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subject of skirts, she was old-fashioned on the matter of cloth. A battle raged in the 1920s between mothers and nurses who held to the tradition of clothing babies in cotton garments, and progressive advocates of warm, soft, cosy and absorptive wool.⁸ The Duchess firmly rejected wool. After visiting a welfare centre where ‘woolly babies’ were the rule, she admitted that such apparel might be convenient and comfortable, but laughingly said that the infants ‘looked rather like little gnomes, and that she preferred “frilly babies”’.⁹ Yet she also rejected self-consciously showy clothes for children. Frilliness meant femininity, not unnecessary adornment. Cotton meant cleanliness and purity. The Duchess, suggested one account, had ‘definite ideas about dressing a child, and they can be summed up in the single word Simplicity’.¹⁰ When the Princess was a baby and toddler, she was dressed predominantly in white; when she grew older, she and her sister ‘could not have been more simply dressed,’ according to their governess.¹¹ Simplicity was linked to a sturdy, even spartan, approach: simple, sensible clothes as a feature of a simple, sensible upbringing. ‘They don’t wear hats at play, even on the coldest and windiest days,’ wrote one commentator.¹² The Duchess’s attitude seemed to rub off on her daughter who, in adolescence, ‘never cared a fig’ about what she wore.¹³

      Such an approach seemed both patriotic and morally proper at a time when British was deemed best in the nursery, as everywhere else. At first, the Princess occupied a room at 17 Bruton Street which had been used by her mother before her marriage. Here, Lady Strathmore had made sure that ‘in all the personal details that give character to a room,’ the surroundings were ‘typically English’.¹⁴ After a few months, the nursery and its establishment of custodians moved to the Yorks’ new residence at 145 Piccadilly, a tall, solid-looking building, later destroyed by a wartime bomb, close to Hyde Park Corner, and almost opposite St George’s Hospital.

      145 Piccadilly was a town house of the kind often maintained as a London base by aristocratic and other wealthy families who were happiest in the country. It was spacious (an estate agent’s advertisement claimed that including servants’ quarters, there were 25 bedrooms)¹⁵ but unremarkable. When they were there, the standard of living of the King’s second son and his wife was far from meagre. According to one account in 1936, staff kept at 145 Piccadilly included a steward, a housekeeper, the Duchess’s personal maid, the Duke’s valet, two footmen, three maids, a cook and two kitchen maids, a nurse, a nursery-maid, a boy and a night-watchman. A few years earlier, there had been an under-nurse as well.¹⁶ Nevertheless, the Yorks’ existence – cheek-by-jowl with the establishments of rich professionals, bankers and businessmen, as well as of landowners – was not unusual in aristocratic or plutocratic terms.

      The photographer Lisa Sheridan first visited the Piccadilly house in the late 1920s (her mother happened to be a friend of the housekeeper). She later recalled a white terraced building, indistinguishable from those on either side of it. There was a semi-basement kitchen, ‘like the giant’s kitchen in a pantomime with its immense shiny copper pots and great fire-range’. The upstairs interior style reflected the taste of the Duchess more than of the Duke. Vast oil paintings, including a picture of horses, hung in heavy gilt frames in the dim, over-furnished entrance hall, alongside huge elephant tusks, mementoes of somebody’s big game hunt. There was also a painted, life-size statue of a black boy.¹⁷ An extensive garden at the back, shared with other houses, added an element of community. As the Princess grew older she was able to play on the lawns and paths with the children of the merely well-to-do, although a zoo-like atmosphere developed, as members of the public, tipped off by the press, acquired the habit of peering through the railings.¹⁸

      Elizabeth lived in a suite of rooms at the top of the house, consisting of a day nursery, a night nursery and a bathroom linked by a landing, with wide windows looking down on the park. Here Mrs Sheridan remembered seeing the Princess, ‘her pretty doll-like face . . . framed in soft silky curls’. Around her were the typical accoutrements of an inter-war upper-class infant’s lair: a rocking horse, baby clothes hung up to dry, a nanny knitting in a rocking chair. The impression was of devotion and reassurance, but also of order, neatness and discipline; the Princess, at the crawling stage, was only allowed to play with one toy at a time.¹⁹

      There was no question about who was in charge. The Yorks’ governess later aptly described the regime as ‘a state within a state,’ with the nanny, Clara Knight (known as ‘Alla’), as ever-present benign dictator, ‘a shoulder to weep on, a bosom to fall asleep on,’ who ‘would sit at evening in the rocker . . . mending or knitting and telling stories of “when Mummie was a little girl”’.²⁰ Alla was a former Strathmore retainer who had looked after the Duchess and her brother: Elizabeth Cavendish, a contemporary of the Princess, remembers her, from children’s parties, as a ‘formidable’ figure.²¹ Unmodern to a fault, she controlled the life of the Princess – health, dress and bath.

      The tiny Princess, half-royal by birth, lived in her earliest years a half-royal existence. At first, much of it was spent with her parents, as they travelled restlessly around the great houses of people to whom they were related, like members of any great family. Soon, however, the requirements of royalty produced long parental absences, and the role of Alla and her assistants grew.

      From babyhood, Princess Elizabeth was often in Scotland, either staying with her Strathmore (Bowes-Lyon) grandparents at Glamis Castle in Forfarshire, or with her royal ones at Balmoral Castle in Aberdeenshire. She spent much of her first summer in an ancient nursery wing at Glamis, or sleeping in the Castle garden ‘to the rhythmic sound of tennis balls on hard courts where her elders played, and to the song of laden bees. And when she awoke it was to smile at her father and mother as they started off on some fishing expedition . . .’ At the end of August, when Elizabeth was four months old, the Duke and Duchess of York left her in the care of the Countess of Strathmore while they went, like most of the young mothers and fathers, modern and unmodern, who were known to them, on ‘a round of visits to friends’.²²

      This was the prelude to a much longer parting. Earlier in the year, the Duke of York had accepted an invitation to open the Commonwealth Parliament in the new Australian capital of Canberra. It was taken for granted both that his wife would accompany him and that their baby daughter would not. After Christmas, therefore, the Yorks took the Princess to the Strathmores’ Hertfordshire home at St Paul’s Walden Bury, and there they left her, for the duration of the royal tour. After they had sailed from Portsmouth early in January 1927, the Duchess wrote from on board the battle cruiser Renown to her mother-in-law that she had ‘felt very much leaving on Thursday, and the baby was so sweet playing with the buttons on Bertie’s uniform that it quite broke me up’.²³ Neither the King, nor the Queen, nor the Duke, however, would have seen anything unusual about such a trip. As Prince of Wales, George V had himself taken his wife on several foreign or imperial tours, without the encumbrance of their young children.

      In any case, there was much to take the minds of the Duke and Duchess off their baby daughter. Prince Albert Frederick Arthur George, known as ‘Bertie’ to his family, had been made Duke of York in 1920, at the age of twenty-five. Yet he had not at that time sought a prominent royal role, and no exacting royal responsibilities had so far been asked of him. Shy and slow as a child, and the victim of a stammer since the age of seven or eight, he disliked and avoided occasions when he might be required to speak – so much so, that some had regarded him as not only reclusive, but intellectually backward. There had been some recent improvement. His marriage to Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in 1923 had increased his confidence. So too, during the months before the voyage, had a course of instruction from an Australian speech therapist. But his appearances before large audiences had been infrequent, and – except over events like weddings and births – the public had taken less interest in him and his wife than in other members of the Royal Family. ‘The news-reels didn’t bother them very much,’ noted one commentator, a few years later, ‘and the press left them pretty much alone.’²⁴ Australia, where the Duke was to represent his father before the people of an intensely loyal dominion, was his first major testing ground.

      The tour was exacting, psychologically as well as physically, for it aroused huge public curiosity. The Yorks’ itinerary involved going, via Panama,

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