George was just as uncomfortable with his children. “I have often felt,” David later wrote, “that despite his undoubted affection for all of us, my father preferred children in the abstract, and that his notion of a small boy’s place in a grown up world was summed up in the phrase ‘Children should be seen, not heard.’”
17
To David, it seemed as if he and his brothers and sister were “young nuisances in constant need of correction.”
18
To George belongs one of the most infamous quotes in royal history: “My father was frightened of his mother, I was frightened by my father, and I am damned well going to see to it that my children are frightened of me.”
19
Whether George actually uttered these words is in some dispute; but it certainly expressed his sentiment and without a doubt what his children felt.
20
Even Alexander Hardinge, who served George as a loyal private secretary, mused upon the “mystery” of why his master, “who was such a kind man, was such a brute to his children.”
21
That George and May were royal did not help deepen the bond between parents and children. Not only did the customs of the day leave the children in the care of nurses, nannies, and tutors, but public obligations ensured that both mother and father were often absent not only for the frequent ribbon cuttings, factory inspections, and garden parties but also for extended foreign visits, which meant months of separation. Nevertheless, it would be wrong to ascribe the strained relations between parents and children simply to royal circumstance: Any number of other contemporary European sovereigns, most notably Tsar Nicholas II and his wife, Alexandra, managed to enjoy happy and loving, close-knit ties with their children.
“My father had a most horrible temper,” David later recalled. “He was foully rude to my mother. Why, I’ve seen her leave the table because he was so rude to her, and we children would all follow her out; not when the staff were present of course, but when we were alone.”
22
It was this temper which did much to alienate George from his children. “Since he was impetuous by nature,” wrote John Gore, “he gave vent to his feelings instantly and without reserve.”
23
All of the children dreaded being punished. “No words that I was ever to hear could be so disconcerting to the spirit as the summons, usually delivered by a footman, that “His Royal Highness wishes to see you in the Library,” David recalled.
24
And although May eventually came to represent a soothing—if not altogether maternal—presence in their lives, she positively refused to intercede between her husband and her children. “I have always to remember that their father is also their King,” she said.
25
This lack of parental warmth was to have a devastating and lasting effect on George and May’s children. They found it exceptionally difficult to have any but the most ordinary of conversations with their parents; personal matters were rarely discussed, and unpleasant subjects were fervently avoided. The children found it impossible to confide in their parents, and neither George nor May could bring themselves to speak freely with them. An emotional gulf stretched between children and parents which neither side was able to bridge.
David had few memories of his formidable great-grandmother. He was occasionally taken to visit Gangan, as he called Queen Victoria, and recalled her crisp black silk dresses, white tulle caps, and enormous girth.
26
Her death in 1901 was to him a time of “piercing cold, the interminable wails, and of feeling very lost among scores of sorrowing grown-up relatives—solemn Princes in varied uniforms and Princesses sobbing behind heavy crepe veils.”
27
His grandparents, Bertie and Alix, became King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, and his parents, after several months as Duke and Duchess of Cornwall, became Prince and Princess of Wales, traditional title of the heir apparent to the British throne.
Increased royal obligations meant that George and May were often forced to leave their children for even longer periods of time. David and his brothers and sister inevitably stayed with the King and Queen, both of whom indulged their grandchildren and provided them with an affection they never received from their parents. David dreaded the thought of leaving this warm and loving atmosphere and returning to his parents’ care. When one courtier asked him, “Aren’t you delighted because you are going to see your mother and father again?” he replied, “Oh, yes.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Only you know mother is a little difficult sometimes.”
28
The children spent much of their time at York Cottage, Sandringham. Harold Nicolson described it as “a glum little villa, encompassed by thickets of laurel and rhododendrons ... separated by an abrupt rim of lawn from a pond at the edge of which a leaden pelican gazes in dejection upon the water lilies and bamboos.”
29
An imitation Tudor-style conglomeration of gables and bay windows and turrets, York Cottage had been built to house the overflow of guests from the main house at Sandringham, and over the years, rooms had been tacked on here and there as needed. May found the place dreadful, but her husband loved its small, low-ceilinged rooms, which reminded him of a ship’s cabins.
David’s nurses and minders were a mixed lot. One, Mary Peters, so resented turning him over to his parents for his daily visit that she inevitably twisted his arms or pinched him as she sent him off into the drawing room, ensuring terrified sobs and a quick return to her care. Both George and May were left confused at what they took for their son’s willfulness and fear of them, and such was their alienation from their children’s daily lives that three years passed before they learned of Peters’s behavior and dismissed her from her post.
30
David and Bertie were especially close as children. The older brother developed an intensely protective feeling for the younger, who already suffered from a nervous disposition and the beginnings of stomach ulcers. More so than David, Bertie had good reason to dislike his father, who made Bertie learn to write with his right hand upon finding that he was left-handed; made him wear heavy iron braces on his knocked knees; and even worse, deliberately humiliated him. Bertie had a terrible stammer, and in the words of one of George’s friends, his father “thought the best way of dealing with it was by mimicking him and laughing at him, and he always did this.”
31
When David was six, his father engaged a tutor, Henry Hansell, to begin the boy’s instruction. Because George himself was poorly educated, he gave little importance to education beyond the most basic of classes, and Hansell was utterly unsuited to the task of helping form the future King of England. “He never taught us anything at all,” David was to say later. “I am completely self-educated.”
32
David was a bright child with an inquisitive mind. His memory for history, faces, and places was excellent, a trait which was to serve him well in royal life. He had a natural sympathy for others less fortunate than himself and questioned Hansell about how situations could be improved. But he never developed a love of music, art, or reading and remained surprisingly ignorant of even the most basic literary achievements.
At the age of twelve, David was sent to the Royal Naval College at Osborne, located at his grandmother’s former summer house on the Isle of Wight. It was an ironic decision, for his father, having entered the navy, realized that he himself was handicapped by his lack of understanding of international affairs, his inadequate knowledge of society and politics, and his inability to speak any foreign languages. And yet, when it came time to educate his two oldest sons, he sent them along the same path he knew was responsible for his own shortcomings as future monarch. Only after he himself came to the throne and began to realize how deficient his own education had been did George try to make amends, insisting that David study languages in France and Germany and be allowed to go to Oxford. Later, he sent David’s brothers Harry and George to private preparatory schools as well.
David later expressed that at Osborne he felt like “rather a lost dog.”
33
Like other students, he shared a dormitory, lived according to a difficult schedule, and went through the agonies of being tortured by senior classmates—having ink dumped on him and being dragged around and punished by senior cadets.
34
His father studied his rather meager academic achievements in the regular reports sent home and usually accepted his shortcomings. David’s two years at Osborne made him more secure, and he managed to get on with others and gain confidence, which would serve him well as a prince. At the end of his term, he moved on to Dartmouth to prepare for his stint in the Royal Navy.
In May 1910, Edward VII died, and David’s parents became King George V and Queen Mary. The young boy automatically became Duke of Cornwall, and on his sixteenth birthday, he received the title Prince of Wales. He was also proclaimed Prince of Wales in a ceremony at Caernarvon Castle in Wales. David hated the white satin breeches and the mantle and surcoat of purple velvet edged with ermine that he was required to wear and complained to his mother. But Queen Mary told him, “You mustn’t take a mere ceremony so seriously. Your friends will understand that as a Prince you are obliged to do certain things that may seem a little silly”
35
After a training mission on the battleship
Hindustan
in the fall of 1911, David entered Magdalan College, in Oxford. The last future king who had been sent to Oxford was David’s grandfather, the future Edward VII. His time there, initiated and regulated by a series of tutors and minders handpicked by Prince Albert, was designed to turn him into a studious young man, even if previous attempts had failed. He was separated from the general student body and was told what to read and whom to befriend.
David’s time at Oxford was thankfully different. He lived in college, chose his own friends, and seems to have done well. “He is alleged to have thrown his weight about at Oxford, demanding to be addressed as ‘Sir
’” recalled his friend and fellow student J. Paul Getty. “I never witnessed—nor even heard of—any incidents to support such a claim and, needless to say, they would have been much discussed by other students if they had occurred.”
36
In 1912, David was sent to France to improve his grasp of the language and spent his holiday the following year in Germany with numerous relatives. As a boy, he had been raised to respect his Teutonic heritage; indeed, his ancestry was almost entirely German. King George I, who could not even speak English, had come from the German kingdom of Hanover. Three successive Georges followed him to the throne, all of whom married German princesses, further strengthening the Teutonic line. George IV’s brother Edward, Duke of Kent, married a German princess, and their daughter, Queen Victoria, married a German prince from the Duchy of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. The future Edward VII‘s wife, although a princess of Denmark, was the daughter of a German prince and princess to whom the throne had passed, and David’s own mother was a German princess by blood.
On his trip, David stayed with a host of titled relatives: King Wilhelm and Queen Charlotte of Württemberg at Stuttgart; Grand Duke Adolphus of Mecklenburg-Strelitz and his mother, the old Grand Duchess, who was his own mother’s favorite aunt and a granddaughter of George III; Prince Heinrich of Prussia and his wife, Irene, at their estate Hemmelmark; and with his second cousin, Carl Eduard, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, before moving on to Berlin to visit Kaiser Wilhelm II and his family. David had been raised by his mother not only to respect his heritage but to speak the language from an early age. Much of his later sympathy for Germany stemmed from this holiday along with other early influences.
In 1914, David celebrated his twentieth birthday. He was a rather slight young man, handsome in a boyish way, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. He was a curious mixture of regal manners and common delights. Although he appreciated the luxuries which his royal life ensured, he was keenly aware of the misfortunes of others, even if his concern was somewhat shallow and short-lived. His intellectual achievements had been adequate, if not impressive, but he was certainly capable of applying himself when the subject was of interest. His friendships tended to be without depth, for he remained essentially shy. He preferred to spend his time in solitary pursuits: riding, jumping, shooting, and golf.