The Queen Mother (93 page)

Inevitably, in spending so much time at her husband’s side, whether on his visits or during the long evenings when he painstakingly read through the mass of telegrams, reports and assessments he received daily, the Queen was acquiring much first-hand knowledge of
the affairs of war. In addition, in January 1940 she and the King had begun giving a Monday-night dinner for members of the War Cabinet, other government ministers or officials, and occasionally foreign diplomats. At the dinner on 18 March the Queen gave Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, some lines from William Wordsworth’s poem
The Excursion
which had caught her imagination. She had copied them out in her own hand, and added across the top: ‘I suppose written when Europe was terrified of Napoleon?’

It was the relevance of the last three lines which particularly struck her, she recalled many years later. Churchill treasured the gift, had it framed and kept it thereafter.
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Through these contacts with the country’s leaders, and through her own increasingly full programme, she was developing stronger views and a clearer concept of her own role. It was one which was wholly in support of her husband, but also much more active and independent than that of Queen Mary in the First World War. In part, this reflected the expansion of the role of women in general. It was also due to her own personality: she was less retiring than her mother-in-law, and more confident that she could make her own contribution without overstepping the mark as the sovereign’s consort. Lastly, it was undoubtedly due to others’ appreciation of her effectiveness in boosting morale and winning public support for whatever cause she took up. At the same time she was determined to make her own views known, and not to be taken for granted.

Thus, following the success of her broadcast to the women of the Empire, she was in frequent demand to make speeches and send messages. In February 1940 the Minister of Health, Walter Elliot, drafted an announcement on evacuation policy and, in the hope of boosting public support, he added a statement that the Queen would be sending a message of appreciation to all householders who took in evacuee children. Unfortunately, however, he had failed to consult the Queen herself in time, and earned a rebuke from her: she thought it wrong that her name should be associated with a government measure in advance of its adoption. ‘You are a good Scotsman, and will appreciate my caution I hope.’ Nevertheless she approved the message, which was sent to more than 320,000 households.
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A moral dilemma arose for her over another request. The American Young Women’s Christian Association asked her, as patron of the British YWCA, to broadcast to their National Convention in April 1940 on the eighty-fifth anniversary of the foundation of the YWCA. Alec Hardinge cautioned that a broadcast by her might be taken by Americans as propaganda for the Allied cause, but she discounted this, and was anxious to accept. Then, however, she learned from the King that Britain was about to mine neutral Norway’s territorial waters in order to stop the export of oil and other vital supplies to Germany. The Queen realized the necessity of this. ‘We’ve got to beat the Germans,’ she wrote;
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but she also understood that sinking ships in neutral territorial waters might anger other neutral countries – the United States included – and she feared that her broadcast at this time might add fuel to the fire, as well as making her look hypocritical. She consulted Lord Halifax who replied that he understood her qualms but assured her that the mine-laying off Norway was justified.
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She did make her speech – but in a less conspicuous form than originally proposed. It was addressed not direct to the American YWCA, but to an anniversary celebration at the British YWCA headquarters on 13 April, from which it was broadcast. ‘Never, I suppose, has the Association had a more responsible part to play in the world than today,’ she declared. ‘Christian standards and values are being challenged at all points, and a purely material conception of life offered in their places.’ It was for younger members to take up the challenge, as individual witnesses to the eternal truths and as one great fellowship, pledged to Christian ideals.
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She made no direct reference to the war, but her words reflected her view of the threat to
Christianity which the war represented. There seem to have been no diplomatic repercussions.

The episode illustrates the inner conflict she shared with other Christian idealists before and since in times of war. Hardinge had been concerned, a year earlier, that she made judgements purely on the morality of an action without regard to its consequences.
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Once war broke out she was as determined as any of her compatriots that it must be won; but she continued to believe that Christian values must be upheld and dishonourable conduct by the enemy should not be repaid in kind.
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*

I
T WAS JUST
under three years since the Coronation. Now the Phoney War or
Sitzkrieg
finally ended and within weeks real war brought Britain to the edge of disaster. On 9 April Hitler swooped on Denmark and attacked Norway. Norway resisted, and declared war on Germany; Britain promised all the help in her power, but the British naval and expeditionary forces were unable to protect their ally against the coordinated German assault. By 4 May almost all Norway was in German hands.

This shocking, sudden defeat released months of pent-up frustration with the government’s lacklustre performance. It was now clear beyond argument that Neville Chamberlain could not be a war leader. He was a man of peace who could never seek victory; he hated making any decision that might cause casualties on either side. At the same time he was right to fear that Britain’s conscript army, only two years old, was not well trained enough to take on the Wehrmacht. The disaster in Norway proved the point. On 7 May the Commons began a passionate two-day debate on Norway which ended with so many Conservative MPs deserting their Prime Minister that his position became untenable. In a stunning rebuke, the Conservative backbencher Leo Amery adopted Cromwell’s words to the Long Parliament: ‘You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say, and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!’ The King and Queen, still loyal to Chamberlain, were dismayed.
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On 10 May Hitler’s troops poured into Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and France. Given the emergency, Chamberlain was determined to remain as prime minister at the head of a national government, but
the Labour Party refused to serve under him. That afternoon, he went to Buckingham Palace to offer his resignation. Chamberlain recommended that the King send for Churchill. The King did so. Churchill still aroused considerable suspicion, not least because of his attempt to use the abdication crisis to secure his own advancement and to undercut Stanley Baldwin.

By Churchill’s own account, ‘His Majesty received me most graciously and bade me sit down. He looked at me searchingly and quizzically for some moments and then said: “I suppose you don’t know why I have sent for you?” Adopting his mood, I replied “Sir, I simply couldn’t imagine why.” He laughed and said “I want you to form a Government.” I said I would certainly do so.’
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The King wrote in his diary: ‘He was full of fire & determination to carry out the duties of Prime Minister.’
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The Queen wrote Chamberlain a warm letter: ‘I can never tell you in words how much we owe you. During these last desperate & unhappy years, you have been a great support & comfort to us both, and we felt so safe with the knowledge that your wisdom and high purpose were there at our hand … Although one knew that carnage had to come, it is hard to sit here and think of those splendid young men being sacrificed to Hitler. You did all you could to stave off such agony and you were right.’
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She never changed her opinion of Chamberlain. Asked many years later if history had been unkind to him, she said, ‘Yes. I think he was a good man. I think he really tried. And whatever people say, it gave us that year. Because, as usual, they had practically got rid of the army. So that gave us one year to rearm, and build a few aeroplanes.’
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Queen Mary wrote to the King to commiserate on the loss of a prime minister in whom he had confidence ‘& were able to talk to as a friend, whereas W. is so uncertain! Let us hope & pray all may be for the best in the end.’
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The next few weeks were probably the most dangerous Britain would face in the entire twentieth century. The King had still to appreciate Churchill. ‘I cannot yet think of Winston as PM,’ he wrote in his diary on 11 May.
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But it was not long before he and the Queen came to realize that Churchill was far from ‘uncertain’.

The new Prime Minister immediately began to rally a nation adrift. He invited the Labour leader Clement Attlee, Chamberlain and the Liberal leader Sir Archibald Sinclair to join his government. In the first
of many epic speeches to the Commons and on the BBC he warned on 13 May, ‘We are in the preliminary stage of one of the greatest battles in history … I would say to the House, as I said to those who have joined this Government, “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” ’ Britain’s policy, he declared, ‘is to wage war by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us: to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy.’
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Such resolution was tested at once; May 1940 was merciless. The speed at which European powers and thrones collapsed before the onslaught of the Germans and their allies was terrifying. Denmark and Norway were followed by the fall of Holland, Luxembourg, Belgium and then Britain’s most significant ally of all, France.

Hitler tried to capture the royal families of Europe. On 13 May the King was woken at 5 a.m. by an unprecedented telephone call – another monarch beseeching help. Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands ‘begged’ him to send the Royal Air Force to help defend her country, which was being overrun by the Germans. The King passed her request on to everyone concerned. ‘It is not often one is rung up at that hour, and especially by a Queen. But in these days anything might happen, & far worse things too.’
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Queen Wilhelmina immediately fled her palace, only narrowly avoiding capture by German forces sent to seize her. Braving German bombs, she managed to get to the Hook of Holland and aboard the British destroyer
Hereward
which happened still to be there. She hoped to be taken to the south of Holland where her troops were still resisting. But the speed of German advances made that impossible and the
Hereward
carried her to Harwich instead. With great reluctance she went by train to London.

The King hurried to Liverpool Street station to greet the Dutch monarch and bring her to Buckingham Palace. The doughty Queen had little more than the clothes she was wearing, and a tin hat.
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On 15 May came the news that the Dutch army had surrendered. The Queen did everything she could to make the royal refugee comfortable in the now rather spartan Palace, until Queen Wilhelmina moved to a house in Eaton Square at the end of the month. Princess Juliana, her daughter, had arrived in England with her husband and children on the same day as her mother. Princess Irene, the infant daughter of Princess Juliana, was to have been baptized in Amsterdam. Queen
Elizabeth suggested that the ceremony take place instead in the chapel at Buckingham Palace where her own daughters had been christened.
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Soon afterwards Princess Juliana and her family left for Canada, where they lived for the rest of the war. From there the Princess wrote to thank the Queen for all the comforting hospitality she had given them, ‘culminating in the very lovely atmosphere you made for little Irene’s christening’.
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After the Dutch, the Norwegians – King Haakon VII, the King’s uncle by marriage, and his son Crown Prince Olav – were the next to arrive. For almost two months they had been hunted around their country but had evaded capture. When King Haakon finally realized that the Germans had seized every village and every fjord of his kingdom, he too decided to leave and, with his son, was secreted aboard a British ship. On 10 June the King met them at Euston station and took them to Buckingham Palace.

The Queen was very fond of both father and son, and welcomed them. But she was concerned about the extra strain that the royal refugees placed upon the depleted staff. Later she remembered that in one air raid she had to step over the recumbent King and his son, ‘both snoring away’ on the floor of the Palace shelter. ‘It really was too peculiar!’
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She tried to find them another home as ‘tho’ we
love
having them, it is rather a bore
never
to be alone’.
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Eventually they took Lord Harewood’s house in Green Street, Mayfair.

As Europe collapsed, ‘there was an appalling feeling of apprehension in the Palace. And the most wonderful comradeship,’ one lady in waiting recalled. The Queen remained calm.
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Since the beginning of the year she had carried out some fifty-five engagements in London and the south-east, both on her own and with the King, as well as visiting Bristol, Cardiff, Edinburgh, Glasgow, the Midlands, Lancashire and Dorset for more engagements. She went to see her regiments when she could, inspecting the Queen’s Bays in Dorset on 14 May, but the emphasis in her programme was on women, and civilian organizations.