Out and About

At Sandringham there was a display of prize rabbits. Unfortunately one of them was sadly substandard, in fact a disgrace – nearly bald and scrawny. The lady-owners of the beautiful, sleek rabbits tried to conceal the horrid one from view as the Queen Mother approached. But to no avail. She homed straight in on the wretched creature, picked it up, stroked it, murmured tender words in its ear and exchanged sympathetic glances with its triumphant owner. The other ladies were not best pleased.

When he was Leader of the Opposition in the 1980s, Michael Foot got into hot water about his coat. His knee-length reefer jacket, even though it came from Jaeger, was not thought suitable for the Remembrance Day service at the Cenotaph. But the Queen Mother made a point of being sympathetic. ‘It’s an awfully nice coat…a very sensible coat to wear on a day like this.’ Perhaps she was moved by the same spirit that made her pick out the bald rabbit.

But even the Queen Mother could be a little naughty on engagements. Visiting the Royal College of Music, she was introduced to a student. ‘What instrument do you play?’ she began. ‘The violin, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I do so like the piano. Such an agreeable instrument, don’t you think?…what an excellent choice,’ was the Queen Mother’s strange response. As she was leaving she made a point of returning to this student. ‘I’ve never really cared for the violin…what do you think?…I’m so glad you chose the piano…such a wise choice.’

A county lady was once visiting a well-known boutique in London’s West End, when she realised that the person riffling through the racks next to her was the Queen. She was so astonished that she wet herself. The Queen had to be led away in helpless laughter and encouraged to sit down on the back stairs. When she had recovered enough to speak, she said, ‘It happens so often.’

Princess Diana was always determined to be the first in at Harvey Nichols on a Saturday morning. She would arrive fifteen minutes before opening and pass the time lolling against the taxis in the rank outside and chatting to the drivers.

London was sweltering in a heatwave when the Oliver Messel Exhibition opened. As the designer and social figure, Nicky Haslam, made to embrace Princess Margaret, she stepped back. ‘No kissing, Nicky, far too hot.’

When offered a choice of champagne or dry martini by Colin Clark, the younger son of Sir Kenneth, the Queen Mother said, ‘They look so delicious, I’ll have both.’

One year the Queen Mother gave a party at a villa she had taken in Provence. It was all most romantic – moonlight, olive groves, fountains. After she had retired, she decided to serenade the departing guests on her mouth organ. So, hidden behind a curtain at her bedroom window, she began to play. The effect was magical. The guests were bewitched by this plaintive sound, coming from they knew not where or whom. One of them, in fact, was moved to respond on a horn.

A senior figure at Smithfield meat market relates that, when the Queen Mother and the Duchess of Devonshire visited, he thought it proper to leave them to have some time alone in his office. When the two women emerged, they were full of jolly complaint. They had tried all the cupboards, some of them were locked. Those that were open were a disappointment. They had tried the locked ones again. They had hunted for the key. They had thought they might have to force them open. What had they been looking for?

A woman who had just been splattered with mud by the passing royal car shouted at its occupants. ‘I quite agree with you, madam,’ said the Queen. The Duke of Edinburgh, who had not heard the woman’s remark, asked his wife what she had said. ‘Bastards!’ said the Queen simply.

In his youth, Theo Aronson, now a highly regarded royal biographer, became entangled with an ironing board in the middle of the road as the Queen Mother’s car was bearing down. It screeched to a halt and the bejewelled figure within lurched forward. But by the time he had scrambled out of the way and the car set off again, she was in stitches.

Occasionally, even royalty are reduced to silence. The artist Maggie Hambling, who brooks no nonsense, was introduced to Princess Margaret at an AIDS charity evening at the Royal Academy in the 1980s. She couldn’t remember what to call her, so settled on ‘Marg’. Then she said, ‘What are you doing surrounded by all these feminists?’ ‘These are my ladies-in-waiting,’ replied Princess Margaret stiffly. Things were not going especially well, but Maggie Hambling was determined to outstay her welcome. This was because Princess Margaret was smoking illegally and, of course, unhindered. As long as she was in the presence, Hambling reckoned, then she could too, if only she could keep on talking. So she started up a topic which was a favourite with her at the time. ‘What do you think of The Singing Detective, ma’am?’ Princess Margaret looked disgusted. ‘Isn’t that the one about the man with a skin disease? We don’t like it.’ ‘Oh, but it’s a masterpiece,’ replied Maggie Hambling and began a diatribe which lasted for three-quarters of an hour.

Prince Charles’s line of questioning on formal occasions can be surprising. He once asked a soldier, whose young and attractive wife was also present, if they had any children. The soldier replied that they did not but they were keeping their fingers crossed. Prince Charles explained that that was not how babies are made.

The Daily Telegraph prepared for a Royal Visit by lavishly dispensing free holidays to those journalists who could not be counted on to behave. Accordingly, the Queen was received with sobriety and hushed murmurs and the visit seemed to be going smoothly. That is, until one of the unreliables came lurching back from the pub where he had evidently been spending his day off. The Queen immediately jettisoned the toadies and fell into intimate conversation with the red-faced rebel. When gentle inquiries were made, the Queen revealed that they had had a fascinating discussion about the financing of the Royal Train, then, as now, a highly controversial subject.

On her way to the theatre, the Queen was surprised in Windsor High Street by an Italian waiter, who, with many extravagant compliments, presented her with a single rose. ‘What a lovely surprise!’ the Queen said. Hours later, when she was leaving the theatre, she was still clutching the flower.

Leaning out of the Royal Box at Epsom to an unknown member of the public, the Queen said, ‘Oh, look there’s my friend. He kissed my hand the other day.’

Princess Margaret and Lord Plumb ignored the ‘Keep off the grass’ signs while strolling along the Backs at Cambridge. From a distance an acquaintance of the Princess spotted a furious groundsman approaching the pair who, plainly not having identified his victim, was about to make a scene. Scurrying up to deflect him, the acquaintance engaged the Princess in polite conversation: ‘How nice to see you out,’ etc. Princess Margaret surveyed the scene. ‘I’m so glad to see the people enjoying themselves,’ she declared.

On a visit to a school, Princess Margaret asked the headmistress if she could smoke. The headmistress could hardly say no, but since schools are not naturally set up for smoking there was no ashtray to hand. Nervously staff watched as the ash of the Princess’s cigarette grew longer and longer and more and more precarious. In the end, one of the senior staff felt that she had no choice but to rush up and hold out her own hands to become perhaps the first living ashtray.