A Princess of Royal Blood!

When I last left Grandad and his Lily, they were on their honeymoon cycling from Glasgow to Windsor Castle where Grandad's cousin, an under-gardener at Windsor, had invited them to stay at his place.

Years later, this cousin visited Grandad and Lily in their Edinburgh home, "Windy Ridge." (Grandad, by that time, had "got on" from his apprenticeship as a baker's boy all the way to Manager of the Edinburgh McVitie's Guest restaurant.) While visiting, his cousin told them the following story about Princess Margaret when she was a child.

The events in this story actually happened to the head-gardener at Windsor Castle, who passed the tale on to his under-gardener, never thinking that, keeping the story just between the two of them, they might be in any way violating the pledge of loyal silence taken seriously at that time by every member of the Royal Family's staff. However, since I've never been employed by the Royal Family and the story has become an old favorite in our family, I'm telling it here -- just as Grandad remembered it.

The actual event happened, I believe, in the summer of 1938, around six months after King George VI's Coronation in December, 1937. Princess Margaret would have been eight years old at the time. She had already gained a reputation for quick remarks, such as her comment to reporters when they asked how she had liked the Coronation. With a sigh she had replied, "Well, I used to be Margaret York, but now I'm Margaret Nothing." Certainly at the time of this story she was clear about her lineage and well aware that she was hardly "Margaret Nothing."

The gardens at Windsor Castle were in high summer bloom when a royal carriage rolled through the gates bringing the widowed Queen Mary to see the flowers she loved. The head gardener (Robert, in Grandad's memory) saw Her Majesty arriving and swiftly picked a obuquet from the rose he knew to be her favorite. He approached the carriage as Queen Mary was alighting and saw that she was accompanied by her little granddaughter, Princess Margaret.

Queen Mary, greatly loved by all the staff, was ever the model of gracious nobility. She greeted Robert by name and thanked him warmly for the bouquet he presented. He recalled feeling delighted at her kind reception, and, in the next instant, feeling utterly dejected.

Robert had reserved, from the bouquet he gave the Queen, a single rose. He held out this bloom to little Princess Margaret, saying, "And here is one for the Little Lady." At this, the Little Lady drew herself up proudly, ignoring the proffered rose, and responded, "A Princess of Royal Blood!" (I capitalize because I can't duplicate in print the way Grandad mimicked the haughty tone in which the child addressed the flustered head gardener.)

Queen Mary instantly perceived his discomfort and took immediate action to smooth over a difficult situation.

"Yes, Robert," she said firmly. "She is indeed a princess of royal blood. And we have hopes that one day she will also be a little lady."

Grandad told us this story the last time we visited him in Edinburgh. He sat, pipe in hand, in his easy chair by the gas fire and told his memories, laughing along with us. Later, just as we were leaving, he went out to the kitchen garden and picked a stem of white heather. Handing me the sprig with its tiny flowers, he said as a goodbye, "This is for luck." You would have liked him.

Grandad's Honeymoon and Little Princess Margaret

My friends said I couldn't stop with one post. "You have to write more blogs!" they prompted. "Tell one of the Grandad's stories!" So I thought about my favorites -- Jimmy Turner and the Salmon, or Jimmy Turner and the Whiskey, and then I thought of the one I like best, Grandad's Honeymoon and Litte Princess Margaret. So I'll tell that one if you please. (Or if you don't. One thing about storytellers is that they always think you DO!)

Well, Grandad started out apprenticed as a Baker's Boy in a shop in Glasgow. He was slender all his life, but from boyhood he was strong and athletic, and quick as a wink he could lug giant sacks of flour out of the miller's cart and up and down the storage stairs in that baker shop. More important, he was a hard-working lad and a truly kind, gentle person whom everybody liked. So he got on.

I'm not sure when exactly he met Lily Anderson, but when she smiled he was done for. ( I want to say this straight off -- they were happy to marry and they loved each other every day of their lives.)

Now, they didn't have much money so they weren't about to take a luxurious honeymoon trip, but Grandad was a keen cyclist, and Lily agreed to his plan that they should pedal their way from Glasgow down into England, where a cousin of his had a position as one of the under-gardeners at Windsor Castle. Since this cousin had invited the newly-weds to stay with him in his wee cottage there, they had a free kip waiting for them at the bottom of their ride. Thus, the honeymoon trip promised to be a grand yet affordable adventure, so off they went. (You can see these two dear ones in the photo. Imagine Lily's cycling for miles and miles wearing a long skirt and a fashionable great hat!)

Here's a wee digression. I ask your patience for it's a true part of the honeymoon trip and sweetly revealing of Lily's innocent manner and Grandad's penchant for gentle practical jokes. As the day grew warm, Grandad suggested they stop for a drink. He went into the bar -- Lily waiting outside, of course. He told her he'd just nip in and get her a "shandy," and a little something for himself. (A "shandy" is a spiked lemonade.) Now Grandad, being a true born and bred Scot, knew how to knock back a whiskey while Lily customarily did not take any alcoholic beverage. She asked nervously what a shandy might be. Grandad assured her, "Tis a nice, cooling lemon drink, Lily. Ye'll enjoy it."

Indeed she did! Smacking her lips, she declared, "Tis quite refreshin' John. I believe I'll have another!" As the day wore on, she began to request that they stop at every little inn with a bar so she could have another "refreshing shandy drink." Grandad always laughed when reminiscing about this part of their honeymoon trip, "Lily never knew that her wobbly legs had anything to do with this 'refreshing' beverage. She thought she was just tired from the long ride!"

All right. We're coming to the part where John and his Lily get to Windsor and meet the cousin. We have to meet the cousin because he's the one who told the Princess Margaret part of this story. Since I've been warned not to make a blog posting too long, the rest of this story will have to wait. It's a fine little tale about a royal who is no longer with us, as told by a nice man who also passed from our midst, long ago. What harm can there be now in letting you hear the secret story I've loved for years? I'll write out that bit for you next time.