Wartime Princess (8 page)

 

 

It's all over. Lilibet and I feel so flat. We did all our performances, and I never once forgot my lines. Yippee! Oh, I should so love to be an actress when I grow up. Or a singer. Or even a concert pianist. No, maybe not that. I'd be wanting to burst into song!

Mummy and Papa said we were both amazingly good. And my sister is walking on air!

‘Guess what Philip said, Margaret,' she whispered. ‘He said, “You were the finest Prince Charming I've ever seen, Lilibet, but far too pretty to play a boy.”'

I was surprised at that. Not that he thinks she's pretty – she is. I was surprised that he calls her Lilibet. That boy does exactly as he pleases and I'm not sure I like it. He's not family, after all. Well, not proper close family, like we four. But Lilibet doesn't mind at all!

 

 

Poor Papa must do his Christmas message on the wireless tomorrow. I know he gets terribly agitated, and worries that he'll stammer. Mummy just says, ‘You'll be fine, Bertie. Mr Logue has faith in you, and so have I.'

She'll be right. She usually is. Papa's going to talk about how the nation is one great family. That's a lovely thing, isn't it, to think of all of us as a family. I'm glad we don't all live together, though.

 

 

It's so cold that even my bath water didn't seem particularly warm this morning. The bathroom was freezing, and when you only have five inches of water to sit in, it's best to wash quickly and get dried as soon as possible. Papa had black lines painted around all the baths, so everyone knows how much five inches is.

 

 

We had a long walk this morning. Wherever we go, there's always a policeman not far away, watching over us. I've almost stopped looking for Nazi spies behind trees and walls. Almost, but not quite. Before the war we were perfectly safe wandering around the Home Park, or cycling, but we have to take more care these days.

The Great Park looks strange. Huge areas have been ploughed up for growing crops. It's all to help the war effort.

‘Everyone seems to help the war effort except us,' Lilibet grumbled. We'd just been chasing naughty Dookie, who'd run away, and we were wandering slowly back to Crawfie.

‘We do help,' I said. ‘We collect tinfoil.' Not that we come across much of that, but the kitchen and household staff collect for us. ‘We raise money for wool, and we knit things.' Actually, knitting's not my favourite activity. I'd much sooner give concerts and charge people to come and watch me!

‘As soon as I'm old enough,' Lilibet said, ‘I'll ask Papa to let me do real service. He will, I'm sure.' She broke into a run. ‘Come on, dogs!'

I don't think he'll let her.

 

 

Hooray! We're starting up Guides and Brownies again, here at Windsor! We'll have camps in the Home Park, and fires, and cook sausages, and go tracking in the woods. And OH! I am old enough to leave Brownies and become a Guide!

 

 

It's official. I'm now a Girl Guide, like Lilibet! We have a really nice company, with girls from the village, and some of the evacuees who were Guides in London. It's going to be such fun, except for one thing. We're not allowed to camp out overnight. I made a fuss about that, but Mummy just eyed me sternly and said, ‘Margaret! Air raids?'

‘Oh,' I said. I hadn't thought. Imagine being in a tent when the air-raid siren sounds.

Lilibet promised that we'll still have camps and fires and we'll cook and wash up, and we can still have tents. We just can't be out after dark.

Mummy's off on a trip tomorrow. She visits factories, and talks to the women workers, cheering them up and telling them what a good job they're doing. I said to Lilibet, ‘Will you ask Papa if you can work in a factory?'

She said, ‘Don't be silly. I'll ask him if I can be a nurse, and go and work in the East End.'

‘Why not ask to be a Land Girl?' I said. ‘Then you could work here at Windsor.'

‘I don't think so.'

 

 

My sister's been made Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, and on her birthday she made her first inspection. She held her first royal audience the day before, when the Lieutenant Colonel of the Guards came to talk about the ceremony, and what would happen.

On the day, Lilibet looked smart and grown-up in her blue-grey suit (blue suits us both), with the gold regimental badge pinned to her hat. Before we got out of the car, she said, ‘Now, Margaret, when Papa salutes the officers, you must not salute.'

‘As if I would!' I said.

‘You used to,' she said. ‘It was so embarrassing.'

‘I was little then,' I began, but Mummy put a finger to her lips, and whispered to me, ‘Lilibet's nervous, so forgive her for being snappy.'

Lilibet might have been nervous, but no one would ever have known, because she looked so calm. It was funny to see my sister lead the inspection, with Mummy and Papa following, instead of the other way around. Me? Trailing along behind, of course. But I was so proud, because my sister did it beautifully.

It must be weird for the Guardsmen, having a sixteen-year-old girl walk up and down their lines, inspecting them. I wonder what she'd do if she found a bit of fluff on a sleeve, or something! She never would, I'm sure, because they spend hours making their uniforms perfect.

They wouldn't think her so grand and ladylike if they could see her freewheeling down the hill on her bicycle with her legs stuck out, crying, ‘Wheee!'

I'm not sure I like Lilibet being grown up. She's having her own suite of rooms, which means we won't be together all the time. Even worse, she's having ladies-in-waiting. It's their job to go with her (instead of me) on official engagements.

And what about poor Princess Margaret? Everything's still the same for me. I want to be grown up, too. I hate this boring war.

 

 

At tea time, Lilibet spoke to Crawfie about what to wear tomorrow. ‘My Guide uniform, I think,' she said.

‘What?' I said. ‘Where are you going?'

‘To the labour exchange,' she replied. ‘Now I'm sixteen I must register with the Ministry of Labour.'

I remembered about all sixteen-years-old girls having to do that so the government will know when it's time for them to be called up for war work.

‘You needn't do that,' I said. ‘The government would be pretty stupid if they didn't know you were here, wouldn't they?'

They both laughed.

‘Margaret,' said Crawfie, ‘you'll never need to do war work. You do more than enough by keeping everyone cheerful.'

I suppose that was a compliment, but I hadn't meant to be funny.

 

 

Lilibet came back from the labour exchange, and before even bothering to get changed, she telephoned Papa and asked him about doing war work.

When she'd finished speaking, she passed the phone to me, and I had time for a cheery ‘hello' and to tell Papa to come back to Windsor for a break from king-work. He said he'd try.

I suspected Lilibet was unhappy, so I went to find her. She was sitting on her bed, and I noticed a new photograph of Philip on her bedside table.

‘Are you all right?' I asked.

She smiled, but it wasn't a meaning sort of smile. It looked like it was an effort. ‘Yes, Margaret,' she said. ‘I'm all right.'

I sat next to her and leaned on her, cuddling her arm. ‘Did Papa say no?'

‘He said a very definite no,' said Lilibet. ‘He says I have my own duty to continue my training and education to be queen.'

‘Poor you,' I said. ‘It's no fun being a future queen, is it?'

She sighed and unbuckled her Guides belt. ‘It isn't meant to be fun, Margaret.'

Then she swung round, gave me a huge hug, and said, ‘Thank heaven for sisters! Let's ask for the ponies to be made ready.'

We had a lovely ride – as Lilibet said, to blow the cobwebs out of our hair.

 

 

We cycled slowly round the park this morning, looking at all the places where there used to be flower beds, and now there are vegetables. We even have American officers camped in the park. Mummy's keen to welcome them, and she invites some of the officers to lunch occasionally, which is the most enormous fun. I've learned to speak with an American accent, which drives Mummy and Papa mad! This morning I came to breakfast and said to Lilibet, ‘Hi, honey! What's cooking?'

She nearly choked on toast crumbs, which made her eyes water. Lilibet definitely hasn't forgotten about wanting to do her bit. She's still going on about doing nursing in the East End.

‘I'd be perfectly safe,' she said. ‘No one would know it was me. Who looks in nurses' faces, for goodness sake?'

‘Probably everybody does when they're ill,' I said. ‘After all, she's the person who's going to make you better or stop you hurting.'

‘I suppose so,' said Lilibet.

‘Another thing,' I added. ‘Papa would never let you sleep in a hotel or a hospital, or wherever nurses sleep. You'd have to come home each night, and that would mean a car taking you. Our cars are bigger than most people's. Don't you think they'd notice?'

She patted my cheek. ‘There's something wrong with you, Margaret. You're not yourself.'

‘Why?'

‘You're actually talking sense!'

‘You… you…' I began, but she was already up and running. It was lovely to hear her laugh.

 

 

While I struggled with the wretched sock I'm knitting (pity the poor soldier who gets these), Lilibet sat at a table in the window, reading
Pride and Prejudice
.

‘I forgot to tell you,' she said. ‘I'm going to be patron of a hospital, so even if I can't do real nursing, maybe I can help raise funds for them.' She gazed out of the window. ‘It's not the same, though.'

Just then Crawfie came in. Dookie ran, jumped up at her and scratched her leg with his claws.

‘Ow! Dookie, down! That hurt!' said Crawfie.

Lilibet didn't even look round. Some nurse!

 

 

We have a lovely new cousin. At least, I'm sure he is lovely, but we haven't seen him yet. He's Prince Michael of Kent. He was born at Coppins, and is Uncle George and Aunt Marina's new baby. So now they have Edward, Alexandra and little Michael.

 

 

Sweets are being rationed from today. It doesn't really bother us, as we don't often have them, but Lilibet said how sad it is for evacuees and poor children, who don't have much to keep them cheerful during the war. I must say, though, that when we drive through the streets, I often see children playing, and they look as if they're having fun.

 

 

In a week I'll be twelve years old. The war's been going on for almost a quarter of my lifetime.

Everything's changed so much, I can hardly remember what some things were like. Even the view from the castle is different. Papa said it can't have changed a huge amount over the years until now. All that lovely grassland, that made you want to urge your pony into a gallop, is planted with crops. It's like living on a farm.

 

 

I want to go back to bed and start the day all over again, and for Lilibet to stay in her bed and not come in to me. I hate the war!

When she did come to my room, Allah and Ruby went out. I could tell from Lilibet's face that something bad had happened. And it has.

Our lovely uncle George has been killed.

I cried and cried, and Lilibet did, too, even though I could tell she was trying to be brave. We cried about Uncle George, and we cried for Papa, who loved his brother.

‘What happened?' I asked, when I'd calmed down.

‘He was travelling to Iceland in a flying boat, and it crashed,' said Lilibet.

That sent me into fresh floods of tears. Lilibet hugged me the whole time. With Mummy and Papa not being here, I'm so glad of my sister. She's strong and kind.

‘Thirteen other people died, Margaret,' said Lilibet. ‘We must keep them in our thoughts, too.'

‘I will,' I said. ‘I'll say a prayer for them, and their families. They must be feeling terrible.'

‘It's extra bad for them,' said Lilibet. ‘They probably depend on their men for everything.' She stood up. ‘Allah will come and sit with you. I'm going to write to Aunt Marina.'

It was then that something seemed to punch me in the middle. ‘The little baby,' I cried. ‘Little Michael! And poor Alexandra and Edward. They have no father now.'

Suddenly, I forgot my own misery, and thought only of them. I decided to write to the children. But try as I might, the right words wouldn't come. I kept seeing Papa's face before my eyes, and imagining if something bad happened to him. I couldn't bear it. I threw myself on my bed and cried myself to sleep. Allah stroked my hair.

 

 

I haven't written my diary for ages. I've written the one Mummy gave us, of course, but it's been full of nothing much. Lilibet has official engagements now, and often goes without me. I don't mind. I get tired of shaking hands and keeping a smile on my face, and trying to remember people's names.

I don't feel well today. Mummy and Papa both have dreadful colds, and I think I'm getting one, too. If I'm not well, perhaps I can have a fire in my bedroom.

How long will it be before we can move back to London, and go to parties and have days at the zoo and all the things we used to do?