after he saw a newsreel clip of her laying a single poppy on a memorial to the Commonwealth dead in the First
World War during the state visit to France in 1938, a time when, despite the Munich Agreement, many people believed that war was inevitable. It was a symbolic gesture, as were her dragging feet,
typifying her attitude to Nazi aggression. The Fuhrer was not going to force her pace. This did not mean that the raids did not disturb her. At the end of December 1940 she wrote to my sister,
Elizabeth, saying: ‘I am still just as frightened of bombs and guns going off as I was at the beginning. I turn bright red, and my heart hammers. In fact I’m a beastly coward, but I do
believe that a lot of people are, so I don’t mind . . . Down with the Nazis.’
But outside the family she knew that she could not give an inkling that she might be scared. One such occasion was when she had a meeting with Lady Reading, the head of the WVS at Buckingham
Palace during a particularly bad raid. The palace had already been bombed and as they talked the explosions got closer and closer. Lady Reading was renowned as a most formidable woman and was
obviously not the least concerned.
They were ensconced by the big windows overlooking the garden and Queen Elizabeth rather wanted to suggest that it
Windsor Castle, with the Princesses, and caught the bus to Egham every day.
The castle had returned to its original role as a fortress and there was a plan for my cousins to disappear in the event of an invasion. It was, I believe, called the Coats Mission because it
was commanded by a high ranking officer called Coats. A hand-picked body of officers and men from the Brigade of Guards and the Household Cavalry, equipped with armoured cars, was on
twenty-four-hour call to take the King and Queen and their daughters to a safe house in the country should the German threat of invasion materialise. I don’t think there was much reason to
worry about that after 1940, but it was a comforting thought that they were around, until I learned that although the operation probably included the corgis, it did not include me.
Windsor Castle was a bit bleak in those days. Heavy black-out curtains made the rooms look gloomy and the furniture was naturally shrouded in dust covers. It seemed to be perpetual twilight. The
King and Queen, who came down from London at weekends, observed the food rationing regulations although the rations were supplemented by game birds and venison. The pudding every day was stewed
bottled plums, picked from the garden.
In order to save on vital supplies, we were only allowed three inches of water in the bath and the King commanded that a black line be painted as a sort of ablutionary Plimsoll line. It was, of
course, impossible actually to regulate this and I’m sure there were many who totally ignored His Majesty’s attempt to impose water rationing. Often there were air raids, and the Page
would come in, bow, and announce: ‘Purple warning, Your Majesty’, the signal that the Luftwaffe was zooming in. I remember one particularly heavy attack when we all had to go to the
shelter. We were roused in the middle of the night and first taken to the King and Queen’s bedroom where I think I saw the King take a revolver from the drawer of his bedside table. It was a
defensive precaution, bearing in mind the possibility of an enemy parachute drop aimed at his capture. I know too that Queen Elizabeth practised revolver shooting in the garden of Buckingham
Palace, particularly after the Palace was bombed, which meant huge numbers of rats ran free, so she was able to practise on moving targets.
We then walked what seemed like miles and miles, down into the bowels of the castle. On the trek Queen Elizabeth absolutely refused to be hurried, despite the efforts of courtiers to persuade
her to move faster. Hitler had described her as the most dangerous woman in Europe, after he saw a newsreel clip of her laying a single poppy on a memorial to the Commonwealth dead in the First
World War during the state visit to France in 1938, a time when, despite the Munich Agreement, many people believed that war was inevitable. It was a symbolic gesture, as were her dragging feet,
typifying her attitude to Nazi aggression. The Fuhrer was not going to force her pace. This did not mean that the raids did not disturb her. At the end of December 1940 she wrote to my sister,
Elizabeth, saying: ‘I am still just as frightened of bombs and guns going off as I was at the beginning. I turn bright red, and my heart hammers. In fact I’m a beastly coward, but I do
believe that a lot of people are, so I don’t mind . . . Down with the Nazis.’
But outside the family she knew that she could not give an inkling that she might be scared. One such occasion was when she had a meeting with Lady Reading, the head of the WVS at Buckingham
Palace during a particularly bad raid. The palace had already been bombed and as they talked the explosions got closer and closer. Lady Reading was renowned as a most formidable woman and was
obviously not the least concerned.
They were ensconced by the big windows overlooking the garden and Queen Elizabeth rather wanted to suggest that it
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