The supreme moment of the day was timed for 12:30 P.M. P.M., when the Archbishop of Canterbury anointed Her Majesty with sacred holy oil and placed the crown on her head, proclaiming her Queen Elizabeth II "by the Grace of G.o.d, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, Sovereign of the British Orders of Knighthood, Captain General of the Royal Regiment of Artillery."

Those words enthroned the monarch, whose blood flows from the Saxon King Egbert through Henry VIII and Mary Queen of Scots, linking Elizabeth II to almost* every English sovereign since William the Conqueror. As Queen, she became Supreme Governor of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith. Her royal prerogative gave her ten powers: dismiss the government; declare war; disband the army; sell all the ships in the navy; dismiss the civil service; give territory away to a foreign power; make anyone a peer; declare a state of emergency; pardon all offenders; establish a university in any parish. every English sovereign since William the Conqueror. As Queen, she became Supreme Governor of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith. Her royal prerogative gave her ten powers: dismiss the government; declare war; disband the army; sell all the ships in the navy; dismiss the civil service; give territory away to a foreign power; make anyone a peer; declare a state of emergency; pardon all offenders; establish a university in any parish.

As a const.i.tutional monarch, she reigns but does not rule. Her only rights are to be consulted, to be informed, to encourage, and to warn, and even those are more limited than they were in the days of her ancestors. Her role is mostly ceremonial, and her activities-opening Parliament, signing legislation, appointing officials, bestowing medals and t.i.tles-are ritual. In practice, her official actions are no more than mandatory approvals of her government's wishes. Still, her symbolic power is considerable, for as "the Queen" she personifies Great Britain. The government is "Her Majesty's Government," not Britain's government. British pa.s.sports are issued "in the Name of Her Majesty," not in the name of the state. Her face appears on stamps and coins. Her royal arms dominate the judiciary. Her royal insignia governs the church. Cabinet ministers are her ministers, state departments are her agencies, and those living within her realm are her subjects. There are no citizens, only subjects, in Great Britain, and the country's armed forces and the police serve "the Queen," not the people.

Her greatest power as Queen is the emotional hold she exerts on her people, who toast her health at every formal banquet and dinner and whose National Anthem beseeches G.o.d to protect her. As the fountainhead of such honor, she is a sacred symbol that elevates her above criticism. From this pinnacle she commands absolute fealty.

"Because of her exalted position," wrote the Duke of Windsor in his coronation article for an American magazine, "it is possible for the monarch by the influence of example and personality to impart a character and coloring to an era in a manner that lies quite outside the day-to-day functions of government."

After the Archbishop set the crown on her head, Prince Philip rose to be the first to pay her homage. In the full dress uniform of Admiral of the Fleet, he walked to the foot of the throne, took off his coronet, and bowed. He walked up the five steps and knelt at his wife's feet. She took his hands in her own as he said: I, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship; and faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. So help me G.o.d. I, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship; and faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. So help me G.o.d.

He touched her crown and kissed her left cheek before returning to his chair.

"It was a gesture which had all the humility of a subject and the tenderness of a husband," wrote a British journalist, "and for a brief moment the Queen pressed her cheek close and firm to her husband."

That night the young Queen paid public tribute to the man she had married. In a radio address to her loyal subjects, she pledged "with all my heart" to devote her life to the service of her people. "In this resolve," she said, "I have my husband to support me."

The Queen entered Westminster Abbey to the shouts of "Vivat Regina!" As she departed, trumpets sounded and church bells pealed. Enraptured crowds cheered as the stately coaches of seventy-four foreign powers made their way along the coronation route. Despite the downpour, Queen Salote of Tonga rode in an open carriage, the only head of state to do so. An enormous woman, she waved her huge, fleshy arms to greet bystanders and completely overshadowed the frail little man sharing her carriage.

"What's sitting across from her?" someone asked.

"Her lunch," said Noel Coward.

The Sultans of Brunei, Joh.o.r.e, Perak, Lahej, Kelantan, Selangor, and Zanzibar pa.s.sed in colorful turbans, silk saris, and extravagant plumage. The native dress of the Zulus, Arabs, Indians, Chinese, and Nepalese dazzled bystanders. To heighten the drama of the parade, BBC technicians laid microphones on the ground to magnify the thundering beat of the horses' hooves and tape-recorded nightingales to sing continuously in Berkeley Square.

The emotion reduced some men to tears. "When her carriage went past, I felt as if my heart were bursting," said Richard Smith, a soldier on duty. "We were virtually crying as we presented arms to the Queen. We were no more than ten yards away, and I don't think I've seen anything as beautiful in all my life."

Similar feelings swept through the Abbey. "Although our preparation was intense, the one thing the rehearsals hadn't prepared us for was the emotion of the ceremony, especially the entry of the Queen and her procession," said a radio announcer, John Snagge. "I was overwhelmed: Handel's 'Music for Royal Fireworks' on the organ, everyone standing, then Parry's anthem-Oh, it was the most moving moment."

The BBC engineer, who was supposed to black out close-ups of the Queen during the coronation, was so transfixed that he could not bring himself to cut the lights and censor her image.

"Gorgeous, she was," recalled the engineer, Ben Shaw. "I thought the close-up picture of her was so beautiful that I couldn't press the b.u.t.ton."

As Queen, Elizabeth became the head of two separate churches-the Church of England, which is episcopalian, and the Church of Scotland, which is presbyterian. For her a.s.sumption of authority, she took the sacraments and worshiped in both churches. In England she prayed as an Anglican, and in Scotland as a Presbyterian. Having sworn to govern all her peoples according to their respective laws and customs, she traveled north soon after her coronation in London for a second coronation in Edinburgh to receive the ancient crown of Scotland.

"This was her first visit to Scotland as Queen, and, naturally, everyone expected her to come in her coronation robes," recalled Margaret McCormick, who attended the event. "I was in my Sunday best and was shocked when she appeared in a simple gray blue coat, because she looked so... so... so... ordinary. She should've honored the occasion more."

In St. Giles Cathedral, the Queen, who was surrounded by the Scottish peerage in their velvet cloaks and coronets, looked strangely out of place in black leather shoes, a gray blue felt hat, and a street-length coat, especially next to the Duke of Edinburgh, who was dressed magnificently in a plumed helmet and gold-braided uniform. The most jarring part of the Queen's attire was the big black purse she was carrying in the crook of her arm. To the Scots she looked like a middle-cla.s.s housewife on her way to the grocery.

At the altar she stepped forward while the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon knelt before her in his coronation robes to proffer the crown of Scotland on a velvet cushion with gold ta.s.sels. As she reached toward him, her leather handbag, which was as large as a breadbox, almost hit him in the face. He quickly moved his head to avoid getting smacked by the royal purse.

In the official painting commemorating the ceremony, the Queen is shown receiving the ancient crown of Scotland but without her handbag. The Scottish portrait artist deliberately left out the purse because he could not bear to render his sovereign looking like a commoner.

The atmosphere around the Queen was so reverential that no one dared utter a word of criticism about her attire, which was viewed by some in Scotland as insulting. She would falter a few more times in her new role, but each misstep would be carefully papered over by her courtiers, whose mission in life was to burnish the myth that the monarch was perfect.

These courtiers, whose families had been in royal service for hundreds of years, were either military men or from the landed gentry. "The circle around the throne is aristocratic," editorialized the Daily Mirror, Daily Mirror, "as insular and-there is no other word for it-as toffee-nosed as it has ever been." The courtiers felt that their positions were ordained in the Book of Proverbs: "A scribe skillful in his office, he shall find himself worthy of being a courtier.... Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings." With a heightened sense of superiority, these courtiers did for the Queen what they had always done for her father: they determined what she would do and say publicly and whom she would see, from debutantes to diplomats. The courtiers also protected the Crown from stain, blemish, and disgrace. They did this by controlling the flow of information to the public. "as insular and-there is no other word for it-as toffee-nosed as it has ever been." The courtiers felt that their positions were ordained in the Book of Proverbs: "A scribe skillful in his office, he shall find himself worthy of being a courtier.... Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings." With a heightened sense of superiority, these courtiers did for the Queen what they had always done for her father: they determined what she would do and say publicly and whom she would see, from debutantes to diplomats. The courtiers also protected the Crown from stain, blemish, and disgrace. They did this by controlling the flow of information to the public.

In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, the courtiers expected reporters to be deferential, and for the most part the press obliged. This fandango between press and palace enabled the courtiers to fabricate news, withhold information, and impose restrictions without question. The courtiers manipulated the press to mold public opinion, and some of their efforts to make the monarch appear worthy of respect seem ridiculous in retrospect, but their dedication was unquestionable and their loyalty unswerving. In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, her courtiers sought to present her as grand yet genteel. They refused to admit that she enjoyed playing canasta or that for her first royal portrait sitting, she arrived carrying her tiara in an egg box. They reluctantly admitted that she loved horse races, a fact not worth denying because she was constantly at the track, but they claimed she never gambled.

"Her Majesty never bets, but she shows great delight when a royal horse wins," the Queen's press secretary told US News & World Report. US News & World Report.

In fact, the Queen always bet on her horses and twice topped the list of money-winning owners on British tracks in 1954 and 1957. She even advised the Palace stewards when not to bet on her horses. Yet because gambling was illegal and something that the courtiers felt a revered monarch should not indulge in, they promoted the fairy tale that the Queen never wagered.

Within four years a critic denounced these courtiers as fusty, old-fashioned, and hidebound. The critic, Lord Altrincham, derided them as "a second-rate lot." Altrincham later renounced his hereditary t.i.tle and became known simply as John Grigg. An historian, he achieved recognition as the man who publicly criticized the Queen as "priggish" and "poorly educated" and lambasted all the Queen's men as blinkered and inept.

At the time of the coronation, such criticism was so outrageous as to be blasphemous. The monarchy was still revered enough that even those who served it were considered untouchable. The only voice of dissent being heard came from within the Palace walls, and that was the irascible growl of the Queen's husband, who was appalled by the inefficiency he found all around him.

p.r.o.nouncing his wife's courtiers "creaky" and their administration of Buckingham Palace "medieval," Prince Philip scorched most of the 230 servants as "G.o.dd.a.m.ned idiots who wait on each other-not on us." Insisting on naval efficiency, he regarded the 690-room Palace as a leaky old rust-bucket that he had to make seaworthy. Beginning with the footmen, he said the practice of "powdering" their hair with a messy mixture of soap, water, flour, and starch was "old-fashioned and unmanly." He stopped it. He p.r.o.nounced the Palace communications system "hopelessly antiquated" and inst.i.tuted a system to get rid of the "b.l.o.o.d.y pages running all over the place." He ordered a modern intercom installed so that with a flick of a switch the Queen could contact him, her secretaries, the children's nannies, even her chef. Next, the gadget-minded Duke ordered intercoms put in every office and two-way radios put in all royal cars. He introduced Dictaphones, tape recorders, and automated filing systems. He had washing machines installed in the Palace bas.e.m.e.nt to replace the platoon of laundresses scrubbing overtime on washboards. He ended the Palace system of running several dining rooms at full steam all day long just so the servants could eat. He commissioned small pantries with hot plates and refrigerators to be installed in the royal suites so servants would not have to walk three miles of corridors just to take the Queen her coffee every morning. He did away with placing a fresh bottle of Scotch by the monarch's bed, a quaint practice that had been going on since 1910 when Edward VII asked for a whiskey to counteract a cold. No one had ever canceled the order.

He did allow the Queen to keep her bagpiper. In a tradition started by Queen Victoria, the Pipe Major of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders marches across the terrace of the Palace at nine o'clock every morning, playing the bagpipes.

For the hidebound courtiers, who preferred having young pages in silk breeches run messages by foot, as they had done in the days of Queen Victoria, Philip was radically disruptive. They protested his time-motion studies of the staff and objected to his heliport behind the Palace to save commuting time. They opposed his plan for marketing surplus peas from the farmlands at Sandringham and sneered when he installed bread slicers and carrot-washing machines. They objected when he ordered that Queen Victoria's orangerie at Windsor Castle be converted into a heated swimming pool. They especially disapproved of his mingling with the ma.s.ses and said he didn't distinguish between commoners and aristocrats. They cringed when he entertained labor leaders and shuddered when he invited movie stars to lunch with the Queen. Allowing film stars into Buckingham Palace was worse than permitting untouchables into a shrine.

"Why, that German princeling," snapped the Queen's private secretary, Tommy Lascelles, who did not understand or appreciate Philip's efforts to keep his wife attuned to the real world.

"That man is no gentleman," said Commander Sir Richard Colville, the Queen's press secretary, fuming. "And he has no friends who are gentlemen." For a courtier whose honor was invested in being considered a gentleman,* this was a debasing insult, but the swipe was pa.s.sed privately. As so-called gentlemen, the courtiers were careful to be correct in public because they could not afford to be openly hostile to the Queen's husband. On the surface they acted civilized, and in his presence they addressed him respectfully. Behind his back they savaged him. Philip, who cared little about being defined as a gentleman, barged ahead with his sweeping innovations. this was a debasing insult, but the swipe was pa.s.sed privately. As so-called gentlemen, the courtiers were careful to be correct in public because they could not afford to be openly hostile to the Queen's husband. On the surface they acted civilized, and in his presence they addressed him respectfully. Behind his back they savaged him. Philip, who cared little about being defined as a gentleman, barged ahead with his sweeping innovations.

"It's our job to make this monarchy business work," he said. He functioned for the Queen in much the same way Eleanor Roosevelt had done for the President. She had been his eyes and ears, his emissary to the ma.s.ses. Philip was determined to revitalize the Crown and make it relevant to people's lives. He accepted honorary positions with groups like the National Playing Fields a.s.sociation and fought hard to establish the Duke of Edinburgh Awards Scheme, which rewards young people for outstanding achievements in sports, cultural activities, and voluntary service.

The Ministry of Education was highly suspicious of a scheme bearing the obvious imprint of Dr. Kurt Hahn, the German founder of Gordonstoun, which was Philip's alma mater. The Minister of Education was more than a little dubious about the Duke of Edinburgh. "I had a rather difficult interview," admitted Philip many years later. "As with all our organization, it worked on the 'not invented here' syndrome. Anything you haven't thought of yourself is bound to be wrong.... But gradually, as they came to realize what the scheme was about, and that it wasn't a new Hitler Youth movement, people began to realize that there was some merit in it."*

With frenetic energy Philip toured plants and factories and schools, constantly asking questions: "How do you make that work? Can't you find a better way? Faster? More efficient?" He fought the courtiers at every turn, refusing to let them write his speeches and, worse, refusing to follow their advice to say nothing. He insisted on being heard, and to their dismay, he was.

As President of the British a.s.sociation for the Advancement of Science, he hectored the members for being complacent.

"It's no good shutting your eyes and saying, 'British is best' three times a day after meals and expecting it to be so," he said. "I'm afraid our no-men are a thousand times more harmful than the American yes-men. If we are to recover prosperity, we shall have to find ways of emanc.i.p.ating energy and enterprise from the frustrating control of the const.i.tutionally timid."

The courtiers worried about negative press reaction to Philip's outspokenness. Already overworked, they had been trying for months to squelch a potential scandal involving the Queen's twenty-three-year-old sister, Princess Margaret, and Group Captain Peter Townsend, the thirty-eight-year-old equerry who had served her father since 1944 and was now working for her mother as Deputy Master of the Household. For months the courtiers had been denying rumors of a romance, but a newspaper photograph taken during the coronation showed the Princess flicking a piece of fluff from Townsend's shoulder. The intimacy of that small pa.s.sing gesture revealed the truth and threw the Palace into confusion.

A fighter pilot in World War II's Battle of Britain, Peter Townsend had received the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Distinguished Service Order for valor. He then became the King's favorite equerry. With the same gentle appeal of Leslie Howard playing Ashley Wilkes in Gone with the Wind, Gone with the Wind, Townsend was a charming man with humor. He was not robust and swaggering like Prince Philip, but slightly fragile and emotional. He stammered, which was one reason the King, who also stammered, loved him. Townsend had suffered a nervous breakdown in the RAF and had been grounded occasionally because of his incurable nervous eczema. To everyone who met him, he appeared graceful and considerate, the paradigm of an officer and a gentleman. "We were all in love with him," said British novelist Angela Lambert. "He was handsome, brave, romantic and discreet," wrote Francois Nourissier in Townsend was a charming man with humor. He was not robust and swaggering like Prince Philip, but slightly fragile and emotional. He stammered, which was one reason the King, who also stammered, loved him. Townsend had suffered a nervous breakdown in the RAF and had been grounded occasionally because of his incurable nervous eczema. To everyone who met him, he appeared graceful and considerate, the paradigm of an officer and a gentleman. "We were all in love with him," said British novelist Angela Lambert. "He was handsome, brave, romantic and discreet," wrote Francois Nourissier in Le Figaro Le Figaro upon his death in 1995. "He was one of those men without whose heroism and sacrifice our lives would have been no doubt less free, less honourable. An England, which I hope still exists, invented a kind of complete man that was one of the successes of Europe. Peter Townsend was the last of this species, now threatened with extinction." upon his death in 1995. "He was one of those men without whose heroism and sacrifice our lives would have been no doubt less free, less honourable. An England, which I hope still exists, invented a kind of complete man that was one of the successes of Europe. Peter Townsend was the last of this species, now threatened with extinction."

Townsend had known Margaret since she was fourteen years old and, as a favor to her parents, had escorted her to dances and horse shows. He had served as her riding companion and flown her plane in the King's Cup air races. By the time she was twenty-one she had fallen in love with him. She pursued him openly, and each time he resisted her advances, she resorted to her royal prerogatives.

Coming home from a dance one evening, she demanded that he carry her up the stairs. He demurred. She insisted. He still resisted.

"Peter, this is a royal order," she said, stamping her foot.

The handsome equerry laughed and scooped her into his arms. "Ever your obedient servant, ma'am," he said, sweeping her up the staircase of Clarence House.

"Margaret was quite blatant," said her friend Evelyn Prebensen, whose father, the Norwegian Amba.s.sador, was dean of the Diplomatic Corps in London. "I spent a lot of time with her in those days and remember one Christmas when the King had promised Peter time off to be with his family. Margaret got it into her head that she wanted to play cards, and she insisted Peter play with her. So he was forced to forgo the holiday with his family and dance attendance on Margaret. No wonder his wife wandered."

In 1952 Townsend was granted a divorce on the grounds of his wife's adultery and received custody of their two sons. Although he was the aggrieved party, his divorce traumatized the Queen's courtiers, who still felt haunted by the 1936 divorce that had led to the only voluntary abdication in British history and resulted in exile for the disgraced King. Divorce was considered such an abomination that the Lord Chamberlain,* Head of the Queen's Household in England, had to insure that no divorced person was ever allowed into the Queen's presence. Head of the Queen's Household in England, had to insure that no divorced person was ever allowed into the Queen's presence. He even excluded from the royal enclosure at Ascot such a distinguished figure as Laurence Olivier, considered England's greatest actor, because of his divorce. In Scotland, Lyon King of Arms was the moral arbiter, and he, too, struck the names of all divorced persons from royal guest lists. One Scottish n.o.bleman protested his exclusion from a royal visit to Edinburgh because he had been divorced. He even excluded from the royal enclosure at Ascot such a distinguished figure as Laurence Olivier, considered England's greatest actor, because of his divorce. In Scotland, Lyon King of Arms was the moral arbiter, and he, too, struck the names of all divorced persons from royal guest lists. One Scottish n.o.bleman protested his exclusion from a royal visit to Edinburgh because he had been divorced.

"My marriage was annulled," said the n.o.bleman, "and I've been remarried in the church."

"That may well allow you into the Kingdom of Heaven," said the Lyon King of Arms, "but it will not get you into the Palace of Holyroodhouse."

In 1953 Princess Margaret's love affair with Townsend, a divorced man, shook the British establishment, and the government, the church, and the royal family became intensely embroiled in the romance. As a royal princess, Margaret Rose, who was third in line to the throne, was excused for falling in love, while Townsend, a commoner, was condemned for crossing cla.s.s lines.

"What cheek!" said the Duke of Edinburgh. "Equerries should look after the horses!"

The Queen's courtiers were equally outraged. They believed in the supremacy of the cla.s.s system as defined by the doggerel they had learned as children: G.o.d bless the squire and all his relations. G.o.d bless the squire and all his relations.And keep us in our proper stations.

When Peter Townsend confided he had fallen in love with Princess Margaret, the Queen's private secretary, Alan Lascelles, snapped, "You must be either mad or bad." Lascelles quickly conferred with the Prime Minister.

"Captain Townsend must go," declared Winston Churchill. "He simply must go."

In desperation the courtiers decided to follow Churchill's advice and banish Townsend from England. They foolishly believed his relationship with the Princess would founder under the separation, not realizing that distance might lend enchantment. They cared only about buying time until Margaret's twenty-fifth birthday. Until then she was not allowed to marry without her sister's permission, and as head of the Church of England, her sister could never allow her to marry a divorced man. By separating the couple, the courtiers also quashed the publicity that threatened to overshadow the Queen's first royal tour of the Commonwealth.

Townsend, who was scheduled to accompany Princess Margaret and the Queen Mother on their 1953 tour of Rhodesia, was suddenly yanked out of royal service and dispatched to the emba.s.sy in Brussels as an air attache. "I came here because the position was impossible for us both," he told a reporter. "I cannot answer questions because I am not the prime mover in the situation. My loyalty to Princess Margaret is unquestionable. I would undergo any difficulties because of that loyalty."

Townsend was banished so quickly that he did not have time to prepare his sons, boarding at a prep school in Kent, for the news. Margaret pleaded frantically with her sister to reverse the decision, but the Princess was refused. The sisters had a terrible row.* Margaret took to her bed for three days and lived on sedatives. When she got up, she sat at her piano and poured her misery into her music. "I composed a lament, words as well as music," she told biographer Christopher Warwick. "That was after Peter Townsend and I knew we couldn't get married." Townsend had left the country immediately upon his return from Northern Ireland with the royal couple and was last seen in England on the tarmac, shaking hands with the Queen and Prince Philip. Margaret took to her bed for three days and lived on sedatives. When she got up, she sat at her piano and poured her misery into her music. "I composed a lament, words as well as music," she told biographer Christopher Warwick. "That was after Peter Townsend and I knew we couldn't get married." Townsend had left the country immediately upon his return from Northern Ireland with the royal couple and was last seen in England on the tarmac, shaking hands with the Queen and Prince Philip. He returned quietly to visit the Princess twice before her twenty-fifth birthday, meeting her secretly at the homes of friends. He returned quietly to visit the Princess twice before her twenty-fifth birthday, meeting her secretly at the homes of friends.

In October of 1955, a few weeks after her twenty-fifth birthday, Margaret went to Windsor Castle to talk to the Queen and Philip. In an emotional meeting they told her that the government of Sir Anthony Eden was implacably opposed to the marriage, as was the Archbishop of Canterbury.

"You are third in the line of succession," said Philip.

"I can count," Margaret snapped.

"You've caused a const.i.tutional crisis," continued Philip, pointing to the lead editorial in the Times, Times, which stated that a sister to the Queen, Governor of the Church of England, Defender of the Faith, had to "be irrevocably disqualified from playing her part in the essential royal function" if she married a divorced man. which stated that a sister to the Queen, Governor of the Church of England, Defender of the Faith, had to "be irrevocably disqualified from playing her part in the essential royal function" if she married a divorced man.

"If you persist in your plans to marry," said the Queen, "you will not be allowed a church blessing." She went on to say that the wedding could not take place in Britain, that the couple would have to live abroad, that Margaret would lose her t.i.tle and her annual allowance and be forced to abandon her place within the royal family. The Princess left in tears.

To avoid an unpleasant scene, her mother had withdrawn to her Castle of Mey home in Scotland. As tough as she was, the Queen Mother shrank from direct confrontation. She could never abide personal collisions and avoided them by contracting bronchitis or taking to her bed with flu or a headache.

Without an advocate within the establishment, the couple were defeated. In anguish they bowed to the pressure and decided to part, knowing they could never see each other again. Townsend drafted a statement that the Princess approved, and her news was announced a week later when the BBC broke into its programming to read the text that was signed simply "Margaret": I would like it to be known that I have decided not to marry Group Captain Peter Townsend.... Mindful of the Church's teaching that Christian marriage is indissoluble, and conscious of my duty to the Commonwealth, I have resolved to put these considerations before others. I have reached this decision entirely alone. I would like it to be known that I have decided not to marry Group Captain Peter Townsend.... Mindful of the Church's teaching that Christian marriage is indissoluble, and conscious of my duty to the Commonwealth, I have resolved to put these considerations before others. I have reached this decision entirely alone.

The Duke of Windsor felt outrage toward the establishment that had forced his niece to make her announcement. "The unctuous hypocritical cant and corn which has been provoked in the Times Times and and Telegraph Telegraph by Margaret's renunciation of Townsend has been hard to take," the Duke wrote to his wife. "The Church of England has won again but this time they caught their fly whereas I was wily enough to escape the web of an outmoded inst.i.tution that has become no more than a government department...." by Margaret's renunciation of Townsend has been hard to take," the Duke wrote to his wife. "The Church of England has won again but this time they caught their fly whereas I was wily enough to escape the web of an outmoded inst.i.tution that has become no more than a government department...."

Many others felt profound sympathy for the Princess, and a few letters of protest were published, but the vast majority of the public accepted the sad fact that she had done the right thing in putting duty first. The church was omnipotent. "A picture has been built up in some quarters that the church started bullying a lonely girl into doing something she did not want to do," said the Reverend Peter Gillingham, one of the Queen's chaplains. "That is false. All the church did was to make plain what the church's rules are."

Embittered, Peter Townsend returned to Brussels, resigned from the Royal Air Force, and remarried a few years later. He lived in self-imposed exile in Rambouillet, southwest of Paris, and vowed never to return to England. In his autobiography he wrote that he would like his ashes scattered in France. "And if," he concluded, "the wind, the south wind on which the swallows ride, blows them on towards England, then let it be. I shall neither know nor care." Thirty-seven years later when he was dying of cancer, he slipped into London to have a quiet lunch with the Princess at Kensington Palace.

"It was a kind of good-bye," said one friend who was present. Townsend, then silver haired but still handsome at seventy-seven, was suffering from stomach cancer, which he gallantly dismissed as "a little gastric disorder." He died three years later with no regrets.

"Once a thing is behind you, you don't look back," he said. "Life might have been otherwise-but it wasn't."

The inflexibility toward divorce in royal circles had softened by then, but not the courtiers' att.i.tude toward that particular romance. "Quite simple, really: Duty before diddling. Country before courting," said a former courtier. "We did what we had to do to protect the Crown, and, after that, we had to launch the first royal tour."

After her coronation, the Queen had agreed to spend six months traveling forty thousand miles around the world to greet 750 million of her subjects who inhabited one-quarter of the earth's surface and conducted one-third of the world's trade. She planned to visit twelve countries, six colonies, four territories, and two dominions. She would hear 276 speeches, receive 6,770 curtsies, and shake 13,213 hands.

Eventually she would become the most traveled monarch in British history. But in 1953 her first royal tour was a stupendous undertaking that had never been attempted by any head of state. The Queen wanted to be the first, because she was determined to present herself to her subjects as something more than a figurehead.

"I want to show that the Crown is not merely an abstract symbol of our unity," she said in her Christmas Day message from New Zealand, "but a personal and living bond between you and me."

"That tour was a grueling, merciless trip for everyone," recalled reporter Gwen Robyns, part of the small press contingent accompanying the Queen. "I was working for Evening News, Evening News, the biggest circulation newspaper in the world at the time, and I watched the Queen every single day, every night, hourly sometimes. I can tell you that she could not have possibly survived that trip without the help of the Duke of Edinburgh." the biggest circulation newspaper in the world at the time, and I watched the Queen every single day, every night, hourly sometimes. I can tell you that she could not have possibly survived that trip without the help of the Duke of Edinburgh."

Highly disciplined, Elizabeth could stand for hours in the sun and ride a horse sidesaddle for miles. But interacting with people and having to make small talk with strangers for any extended period of time was a burden. She had grown up alone at Windsor Castle, spending her time with her sister, their servants, and their governess. She was not accustomed to accommodating others and did not know how to be socially ingratiating. Her gregarious husband, though, enjoyed bantering with others, exchanging quips, and being flirtatious.

"Philip was perfect for her, and she was blindingly in love with him," said Gwen Robyns. "She was so young and unsure of herself as Queen. Very, very self-conscious as monarch. Painfully insecure. She did not know how to act or behave among so many people. But he was smooth and easy, more sophisticated. He'd jolly her into good humor, and warm her up for the crowds. She'd put on a grumpy face most of the time because she was overwhelmed, but he'd coax a smile out of her. He was disgusting to the press. 'Here come the vultures,' he'd say when he saw us. He threw peanuts at us in Malta, so we despised him, but we could see that he was truly marvelous for her. She brightened up around him. All he had to do was whisper in her ear and she glowed. Every time she was cross and sour, he charmed a laugh out of her. He made her look good. He really carried her on that trip.

"I remember in Australia when she was numbed into boredom by having to shake hundreds of sweaty hands in blistering 110-degree heat. She scowled and looked ugly until Philip turned and said, 'Cheer up, sausage. It is not so bad as all that.'

"In New Zealand, the little Maori children were fairly jitterbugging with excitement to do their 'party piece' for her by jumping off the riverbank. But the Queen didn't even look their way, and instead walked to her car. Philip saw what happened. 'Look, Bet [diminutive for Lilibet],' he said. 'Aren't they lovely?' The Queen turned and went back to look at the children.

"Philip was fiercely protective of her when her energy started flagging," Gwen Robyns said. "He would leap to her side and wave off photographers, if he thought they were getting too close or might embarra.s.s her. 'Don't jostle the Queen,' he'd say. While he was great for her, he was boorish to others. I remember in South Australia the mayor of some little town was all got up in dreadful homemade robes of bunny rabbit fur to meet the Queen. He was about seventy years old, so sweet, so pathetic. He presented the Queen with a huge box, and in a quivering voice said: 'Your Royal Highness'-poor thing, he was supposed to say Your Majesty-'at this very moment, our Amba.s.sador in London is presenting a similar box to your representative at the Palace.'

" 'Oh, my G.o.d, man,' roared Philip. 'Don't you realize the ten-and-a-half-hour time difference between here and England? Your Amba.s.sador is probably sound asleep right now.'

"The mayor wilted. He looked as if he'd been accosted. It was so sad to see him standing there in his sorry little costume, shaking and stammering apologies. 'I should have thought of that,' he said, berating himself. Here it was the day of his life and he's crushed by the Duke of Edinburgh. Philip acted like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Naturally, I couldn't report that kind of thing," said Robyns, "or any other personal details. When I noticed that the Queen always took her shoes off, which seemed endearing and human, I noted in one of my dispatches: 'The weary Queen slipped out of her shoes.' I got a rocket from my editors saying, 'Lay off the Queen. Buckingham Palace is furious with you.' Another time I wrote that the Queen looked tired. We knew that she was bored stiff with the flags and bunting and all that red, white, and blue every time she turned around, so I wrote that she looked fatigued like the rest of us. Another rocket: Lay off the Queen. So I had to stop reporting the human side of the tour...."

The vigilant Palace tried to protect the Queen from herself. "They wanted to hide her human side-or what there was of it," said the Daily Telegraph Daily Telegraph's Maurice Weaver. "I remember a royal visit to Papua New Guinea when the Queen was watching the natives perform a dance in their gra.s.s skirts. They were wearing circular necklaces made out of bones and twigs and strange coins. She turned to her equerry. 'I feel these people need my effigy on their coins.' So he rounded up the British reporters and asked them for their sovereigns.

"I filed a light story about the whip-around for the Queen and how we had to rustle up some coins. When the equerry found out, he banged on my hotel door in the middle of the night and demanded that I spike the story.

" 'It makes the Queen look poor,' he said.

" 'Oh, rubbish,' I said. 'It's a frothy little piece, and besides, no one expects the Queen to be carrying money.' "

He said he had not written the real story, which was the Queen's pathetic n.o.blesse oblige mentality about her poor benighted natives. So the froth stood. But he learned how sensitive the Palace was to the Queen's press coverage. "We were not allowed to write anything other than what the Queen wore and how she looked," he said. "The Palace press secretary would come out and feed us a description of Her Majesty in her green tulle gown, and we dutifully took it all down and reported it that way...."

As the Queen became more secure in her role, the Palace press office relaxed, but only slightly. "There's an unwritten agreement," said journalist Phillip Knightley, who accompanied the Queen on her first royal tour. "It's as if the Palace said, 'You need us to bring in your readers, most of whom love royal stories. We need you to tell the Queen's subjects what she's up to and what a wonderful person she is. So you can write anything you like about the royals-as long as you don't question the actual inst.i.tution of the monarchy.' "

Yet a soupcon of deference was expected. In New Zealand only the American press could get away with mentioning the Queen's grammatical error. She had overheard two little girls arguing whether she was Queen Elizabeth or Princess Margaret. One said, "I tell you, it's Princess Margaret." The other said, "Is not. Is not. It's the Queen." With what Newsweek Newsweek described as a "cavalier disregard for the Queen's English," the sovereign leaned over to the little girls and said: "No, it's me." described as a "cavalier disregard for the Queen's English," the sovereign leaned over to the little girls and said: "No, it's me."

After years of travel the Queen eventually learned to carve a way for herself, but with great effort. "She was always proper, but never warm and ingratiating," said Gwen Robyns. "Still, stilted, and remote, she held herself at a distance so she would never make a mistake, never put a foot wrong. She was so insecure that that was the only way she could handle her role. She's not a woman who lights up in public like her mother, who on the surface is all bonnets, smiles, and feathers but underneath is steel-cold, hard steel with a marshmallow casing."

Despite obvious discomfort in the spotlight, the young sovereign starred in no fewer than three films that were spun out of the royal tour. Six months after leaving London, she returned home to a rapturous welcome from her subjects, who lined the riverbanks as she sailed up the Thames on the royal yacht, Britannia. Britannia. They understood that she would never be the crowd-pleasing actress her mother was, but they still appreciated her solid commitment to duty. They roared their approval as the royal yacht approached, and the Queen acknowledged their cheers with a stiff little wave. She, too, knew how lacking she was compared with her charismatic mother. Like her stolid father, she depended on an appealing spouse. She later acknowledged as much to close friends when she paid tribute to her husband. "Without Philip," she said, "I could not have carried on." They understood that she would never be the crowd-pleasing actress her mother was, but they still appreciated her solid commitment to duty. They roared their approval as the royal yacht approached, and the Queen acknowledged their cheers with a stiff little wave. She, too, knew how lacking she was compared with her charismatic mother. Like her stolid father, she depended on an appealing spouse. She later acknowledged as much to close friends when she paid tribute to her husband. "Without Philip," she said, "I could not have carried on."

EIGHT.

The monarchy was a distant train that had been bearing down on Elizabeth since she was ten years old. Growing up, she always heard it approaching. She knew that one day she would have to climb aboard; she never dreamed it would arrive so soon. At age twenty-five she was in a marriage just starting to bloom.

Before her father's death forced her onto the throne, she had looked forward to being a wife and mother. After marrying, she said she wanted to have four children and devote herself to her family.

In the early years of her marriage, when faced with a choice between being a wife or mother, she always chose to be a wife. Her husband was her first priority-then. Before her son was born in 1948, she was quoted as saying, "I am going to be the child's mother, not the nurses." Yet when the role of mother conflicted with wife, she turned to the nurses.

She skipped her son's first birthday to be with her husband, who was on naval duty in Malta. Leaving the little boy at home with his grandparents and nannies for several months, she missed his first step and his first tooth. His first word was not "Mama," but "Nana," the person closest to him, his beloved nanny. Elizabeth raised her children the way that she had been raised. As an infant she had been left with nannies for six months while her parents toured Australia and New Zealand, so she did not hesitate to leave her own children in the care of others. Occasionally she expressed a twinge of guilt.

"I don't want someone else to raise my children," she said before the birth of Princess Anne in 1950. Yet when her daughter was three months old, Elizabeth left her in the Palace nursery so she could travel with her husband. When the little girl had her tonsils and adenoids removed, her nanny took her to the Hospital for Sick Children and spent the night at her bedside. Her mother, not overly concerned, stayed at Windsor Castle.