Prince's Wonder Tour

A wonderful poll published this week in the Ottawa Sun newspaper reported that 55% of Canadians are distinctly underwhelmed by the visit of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, while another 55% are frothing with excitement. I’m not sure how the pollsters interpret it, but the media coverage already suggests that millions of Canadians are delighted that the newly weds’ first royal tour is to their country.

While Prince William and his wife can be assured of a warm welcome, he is arguably more accustomed to the rapturous attention of thousands of eager people than his great-great-uncle, Edward, Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII). After the First World War the British government faced the first rumblings of independence from the colonies of the British Empire, and as the prime minister David Lloyd George noted, ‘The appearance of the popular Prince of Wales might do more to calm the discord than half a dozen solemn Imperial Conferences’.

In August 1919 the prince was dispatched on a tour of North America, the first of four official tours to the Dominions and Empire between 1919 and 1925. His first tour of Canada was unlike any royal visit before and the Canadians went out of their way to welcome the heir to the throne. Toronto was ‘gay with bunting,’and instead of meeting deference and respectful applause, the 25-year-old prince was received more in the manner of a Hollywood movie star. The newspapers remarked upon his youthful good looks and the prince, who was mobbed in every city he visited, lapped up the attention, referring to his time in Toronto as ‘the most wonderful days of my life’. For the first time, royalty became mixed up with the modern concept of celebrity, and for a prince accustomed to a lifetime constrained by his position, it was a refreshing and very flattering change.

To his credit, in public he took a genuine interest in every aspect of Canadian life and repeatedly said that he thought of himself as much Canadian as British. He was photographed everywhere and in every form of dress, from full mess uniform to Native American costume and The Times referred to his visit as the 'Prince's Wonder Tour'. In private, however, he found the endless dinners, wreath-laying and earnest conversations with officials tedious. In his letters home to his mistress, Fred Dudley Ward, he showed his real feelings, frequently bemoaning the strain, fatigue and boredom.

Despite this, he was so taken with life in western Canada that he purchased a ranch in Pekisko, Alberta, which he visited subsequently in 1923, 1924 and 1927. It was the only piece of land he actually owned and he loved it for its isolation and for the opportunity to take a complete break from his usual lifestyle.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s North American sojourn is a mere fortnight or so, compared with the four months that Prince Edward was away from home. Nevertheless the purpose of both visits is similar: to maintain the strong links between Britain and Canada, which extend at least as far back as the nation's foundation celebrated every 1 July on Canada Day.

Coronation Day 1911

22 June 1911 dawned ‘overcast and cloudy with slight showers’ according to George V, who had good reason to record every detail of the day on which he was to be crowned.

George had succeeded his father Edward VII on 8 May 1910. ‘I have lost my best friend and the best of fathers’, he wrote in his diary. A year later, he and his wife had adjusted to their new life, although as Queen Mary wrote to her aunt, ‘The position is no bed of roses’.

Scottish peers arrive at Westminster Abbey

By the time of the Coronation they felt more settled, although were tired by all the preparations. Quite apart from the logistical organisation, there was the question of where to house the large numbers of royal relatives who had invited themselves to the great occasion. The king numbered among his first cousins the Tsar of Russia, the Kaiser of Germany, the King of Romania and the Queen of Spain; among his uncles were the kings of Greece and Denmark and his brother-in-law was king of Norway. ‘All George’s first cousins of all nationalities have asked to come, it will be a motley gathering’, wrote Queen Mary to her 89-year-old aunt, the Grand Duchess of Mecklenberg-Strelitz (whose son attended to represent the family).

One person who did not attend the ceremony was Queen Alexandra, the widow of Edward VII. Traditionally, queen dowagers were absent from coronation ceremonies, but in 1911, the old queen was haunted by an obsession that her first-born son Prince Albert-Victor (‘Eddy’) should have been the one to be crowned. Eddy, of course, had died in 1892, but Alexandra was repeatedly heard to say, ‘Eddy should be king, not Georgie’.

In the end, the ceremony was splendid and the new king and queen were relieved when it was all over, while being only too aware of the enormity of the event. ‘We felt it so deeply and taking so great a responsibility on our shoulders’, wrote the queen. 

The Times recorded that Westminster Abbey had a ‘congregation such as has rarely been assembled [with] Royal and other guests many of them in gorgeous dress, peers and peeresses in the robes of their Orders . . . We are unable even to name all the States and peoples who have united in honouring our King and nation . . .  we thank them for their courtesy’.

Or as Queen Mary wrote rather more trenchantly, ‘The foreigners seemed much impressed’.

Take a look at Mrs Symbols' blog about the symbolism of the Coronation Medallion:
 http://t.co/4w3WeBN

Festival Times

‘You don't presume to suppose, I hope, that we are thinking of you, and wars, and misfortunes, and distresses, in these festival times. Mr. Pitt himself would be mobbed if he talked of any thing but clothes, and diamonds, and bridemaids’.

Does this sound familiar? Horace Walpole was writing about the forthcoming nuptials of the young King George III in 1761 and it proves that nothing really changes in terms of the excitement-verging-on-hysteria that surrounds the antics of the British royal family.

A quick trip down the Mall today proved that it is all too easy to be caught up in the hullaballoo. You can be almost literally swept away by the workmen, flags, TV crews, William and Kate lookalikes, police and, of course, tourists. Everyone was terribly good-natured, and although it seemed busy today, there was only a fraction of the numbers that are expected this Friday. 


Or as Walpole put it, 'O! the buzz, the prattle, the crowds, the noise, the hurry'!

Pipes & drums of the Princess of Wales Royal Regiment leave St James's Palace

The King's Nickname

The habit of endowing our kings with nicknames or descriptive epithets seems to have died out, except perhaps in the pages of the tabloid press. More’s the pity. My learned friend @Mrs Symbols has wisely pointed out that had George VI, the subject of the Oscar-winning movie The King’s Speech, lived a thousand years earlier, he would probably have earned a nickname similar to that of his distant ancestor, the French king Louis II (c. 846–879), known to his contemporaries as Louis the Stammerer.

Louis was the son of Charles the Bald (r. 843-877), the first king of West Francia, the area that encompasses modern-day France. The Carolingian monarchs and their nobles are distinguished in the chronicles of the time by a quite glorious collection of soubriquets. Forget the rather dull list of regnal numbers, Charlemagne (or Charles the Great, himself the son of Pippin the Short) was succeeded in 814 by his son Louis the Pious. He fathered three princes who divided up the empire between them: Charles the Bald, Lothair, and Louis the German. Louis the German’s son was Charles the Fat, and Charles the Bald’s successor was his son, Louis the Stammerer. They numbered among their noble followers Bernard the Calf, count of Toulouse, Wilfrid the Hairy, count of Barcelona and Bernard Hairypaws, count of Autun. Although they sound like the cast of an episode of Blackadder, these were powerful, ambitious men, dedicated to serving their king (mostly) and carving out mini-kingdoms for themselves. 

They were united in their struggle against the Vikings, enemies with equally descriptive names, like Ragnar Lodbrok (Hairy-breeches) and, er, Ivar the Boneless. It wasn’t till the 10th century that Erik Bloodaxe bagged the best and most terrifying Viking nickname of them all.

Historians differ in their opinions about these kingly nicknames. You’d think that the clue would be in the name, but one theory has it that Charles was so hirsute, that he was nicknamed ‘the Bald’ in an ironic manner. Bernard Hairypaws was apparently so-called because of his foxy nature, rather than his shaggy hands.

Louis the Stammerer from a 14th
century ms. (Wikimedia)

As for Louis the Stammerer, it seems that like George VI, he suffered from being the son of a formidable father. Charles the Bald fought throughout his adult life to hold his widespread domains together in the face of Viking attacks, revolting nobles and bitter family arguments that ripped Charlemagne’s empire apart. He expected his four sons to obey him without question. Charles himself was the youngest of Louis the Pious’s sons and knew only too well the dangers and problems inherent in allowing ambitious young princes to carve out their own domains. Louis the Stammerer and his brothers, Charles the Child and Carloman, were not outstanding in their filial devotion and during the 860s and 870s periodically stirred up trouble against their father. When his third son, Carloman, rebelled against him, Charles the Bald had him blinded and imprisoned in the abbey of Corbie. So perhaps it’s not surprising that Louis stammered. 

Louis did not have a Lionel Logue to help him, but interestingly, in the face of such a ferocious parent, at the age of 16 in 862 he secretly married his concubine Ansgarde, a woman 20 years older than him, who presumably provided some comfort. Ten years later, his father forced him to repudiate Ansgarde in favour of a more politically advantageous wife, and Louis, with his eye on his inheritance, complied. 

Louis inherited the throne in 877, but survived only two years, dying in 879. In an age when military might and a commanding personal presence were all-important, Louis was seen to be lacking and was certainly overshadowed by his powerful father. But in his brief time on the throne he continued his father’s work in maintaining an iron grip on the West Frankish realm, and eventually, it was his youngest (posthumous) son, Charles the Simple or Straightforward (879-929), who crushed the Vikings and restored order to France. 

The Miami royal wedding

Thirty years ago, when our current Prince Charming’s father got married, I was living in Florida, where my dad was constructing the Metro-Dade rapid transit system. The family was used to living in funny places, having spent the previous five years in and around the Middle East, and the decade before, in Australia. We moved to Miami straight from Pakistan, and we kids were delighted to be in a country where blonde teenage girls were not regarded as exotic objects (merely the pests they are) and global fast food outlets replaced the rather more homespun stalls of the streets of Islamabad. The best place for us was the drive-thru Burger King, where we always had to repeat the order, because the lady serving ‘loved our accents’.

The only problem was that, patriots to the last, we would not be in England for the wedding of the century, but fortunately the American TV networks promised full coverage. It would just mean getting up at 5 am to view it all.

Our American neighbours were keen to watch the wedding with us, because, as Brits, we would obviously be experts. Luckily, we are. The family is ingrained with a deep sense of history, and my mother will never dine out anywhere unless there is a strict order of precedence and a Top Table for her to sit at.

Sporting new gold crowns from Burger King, my parents entertained the neighbours with stories of the Coronation (my granny won a WI * lottery and slept out in the Mall **), a military inspection by the Queen Mother in 1962 when they were in the TA*** as students, and showed them a picture of my uncle meeting the Queen just four years earlier. In Miami in 1981, that just about made us royalty.

The only question we couldn’t answer satisfactorily was why Diana was going through with it. The neighbours were entranced by the beautiful Lady Diana Spencer, and despite our assurances that she would be a marvellous queen because she came from the nobility and would know what’s what, and the whispered asides that surely untold wealth must be an important factor in their relationship, they still could not understand it. Rather indignantly, we asked what was wrong with Prince Charles, a perfectly decent chap, as the parents confidently said.

Bluntly, the neighbours said it was his ears and they wondered aloud why Diana was not opting for Prince Andrew instead.

They really didn’t get it, so we told it to them straight. Prince Andrew may have had neater ears and a cheesier smile, but as number one son, Charles would get the throne. The neighbours shrugged and remarked that perhaps the ears would help the crown stay on securely.

Thirty years on, Prince Andrew’s charms have faded, and although Charles hasn’t yet tested the crown-bearing utility of his ears, he’s still in pole position for the throne.

Notes for foreigners

* The WI is the Womens’ Institute, a doughty voluntary organisation involving jam and Jerusalem.

** Pronounced ‘Mal’ to rhyme with ‘Hal’, the Mall in London is the road from Buckingham Palace to Admiralty Arch and Trafalgar Square. There are no shops on it.

*** TA – Territorial Army, Britain’s part-time volunteer soldiers.

Made welcome in royal circles

Colin Firth has won universal praise and now a Golden Globe for his role as King George VI in The King’s Speech. Interestingly, the awards ceremony took place exactly 88 years after the prince, then Duke of York, became engaged to Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in 1923. On 16 January 1923 The Times published the announcement from the palace:

‘It is with the greatest pleasure that The King and Queen announce the betrothal of Their beloved son, the Duke of York, to the Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Strathmore and Kinghorne.’

The paper did not mention that the prince had spent some time trying to persuade Lady Elizabeth to become his wife, and she finally relented on his third proposal. The leader writer went on to comment on the apparent difference in social status between the betrothed couple, ‘Love, which laughs at locksmiths, can sometimes smile at the difference in rank which separates Royalty from the rest of the people of the State’. The Duke of York was praised for his good works and ‘the modest grace and unaffected friendliness of his bearing’. Readers were assured that Lady Elizabeth was ‘high spirited, clever and accomplished as well as beautiful, and for some time past has been made welcome in Royal circles.’

With four sons, George V had confided in his wife Queen Mary that he rather dreaded the idea of daughters-in-law, but he became terribly fond of Bertie’s wife. Queen Mary noted in her diary ‘We are delighted and he looks beaming.’

In a peculiar way, she could have been commenting on the reaction to the success of the movie.

Wedding arrangements, 1893

For those anxious to hear every detail of the arrangements for the forthcoming royal nuptials, and perhaps disappointed by the minimal information fed to the public by the palace, here’s a taste of the exhaustive details published by The Times in 1893, during the run-up to the wedding of the Duke of York to Princess May of Teck.

Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince George, Duke of York was the second son of the Prince of Wales; his elder brother, the wayward Prince Albert Victor (known as Eddy to his family) had died tragically in January 1892, leaving a bereft fiancée, Princess May of Teck. While the family were overcome with grief, and the nation mourned the loss of a young life, the practical constitutional concern of reinforcing the line of succession was never far from the thoughts of senior members of the royal family. It was obviously indelicate, perhaps even cruel to mention it out loud, but Queen Victoria and various members of her family hoped that Prince George would fill his dead brother’s shoes in more ways than one.

‘From London I hear all from the Queen downwards are resolved P George shall marry May!’ wrote Lady Geraldine Somerset. George and May were cousins and got on well. Moreover, they came together after Eddy’s death, united in their grief – and their families encouraged their friendship.

Eighteen months after Eddy’s death, to the delight of their families, Prince George and Princess May announced their engagement. The nation sighed with relief and no detail of the wedding was too trivial for patriotic readers.

On 6 June, The Times announced that ‘ the ceremony is to be a stately and imposing function’, before recounting rather breathlessly exactly how the teeming numbers of the extended royal family would be accommodated in the rather small Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace.

‘Workmen are now engaged in the sacred building, making the needful preparations. The north end of the chapel will be tastefully adorned with palms and flowers . . . The Communion platform will be extended . . . A chair will be placed in a convenient position for the use of the Queen . . . Communion rails will be dispensed with . . . Rows of chairs will be arranged on each side of the chapel . . . Some of the Royal Family are expected to assemble previous to the ceremony in the State apartments at St James’s . . .’ The exhaustive list of arrangements went on – and is not dissimilar to the kind of details craved by the public today.

Newspapers recounted on a daily basis resolutions of congratulations passed by town councils up and down the country, The Times remarking with sorrow on 9 June that, ‘The Royal marriage has not, so far excited any great enthusiasm in Birmingham, Staffordshire and the adjoining districts, and the subscriptions for presents are small, owing, probably, to trade depression.’

The list of wedding presents was enormous and ranged from priceless jewels and artefacts sent by Indian princes and diverse family members, to several typewriters, and rather touchingly, a thousand bundles of firewood chopped by poor tramps and criminals in the Church Army Labour Homes.

The Queen decreed that ladies must wear low-necked dresses without bonnets, and that the Royal procession would travel in closed carriages. And in defiance of Mr Gladstone, who had not declared a public holiday for the wedding, many businesses announced that they would be shut anyway.

The earnest young couple were the focus of the empire’s hopes and good wishes, and although the cynical may be forgiven for thinking that they had more or less been forced into an arranged marriage, they would be wrong. George and May were devoted to one another, and although they were both by nature rather shy and undemonstrative, in 1911 George (by then King George V) wrote fondly to his wife,

‘We suit each other admirably & I thank God every day that he should have brought us together, especially under the tragic circumstances of dear Eddy’s death, & people said I only married you out of pity and sympathy.

That shows how little the world really knows what it is talking about.’

George V and Queen Mary 1911

(Courtesy Library of Congress)