Her Majesty (50 page)

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Garter King of Arms is the senior herald at the College of Arms, the governing body for all English, Welsh and Northern Irish coats of arms and family pedigrees. In Scotland, the same role is performed by the Court of the Lord Lyon.

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The plural of Lord-Lieutenant is not, as is often supposed, ‘Lords-Lieutenant’. They were county lieutenants before the ‘lord’ prefix was added. The plural of Governor-General, on the other hand, is ‘Governors-General’.

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All English and Welsh counties have a High Sheriff, a ceremonial position with links to the judiciary and a strong charitable aspect. High Sheriffs serve one year only. Like Lord-Lieutenants, they are unpaid, although some may claim a tiny ancient allowance, called a ‘craving’. Nominated by a cosy panel of predecessors and likely successors, they are formally appointed by the Queen in a ceremony called the ‘pricking of the Sheriffs’, unchanged since Elizabeth I. The Queen pierces the parchment next to each name with an ancient spike called a bodkin. Recently, the government has attempted to broaden the social base with an unofficial ‘house number’ policy – an attempt to recruit more High Sheriffs from houses with numbers rather than names.

8

Her Strength and Stay

‘
Not a rebel, no – an innovator!
’

It’s not the most promising name for a royal property. But as far as the Duke of Edinburgh is concerned right now, there is nothing quite like Sheep Dip. On this particular morning, it doesn’t look very promising either. It has no doors and no windows and a North Sea breeze is tearing right through the middle of it as the builders lay another layer of concrete on the floor. But it is one of the Duke’s pet projects and he loves dropping in unannounced with questions and fresh ideas. And he will be back when Sheep Dip is finished to check that this three-bedroom house in the wilds of Norfolk has been finished exactly as he wants it. Because this is his domain. Round here, he is the boss.

For sixty years, this restless, quizzical paterfamilias has had to tread carefully through the constitutional minefield which surrounds the throne. With no rulebook to work from, no precedents beyond some illfitting comparisons with Prince Albert, the Duke has carved out a role for himself which has always followed two parallel imperatives – supporting the Queen and being busy.

Much of his life has been spent doing things in spite of rather than because of who he is. From the day he moved into Buckingham Palace, he has had people telling him what is not allowed – things he cannot do, papers he cannot read and so on. Yet he has used his position and his considerable energy to make a mark on the world which has touched millions. He is now the only remaining major figure on the world stage who saw active service in the Second World War. And there are three places where the courtiers’ diktats do not hold sway, places where he can exercise his own judgement and try out the inexhaustible supply of ideas rattling through his head. One is Balmoral in Scotland, one is Windsor and the one where he has, perhaps, his greatest freedom is Sandringham in Norfolk. It’s not immediately clear where its 20,350 acres begin and end. The easiest way to tell that you are on royal acres is to look at the houses. If the external woodwork and the front door is painted in a gentle white and a pale blue – a shade known as ‘Sea Rover’ – then you have arrived. It’s the estate
colour scheme. ‘We try to have as few signs as possible,’ explains Marcus O’Lone, the manager of the Sandringham Estate. ‘The Queen and the Duke like us to be tidy and signposts need maintenance.’ Tidiness is certainly a priority round here. There can be few farms which keep their equipment so clean. That is in part because the Duke has installed a tractorwashing machine which recycles its own water. In one area of the estate, a long-legged monster on wheels patrols the hundred-acre blackcurrant crop, almost all of it destined for Ribena. When this machine is not spraying the blackcurrants, it can pick them, too. The Duke is very proud of it. In the organic zone, a tiny plantation of baby hazels and oaks is taking shape. It’s the Duke’s truffle farm. There has been no sign of a truffle yet but it’s early days. This has only been going seven years and, like the monarchy itself, truffle farming is a long game. The Duke is prepared to wait for as long as it takes. The truffle spores have come far and take time to work their magic. The world truffle maestros are the Italians and the French, but they declined to help so the Duke turned to the Kiwis. And, in any case, the Queen is Queen of New Zealand.

Rare game birds abound here because everything is kept as wild as possible. There are no plump pheasant populations emerging from commercial hatcheries as happens on many shoots. Edward VII bought this place as an old-fashioned sporting estate and shooting remains the principal royal recreation here; it is conducted as traditionally as possible. Ditto the delightful and unapologetically old-fashioned Sandringham Museum with its vintage cars, invalid carriages and exotic menagerie of stuffed hunting trophies from another age. Yet, over in the estate workshops, chief engineer Danny Harvey is never happier than when he and the Duke are inventing some new gismo. One of his proudest creations is the royal picnic trailer. The Duke sketched the original concept and Harvey built it, complete with spice rack, drinks cabinet, rubbish compartment, barbecue and drawers for hot and cold food.

The Duke has been in charge here since George VI died on the premises in February 1952. Sandringham, like Balmoral, is private royal property and the Queen inherited the lot. But she had a substantial part of the world to reign over and also wanted to give the Duke some autonomy. So she put him in charge of the Sandringham and Balmoral estates and also appointed him Ranger of Windsor Great Park. The Duke has supervised the planting of thousands of trees on Windsor’s five thousand acres. The castle’s main garden, on its eastern front, is his handiwork and he has even introduced a flock of Windsor budgerigars. The latest innovation is a 7.4-acre vineyard which could be producing Windsor wine by 2015.

Anyone travelling through the park will probably wonder why on earth
the traffic signs dictate a speed limit of 38mph. It was the Duke’s idea. ‘See!’ he says. ‘If it said 40 you wouldn’t notice it. But you notice 38mph!’ It wasn’t an entirely random figure either. It equates precisely to sixty kilometres per hour. Not only is the Duke completely fluent in French and German but he is entirely at home in imperial and metric, too. Sandringham is equally versatile. ‘I think imperially myself,’ says O’Lone. ‘But at a meeting five years ago, the Duke noticed that all the young managers were talking in hectares so he said: “We’d better face up to this. In future please provide everything in hectares.” So we do.’

The Duke cannot interfere with Red Boxes or summon Ministers or sign legislation. The Palace of Westminster didn’t even give him a proper seat at the State Opening of Parliament for the first fifteen years of the Queen’s reign. But on the royal estates he is master of all he surveys, more so at Sandringham than anywhere else. Whereas Windsor Great Park is still part of the Crown Estate and Balmoral’s 50,000 acres are constrained by assorted regional and environmental authorities, the Duke has more freedom to do what he wants at Sandringham. Hence Sheep Dip. The Queen and the Duke will not live in it. It is for one of their gamekeepers. Even with 150 existing estate properties to think about, the Duke has always regarded this remote, derelict farmhouse as a wasted opportunity. He likes a spot of property developing. Many years ago, he decided to renovate Wood Farm and it is now a much-loved family retreat. Sheep Dip is a more modest project but he is equally enthusiastic. ‘Six years ago, the Duke said, “I’d like to see a keeper here,” says O’Lone (whose own office, at York Cottage, is the room in which George V’s children were born). ‘Back then, it was too expensive because it would have cost £150,000 just to link it to the mains.’ Then technology improved and the Duke is now confident that Sheep Dip can thrive with a biodiesel generator and clever insulation. It will certainly be the only gamekeeper’s cottage in the area with a sea view and underfloor heating.

Sandringham is more than just a place for shooting and interesting experiments. On the Duke’s watch, it has gone from a loss to a surplus (ploughed back into the estate) without a single redundancy. He has opened up six hundred acres of woodland to the public plus a lucrative caravan park and the most intimate tour available in any royal residence. The dining room is not just interesting for its Goya tapestries and Queen Alexandra’s collection of illustrated
cartes des visites
from the great and good of her day. This is where the Queen actually has all her meals. Look closely at the table mats and you will see pictures of her racehorses. Next door, in the Small Drawing Room, you can see the pretty bronze ptarmigan which the Duke gave her on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It’s also a
reminder that the Prince of Wales is not the only eco-minded member of the family. Knowing the Prince’s enthusiasm for organic farming, the Duke has already made a chunk of the estate organic so that Sandringham is ready for the next generation. All important decisions about all the royal estates are taken in tandem with the Prince anyway. The Duke has installed a huge accelerated composter to regurgitate all the leftovers from the visitor restaurant as plant food. The restaurant itself monitors the ‘food miles’ of all its ingredients. But the Duke knows where to draw the line. He is always very careful not to intrude on the Queen’s own personal territory like the Royal Kennels (she breeds and trains gun dogs at Sandringham), the Royal Pigeon Loft (she still races pigeons) or the Royal Stud. When the Queen decided to turn Sandringham’s magnificent walled garden into very elegant stallion paddocks, the Duke was certainly not going to quarrel. As he observed in 2010: ‘The secret of a happy marriage is not to have the same interests. It’s one thing not to argue about.’

Ask any member of the Royal Household past or present to explain the Queen’s phenomenal success as a monarch and the Duke will be at or near the top of any list. No study of her and her reign is complete without an appraisal of the man at her side. As she herself declared on their Golden Wedding anniversary: ‘He is someone who doesn’t take easily to compliments but he has, quite simply, been my strength and stay all these years.’

And, as Prince William acknowledges, it cannot have been an easy transition in 1952. ‘In the world that they were in, it was almost back to front,’ he says. ‘The Queen was taking on her role in a man’s world. The Duke of Edinburgh was taking on the role of consort as a very successful naval commander – and would have been an even bigger one. Yet both of them carved their own paths and have done that ever since, to brilliant standards. Together, they’re a very good team.’

‘He’s always been there for all of us,’ says the Duke of York. He believes the key to his father’s success as consort has been about knowing when to stand back and when to make a well-judged intervention: ‘The Duke of Edinburgh has been a constant source of advice, help, teamwork, leadership – taking some things away from the Queen but with that ability to be able to know when to come in.’ It has also been about knowing when
not
to come in.

The Queen’s middle son points to the potential row over his own service as a Royal Navy helicopter pilot in the Falklands War of 1982. Prince Andrew (as he was then) was determined to serve alongside his comrades, but there were some within the Ministry of Defence who feared that the Number Two in the line of succession would make a prime
enemy propaganda target and, thus, increase the threat to those around him. The Duke of Edinburgh, as a former officer, had very strong views on the matter. ‘He knew what I was going through and that it was absolutely essential that I went,’ says his son. ‘As a professional, you couldn’t not go. It would have destroyed any credibility as a professional that I’d had. And the Queen knew that.’ Yet, this was a Forces, not a family matter. The Duke of Edinburgh managed to restrain himself until the authorities had come to the right conclusion.

‘In a sense, his life is very simple. It is 100 per cent support for the Queen,’ says his recently retired Private Secretary, Brigadier Sir Miles Hunt-Davis. ‘The organisation of his life is based entirely on the Queen’s programme. So he will not look at his programme until the Queen’s programme has been decided. Only then does he decide what to do.’ At any royal occasion, the Duke is not simply there to share the handshakes and the small talk but to offer reassurance. The Queen is always surrounded by able and reliable people but it is still a comfort to know that, a few feet away, there is the man who made a Coronation vow to be her ‘liege man of life and limb’. ‘He’ll be the one lifting children over the barrier to meet the Queen,’ says Sir Hunt-Davis, ‘or directing her attention to someone in the crowd or showing something of interest which he knows she will enjoy.’

Behind the veneer of the brisk, unsentimental reactionary there lies the same romantic soul who wrote, in 1947: ‘Lilibet is the only “thing” in this world which is absolutely real to me’; who turned his hand to jewellery design to mark his wedding anniversary.

One of the prettiest items in the Queen’s jewellery collection is the intricate bracelet devised and sketched by the Duke in 1952. Made of diamonds, sapphires and rubies, it features the intertwined letters ‘E’ and ‘P’, white roses of the House of York (the Queen was born Princess Elizabeth of York) and an anchor.
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It was the Duke who took the fairy-tale Princess out of her gilded cage. ‘He’s been a tremendous support to her throughout their marriage, especially early on because she had had a sheltered life,’ says Sir William Heseltine. ‘He was able to open windows on the world to her before television had taken over that role. It was very important.’

Today, the Duke remains as romantic as ever. In June 2010, bidders at Christie’s in King Street in London may not have paid much attention to a pretty little double study of the Queen by the artist Edward Seago. In this £6 million sale of Victorian and Impressionist paintings, the star
turns were works by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema and Sir Alfred Munnings. Seago’s fifteen-by nine-inch painting, with an estimate of between £4,000 and £6,000, was of passing interest. Yet someone seemed keen to get it. Indeed, the bidding agent for an anonymous buyer was quite insistent, driving the price up to just short of £10,000. Despite paying well over the odds, the mystery buyer was very happy. Unknown to everyone, it was the Duke. He already had Seago’s finished portrait of the Queen in his study and has always loved it. When he learned that the artist’s preliminary sketch was coming up for sale, he could not resist it. The two works now hang, reunited, above the Duke’s desk.