Buckingham Palace Summer Opening - Royal Gifts by Imogen Robertson

Royal Gifts
22 July - 1 October 2017
The State Rooms, Buckingham Palace

Cover of Royal Gifts

Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017

So picture this: I’m broke, standing in the Buckingham Palace gift pavilion and looking for a present for my husband. I’m broke because I’m a novelist, at the Palace because I’ve just had a curator tour of the Royal Gifts Exhibition in the State Rooms, and looking for a present for Ned out of guilt, because while he’s slaving away at his desk, the Queen just gave me a cake. Ok, what I mean by that is one of the nice PR people from the palace gave me a café voucher for a pastry, but it was a very fine millefeuille which is Ned’s favourite and had a crown on it, so it counts. The Queen gave me a cake.

Not a Royal Gift

I don’t think I’m going to top it today, but the best present I’ve ever given my husband is a black glazed terracotta dipping cup, made in Apulia around 300 BCE. We fill it with terrifying spirits and pass it round the table at the end of dinner parties. It’s beautiful, but very simple, valuable, but no so valuable we have to lock it away. What makes it special is its age. It was there being a cup doing cuppy things when Christ was born, when the Vikings sacked Lindisfarne, when Caxton set up the first printing press in London and when the internet blinked into life. To Ned and me it symbolises hospitality, simplicity, change and continuity. It’s a sign of shared values. It says I know you, and you and I think the same things are important. Sometimes a cup is not just a cup.

We all assign value to objects through an uneasy and shifting dialogue between prevalent cultural values and our individual and shared histories. As a result gifts are never just themselves, they are a bundle of associations, allusions and suggestions. They say this is what I think about you, and often, this is what I want you to think about me. A gift is a message. Which is probably why I normally exchange strong drink with most of my writer friends and my mother often gives me cleaning products. 

With this is mind, looking at the gifts given to the Queen over the course of her long reign and from all over the world provides a fascinating series of snapshots of the relationships between nations and peoples and I found a huge amount to enjoy in the eclectic mix of items on display. They are grouped geographically by the giver, and there’s also a section devoted to gifts from the UK. A lot of the gifts are exemplars of local arts and crafts, such as the magnificent beaded throne given by Nigeria and made by the Yoruba people. The throne was one of my favourite pieces in the exhibition. It's strangely lovely, such skilled work and full of its own particular symbolism. 

From Bermuda comes a oil painting by Graham Foster of the wreck of the Sea Venture in 1609. Everyone survived the wreck, so it's not commemorating a tragedy, but evoking a shared maritime history. The Mexican tree of life is the product of different cultural cross-currents and also an affectionate portrait of the Queen herself, who features in a natty yellow ensemble in the centre of it. Some gifts are startling in their simplicity, such as the prayer shawl blessed by the Dali Lama from Tibet, others seem rather driven by affection such as the map of New Zealand presented by their girl guides, with an accompanying book signed by every girl guide in the country. There are also some unconventional treasures on show whose values are rather like that of the relics exchanged between medieval monarchs. A bone is just a bone, but when its the thigh bone of a saint it’s a worthy gift. A scrap of cloth is not valuable in itself, but when it is the Union Flag badge worn in space by Major Tim Peake it becomes something fitting to give to a monarch whose reign began before we’d climbed Everest. 

Of course, I am, as all the visitors are, also bringing my own ideas of meaning to these gifts, but that is the pleasure of these objects, they are extra chips of glass in the historical kaleidoscope and seeing them together is a fascinating way to shake up and reexamine what we are trying to say to each other.

The exhibition is perhaps overshadowed by the State Rooms themselves, but then I doubt many people would pay £23 entry fee just to see the gifts. I've never been to this part of the Palace before, so was distracted by the Vermeer and Van Dykes, the chandeliers and thrones, not to mention the 1980s gas fires in the ornate marble fireplaces. The gifts do make for a very interesting addition to the tour though, and the setting only emphasises the variety and varied aesthetic pleasures of the gifts displayed. 

So what did I get Ned? Well it had to be relatively cheap, and fun, but I didn’t think he’d really appreciate a stuffed Corgi. I wanted something Royal, but something about us too, so I got him this. He says he likes it.

www.imogenrobertson.com

London History with Grandchildren by Janie Hampton

Isambard Kingdom Brunel 

Last week I was tasked with grand-child care during the half-term holiday. Ben, 9, Desdemona, 7, my co-grandparent and I decided to go on a history outing to London. We began at Paddington station to admire the work of Isambard Kingdom Brunel (1806 –1859) and discusshis extraordinary ability to design not only innovative railway stations but also bridges, canals, viaducts, docks, steam ships and trains.
Then by double-decker bus via Marble Arch, formerly the royal entrance to Buckingham Palace, and then after it was moved next to Hyde Park, a police station until 1968. This was also the site of the Tyburn gallows where from the 12th century, public executions took place, the last one a highwayman called John Austin in 1783. Swerving round behind Buckingham Palace we peered over the wall and wondered why the Queen needed such a big garden.
Ben and Desdemona wanted to see their great x 5 grandfather, immortalized in Westminster Abbey. But entry to the 13th century abbey is expensive unless you attend a service. So during Holy Communion we admired the extraordinary Gothic architecture (‘All built without machines!’ said Ben), and whispered about the many coronations held here ever since William I on Christmas Day in 1066. We found our ancestor beside his friend the slave abolitionist, William Wilberforce (1759 –1833), watching over the audio-guide stall. Thomas Fowell Buxton MP (1786-1845) fought to abolish capital punishment (unsuccessful), reform prisons (some improvement), and founded the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (now the RSPCA). I hope his several hundred living descendants are still inspired by the inscription: ‘Endued with a vigorous and capacious mind, of dauntless courage and untiring energy.. he devoted his powers to the good of Man. In Parliament he laboured for the liberation of the Hottentots in southern Africa, and above all, for the emancipation of eight hundred thousand slaves in the British Dominions. The energies of his mind were afterwards concentrated on a great attempt to extinguish the slave trade in Africa…’ The white marble monument was paid for by friends, colleagues and ‘many thousands of the African race’. (see Your last paper five pound note  History Girl)

Thomas Fowell Buxton meets one of his many
great great great great great grandsons in
Westminster Abbey

Walking through Parliament Square we saw the statue of Winston Churchill (1874 –1965), recently adorned with a Mohican hair cut made from green turf. ‘Why?’ asked Ben, which prompted a discussion on dissension, demonstrations and the right to protest. The statue of Oliver Cromwell guarding the Palace of Westminster led on to republicanism, and why Britain reverted to a monarchy after his rule. Once in the Houses of Parliament, we entered the huge 11th century Westminster Hall. Here we met Andrea our tour guide who told us the hall had been improved with a timber hammer-beam roof back in 1393, and is still the largest in Northern Europe. She led us on the route that the Queen takes once a year for the State Opening of Parliament. From the Sovereign’s Entrance at the base of the Victoria Tower, we saw the scratches on the Royal Staircase where the swords and spurs of troopers of the Household Cavalry have worn holes in the stone; and the tiny lift that, now she is 90, the Queen uses (though the stairs are still freshly carpeted each time.)

Andrea and history students in Westminster Hall

Andrea kept the tone and content just right for children. Between the Queen’s Robing Room and the House of Lords, we stood on the spot under which Guy Fawkes had hidden 36 barrels of gunpowder in 1605, and almost blew up King James I, all the peers and members of parliament. We saw where Guy Fawkes was tried (roughly where Nelson Mandela, a more peaceful political opponent, gave a speech three hundred years later) but Andrea didn’t give the gory details of his execution (hanged, drawn and then quartered.) In the Members Lobby we saw the doorway damaged by a bomb during World War Two; the statues of six previous prime ministers; and the pigeon hole of Prime Minister Theresa May, arranged democratically in alphabetical order and no larger than those of the other 650 Members of Parliament. Neither the House of Commons nor Lords were sitting, so we could go inside and stand beside (but not sit on) the MPs’ and peers’ leather benches.

After lunch in the vaulted Jubilee café, we crossed over Westminster Bridge (1862) and embarked on a Thames Clipper for a 45-minute history of river-side London. As it zig-zagged back and forth across the river, the twin-hulled catamaran cut through the incoming tide. After the Tate Modern, we shot under Waterloo Bridge (1945 - mainly built by women), London Bridge (first built by the Romans), and spotted the 13th century “Entry to the Traitor’s Gate” below the 11th C Tower of London. Passing under 19th C Tower Bridge we could see the underside of people walking across the glass walkway. Desdemona watched the skyline carefully, ‘Look there’s St Paul’s Cathedral! And do you see how the old and the new buildings are all muddled up?’ We talked about the 1941 blitz, dockers and shipping. We passed wharfs and warehouses now converted into apartments, including the fascinating home of History Girl Michelle Lovric. But as the waves grew and clouds descended, I feared the next stage of our journey would be a foggy white-out.

Entrance to the Tower of London 

Crossing the Greenwich Meridian Line prompted an unscientific explanation of the difference between that imaginary vertical line, and the horizontal equator. As we disembarked on the south side of the Thames, the storm departed and the skies cleared. We clambered into a glass-sided Emirates cable car which shot up from Greenwich Peninsula and crossed high above the river to the Royal Docks. The view was amazing, with a golden sunset behind Hampton Court, and opposite, a rainbow landing somewhere in the Anglo-Saxon wool depot of Woolwich. ‘Look, there’s the Thames Barrier,’ said Ben. ‘And there’s an airport,’ said Desdemona as a small plane flew over us. Grandfather pointed out the Isle of Dogs and Canary Wharf far below us. The cable car too, was historical, as it was paid for by the European Union in 2013 – and they won’t be doing that again in Britain any time soon. We returned from Royal Victoria on the Docklands Light Railway, which gave us a high level view of Billingsgate Market and East India docks. A walk over Tower Hill took us to the underground and back to Paddington.

Paddington Bear from Peru reminds young travellers about the importance of generosity to migrants

This grandmother was delighted when Ben told his parents it was his ‘Best ever day out in London.’ I don’t think they even noticed how much history they’d learned along the way.

Our Route:
Number 36 bus from Paddington to Buckingham Palace
Number 148 bus to Parliament Square
WestminsterAbbey
Houseof Parliament tour
ThamesClipper
Emirate Thames CableCar
DocklandsLight Railway
London Underground- Tower Hill to Charing Cross.
No 15 bus Trafalgar Square via Piccadilly and Oxford Circus, to Paddington.

Portrait of the Artist at The Queen’s Gallery by Imogen Robertson

Attributed to Annibale Carracci (Bologna 1560-Rome 1609) A presumed self-portrait  c. 1575-80

Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

There are some definite perks to this blogging business, and for me this season one presented itself in the form of an invitation to The Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace for a tour of their new exhibition, Portrait of the Artist. You can go too of course, and I recommend you do, until Monday, 17 Apr 2017, and the exhibition is open daily, 10:00-17:30  with last admission at 16:15. I got a bacon croissant though, because I’m special. 

I’m not just saying this because they fed me - it really is a thought provoking and surprising exhibition and I thoroughly enjoyed it. All chosen from the Royal Collection the selection includes not just self-portraits, but images of artists, formal and informal, made by friends and colleagues. This slightly broader remit means that there are a number of unusual treasures in the exhibition and some thought provoking juxtapositions of private and public personas, performances and intimacies.

As you enter the first gallery you are met by a pair of delicate chalk self-portraits from the 16th century sharing a smaller partitioned space with a Hockney, made with an iPad apparently, and dark, haunted etching of Lucian Freud. You can’t help feeling you are under the eye of the artist yourself as you look at them, and the gaze is penetrating if not pitiless. A strange reversal it is, to walk into a gallery and find yourself under such close examination. 

The images artists used to publicise themselves make for an enlightening contrast with those likenesses caught by friends or enemies. In Rubens’s portrait of Van Dyck, the latter is thoughtful, understated, a troubled observer rather than the flamboyant cavalier, and Bartolozzi attacks Maria Conway in caricature. When the exhibition moves onto artists at a work, Rowlandson’s Chamber of Genius is a garret packed with dogs, children and discomfort, while Samuel Drummond presents himself and his studio lit by a shaft of divine inspiration and scattered with military props to make him the recording angel of an imagined battlefield, or not field really, given his most famous painting was the Death of Nelson at which, in this image, he is at work. 

The exhibition is full of small contemplative pleasures, such as the image of da Vinci by his student Melzi, and surprises such as Sarah Bernhardt’s Self-Portrait as a Chimera where the actress has transformed herself into a bat-winged monster and an inkstand at the same time, for which she deserves extra points, I think.

Artemisia Gentileschi (Rome 1593-Naples 1652) 

Self-portrait as the Allegory of Painting (La Pittura)  c.1638-9 

Royal Collection Trust ©

I’m embarrassed to admit to say I didn’t know anything of the artist Artemisia Gentilesch until very recently, and I think the curators chose well when they made her ‘Self-portrait as the Allegory of Painting’ their headline image for the exhibition. Her story is remarkable - there’s a great article about her here - and the painting itself is extraordinary. It has a sort of muscularity, and intent about it. The artist, focusing on what she is trying to capture on the bare canvas, seems to look round and beyond us whereas those early self-portraits stare you straight in the eye, and it has a vigour and power to it which is almost shockingly physical after those studied acts of self-promotion in the previous rooms. 

Well worth the trip to the palace, even if you don’t get a bacon croissant, and for those who can’t make it, the accompanying book by Anna Reynolds, Lucy Peter and Martin Clayton is a thing of great beauty in itself - fascinating text, and superb reproductions. 

www.imogenrobertson.com

Elizabeth II’s 90th Birthday by Janie Hampton

On April 21st Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Canada, Australia and New Zealand, Head of the Commonwealth and Defender of the Faith, will be 90 years old.
When Princess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary of York was born in 1926, her handsome and popular 32-year-old uncle, the Prince of Wales (later the Duke of Windsor), was heir to the throne. His younger brother, Elizabeth’s father, the Duke of York, enjoyed the traditional pursuits of a country gentleman, such as shooting pheasants and dancing Scottish reels. He took his daughter fox-hunting on her pony ‘Peggy’ when she was four years old. His favourite dog was a Labrador called ‘Stiffy’. Little ‘Lilibet’ called her adored grandfather, King George V, ‘Grandpa England’.

Princess Elizabeth aged 3 

George V died in 1936 and when Edward VIII abdicated a year later, Elizabeth’s shy father became King George VI and she became ‘Heir Presumptive’. Never ‘Heir Apparent’, because there was always the possibility that her father would produce a legitimate son who would automatically take precedence over any older sisters. The 10-year-old girl watched her father’s coronation in Westminster Abbey with quiet dignity and reserve.

Aged 7, painted by Philip de Laszlo

The Girl Guides Association has always been across
the road from Buckingham Palace

Princess Elizabeth had the finest private tutors in the country, headed by the vice-provost of Eton College. She studied constitution, American history, the Commonwealth, French and German. She was made to stand for many of her lessons, so that she would get used to the long hours on her feet watching regiments march past. She visited museums, factories, the Bank of England, the House of Commons and the Royal Courts of Justice – to see for herself how her country worked.

 

Marion Crawford, the royal governess, was determined that her charges, Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, should live normal lives, and their parents wanted them to be members of the community. ‘Just how difficult this is to achieve, if you live in a palace, is hard to explain,’ wrote ‘Crawfie’. ‘A glass curtain seems to come down between you and the outer world, however hard a struggle is made to avoid it.’

In 1937 Miss Crawford suggested that the princesses become Girl Guides, so that they could understand the lives of ordinary children, and maybe even meet some. Their aunt, the Princess Royal, was President of the Girl Guides Association and recommended they meet the formidable Miss Violet Synge, who had driven ambulances during the First World War. She was appalled at the idea. ‘One of my greatest difficulties,’ wrote Crawfie, ‘was to get people to realise that these two little girls wanted only to be treated as any other normal and healthy little girls of their own ages.’ Nevertheless, the 1st Buckingham Palace Guide Company of twenty Guides was born and Miss Synge became its first Captain (and later Guide Commissioner for England).

Girl Guides Princess Elizabeth & Princess Margaret sent a message to other
Guides by carrier pigeon on Thinking Day, February 22, 1943.

The Company, made up of daughters of court officials and palace employees, met in the summerhouse in the palace garden. The King made one stipulation. ‘I’ll stand anything,’ he said, ‘but I won’t have them wear those hideous long black stockings. Reminds me too much of my youth.’ So the Palace Guides wore knee-length beige socks, an innovation soon adopted by Guides everywhere. Some of the new recruits didn’t quite understand the point about Guides and the purpose of uniform, and arrived in party frocks with white gloves, accompanied by their nannies who wanted to stay and watch. ‘We soon put a stop to all that,’ said Miss Crawford.

After the Blitz began over London in 1940, many people thought that the two princesses should be evacuated to the safety of Canada. But their parents were adamant that the Royal Family would stick together and bear the same risks as other British families. However, unlike most British families, they had a spare castle, and the girls and their governess moved to Windsor, where they remained until the end of the war. Despite this seclusion, the princesses were encouraged to perform, and Elizabeth played Principal Boy, in powdered wig and breeches, in pantomimes of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Aladdin. At a fundraising concert in Windsor Castle, she led the singing of rounds, sea shanties and Negro spirituals.

Aged only 15, Elizabeth addressed the children of Britain on the wireless. She told them that she sympathised with those who had been evacuated, as she too was often separated from her parents (though the King and Queen made it back to Windsor Castle most nights). ‘When peace comes, remember it will be for us, the children of today, to make the world of tomorrow a better and happier place. My whole life shall be devoted to your service, but I shall not have the strength to carry out this resolution unless you join in it with me, as I now invite you to do,’ she announced in her clear, piping voice.

Like these Kent Guides, Princess Elizabeth
learned to cook on a camp fire.

In 1942, Princess Elizabeth, like any other 16-year-old girl, went along to the Labour Exchange in Windsor to register for National Service. She had by then attained Guide proficiency badges vital for her future career as a modern monarch: Swimmer, Dancer, Horsewoman, Child Nurse, Needlewoman and Interpreter. The last was especially useful for a queen: she could identify over fifty flags, including the Royal Standard, and tell foreigners where to find the main ports of Britain, the value of British money, and advise about local hotels, buses and cafés.

A year later, she became a Sea Ranger and learnt how to sail, cook in cramped quarters and re-leather rowing oars. ‘Slit trenches had been dug for the camp by the Grenadier Guards and air raid drill was taken by Company Sergeant Major of the Grenadiers,’ stated The Guider magazine. Her Majesty the Queen had tea in the camp and was taken out in a rowing boat, coxed by her daughter. Round the campfire, Princess Elizabeth sang shanties and took part in a sketch called ‘Mein Kamp’.

For her 18th birthday, the Girl Guides Association gave the princess a tent, a sleeping bag and a rucksack containing a looking glass, an ‘oil-silk sponge-bag’ and an aluminium egg cup.

By June 1945, press censorship of the weather had been lifted, and The Guider revealed that Princess Elizabeth made a speech in the pouring rain, to five thousand Girl Guides in Wales.

That same year Elizabeth was commissioned into the Auxiliary Territorial Service (later the Women’s Royal Army Corps) and was posted to the ‘No. 1 Mechanical Transport Training Centre’. Already a Colonel in the Grenadier Guards, Second-Subaltern Elizabeth Windsor (No. 230873) studied military law and learned how to drive and maintain cars, lorries and ambulances. The report on her performance by the Royal Corps of Transport Officers stated: ‘Extremely quick to learn, she is not rash, and drives with consideration and thought for others on the road, and with every care for her car.’

At 90 years old, and after 64 years on the throne, she still drives her Land Rover herself.

Happy Birthday, Lilibet!

Janie Hampton is the author of ‘Rationing & Revelry – the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II 1953’, available as a Kindle Single.  © Janie Hampton 

"A ROYAL WELCOME" at Buckingham Palace. By Penny Dolan

Once I heard a writer talk about finding the right word for the “thing you’d drink from” for an exact historical setting. “Goblet” seemed too grand, “beaker” sounded too ancient and “glass” did not fit the time or the object. “Cup” was the word finally chosen. This always struck me as a clear example of how, in historical fiction, the right word is needed for small objects as much as for the grandest items, However, I’m sure that every correct term is known by those involved with the meal that I‘m writing about today.

One sunny morning this summer, I walked through London’s Green Park, heading for Buckingham Palace. I’d been invited, along with a small group of bloggers, to visit the annual Summer Opening of the State Apartments.This year’s theme, “A Royal Welcome”, was an interpretation for the public of all that was involved in welcoming visiting Members of State to an official State Banquet, set within the impressive state rooms where these meetings usually take place.

From the side gates, we were led towards the Grand Entrance where the Australian State coach, horseless, was a reminder that Ambassadors and similar visitors would not be arriving on foot. We went up a few carpeted steps before pausing in an opulently gloomy space, observed by stern, stony-eyed busts. Ahead rose the Grand Staircase, that leads all visitors – us included – suitably slowly towards the brightness of the State Apartments above. The dark and light created a moment of architectural drama that must have an impact on anyone approaching an audience with Her Majesty.

The Throne Room, at the head of the stairs, was dedicated to Investitures and Honours, displayed documents, looping videos and portraits of the many people honoured by the Queen during her long reign. Then we were led into the main part of the exhibition: the preparations for a State Banquet, always held on first night of any official State Visit. The matter of who is being invited is diplomatically planned and negotiated between officials at the Government and the Palace, often over three years or more, and the purpose is the development of good trade and political relations between the prestigious visitors and Britain. This was a useful thought to bear in mind when the hard work and careful preparations were shown within the next cases.

The Office, the first display showed some of the administration involved to make sure the 170 guests, particularly the Guests of Honour, feel as much at their ease as possible. We saw the cupboard of thick files, each bearing the name of a state or country, as well as the writing desk where invitations are prepared by hand and, on a table nearby, the deep wooden tray filled with invitations, and the small booklets also sent to each individual guest.

Inside the booklet, along with general notes and the night’s menu, is the seating plan. A red dot marks the guest’s own seat, and the plan would also show the names of those seated nearby. In addition, the administrative staff also check that each guest knows enough of any foreign language to converse with their neighbours and - if not a first visit - that the guest is seated so they can meet a different group of people, widening the spread of the relationships. This intense planning perfectly illustrated that the evening is about trade and diplomatic relations, not principally about being with friends in the everyday sense. Though no doubt pleasant, a State Banquet was starting to feel like royal work.

It would be work certainly for the Kitchen. Victorian copper pans, regularly re-lined, hung gleaming from a rack, alongside a set of chef’s whites with embroidered insignia. Although four courses are traditionally served (fish, meat, pudding and fruit) the kitchen table on show concentrated on the third course, with a display of recipes and moulds used for the creation of a chocolate bombe, the State Banquet favourite. 

 

There was also a charming tray of delicate sugar-work orchids, “national” flowers used to personalise the banquet of a visiting President. There were also rows of chocolate buttons, moulded and gilded to match the real buttons on the palace livery.  Would any of those embossed buttons be taken home discreetly as treats for children?

The Wine Cellar display hinted at bottles stored somewhere within the palace walls, as well as the glassware. With four wines served at the meal, almost seven hundred delicate glasses must be inspected beforehand for breaks or splintered edges. What I would call the crockery and cutlery came next: the golden plates, almost like those in a fairy tale, must be counted out. True gold is soft, so the plates are really made of silver-gilt. The gilt cutlery too, must be counted out, as well as the china plates and dishes used for the other three courses. With so many guests, no single set is sufficient for the entire table, so a variety of plates, cutlery and glassware will be used for the meal. The exhibition showed a pretty blue Georgian dining service, along with the huge wooden storage chests that keeps it safe when not in use. I could not help thinking of old tales of travelling royalty and their long baggage trains.

 

The Queen herself will obviously look her best at such events, so "A Royal Welcome" included a display based on the work of her own dressmaker, Angela Kelly, as well as three examples of designer gowns worn by Her Majesty during her long reign.  

(Further on, in the Music Room, there was a display about the work of the Royal Garden Parties, where our guide explained that Her Majesty often dresses in a single “block of colour” for such events, which made identification and photographs much easier. Of course, I’d seen that the Queen dressed like that, but I hadn’t truly appreciated quite why.) 

At last, we came to the huge Ball Room where an enormous u-shaped table was shown in full banqueting glory, spread with place settings, flowers and ornate decoration. Tiny dots of lights shone down over each place, instead of the usual candles, to make sure there was no danger of fire during the long hours of this public exhibition. However, one end of the table had been left as it would be at the start of preparation, with the measuring rule still across the white cloth, and places still to be laid (rather like a bad “Downtown Abbey” staffing moment, although in a most superior situation.)  The white napkins are folded into a neat “dutch bonnet” pattern so they sit easily on the plate and also so they can be moved discreetly if there are sudden changes in guest numbers. When seated for the Banquet, the Queen and her State Visitors face the huge pipe organ once housed in Brighton’s Royal Pavilion but – no doubt thankfully – dinner music will be provided by the Countess of Wessex’s String Orchestra or other musicians, and be pieces by Elgar, Gershwin, Debussy, or even themes from the Harry Potter movies.

In all the rooms of “A Royal Welcome”, there were short video loops showing all the various staff at their work in more detail. On one of the three screens in the Ballroom was the moment when the Queen’s Piper and his band greet the start of the State Banquet, followed by the procession of wonderfully synchronised waiting staff. all in scarlet jackets, each allocated to a set group of diners. A discreet “traffic light” system regulates the serving around the table, or so I heard, as it would certainly be difficult to see the head of the table from either foot. There was also a short, clever time-lapse video, showing the whole process of table preparation, banquet and clearing away all within three minutes. 



How briefly all the Royal Party and guests seemed to be sitting there! You can find a version on the Royal Welcome website, too.

After leaving the Ballroom, we were led into the State Dining Room. This is where, on a long polished table, the exchanged State Gifts are displayed for viewing, along with all those previously received. (Someone whispered that, during a long ago state visit, there was some embarrassment when a second chess set was received for display.)

On show we saw gifts such as elegant Japanese porcelain and a delicate gilt temple from Indonesia, but what a surprise the Queen must have had when she received this traditional Tree of Life plaque from Mexico: the heavily coloured ornate surface was covered in tiny images of her own self and her life as a monarch.

What did I feel at the end of “A Royal Welcome”, after all the magnificence and the life size Georgian portraits and the bright chandeliers and gilded ceilings and walls?

I admit I felt respect for all that the Palace staff that keep this great enterprise running.

Also, knowing that the original Banquet shadowed for “A Royal Welcome” was only one of many the Queen must have sat through during her long reign - now the longest of any British Monarch - I felt a sense of the work this must be for Her Majesty as well : to be always the centre of such events even when you felt unwell or unwilling, and with so much history and tradition constantly around you and your duty that must be done.   

 Not, I felt, a life many would long for.

Finally, as with achy feet, I eyed the golden sofas and single footstool in the White Drawing Room, I ended up hoping that the Queen’s private rooms give her and her family a place to relax comfortably when they are away from “the shop”, and free of “the function of promoting peace, good relations and trade.” 

Many thanks to Buckingham Palace Press Office for inviting me, as one of the History Girls, to visit this year’s “A Royal Welcome”.  There are still ten days to go before this year’s showing finally ends on 27th September 2015. Each year has a different theme, and last year’s exhibition, “A Royal Childhood”, was visited by History Girl Sue Purkiss.  Quite how, I wonder, will Buckingham Palace celebrate 2016?

Penny Dolan

A Boy Called MOUSE, pub Bloomsbury.

The day I went to Buckingham Palace... by Sue Purkiss

Well, I don't know about you, but I find it's not all that often that I get an invitation to Buckingham Palace. So when, a few months ago, I was invited to a preview of a new exhibition called 'Royal Childhood' at the Queen's Gallery, I didn't have to think very carefully before accepting.

Painting by Joseph Nash, in the Royal Collection

What I didn't realise was that it wasn't just an invitation to the exhibition; our group of bloggers was also given free run (well. more-or-less) of the state rooms, the day before the palace was due to open to the public for the summer. So there we were - just us, and what seemed like hundreds of young, enthusiastic, very helpful stewards - wandering through the rooms we've so often caught a glimpse of on television; among acres of red carpet and gold leaf, peering up at quantities of portraits and glittering chandeliers, imagining ourselves sitting down at that state banqueting table. It's all very imposing, so the children's toys and clothes which were the subject of the exhibition introduced a nice counterpoint - a reminder that the Royal Family, as well as being a symbol of state, has always been, at the same time, just that: a family.

One of the first rooms we went through was a drawing room - a formal one, where state guests are received. But in the centre (I think for the exhibition only) was a late 18th century dolls' house, made for the children of George III by a carpenter from the Royal Yacht. I longed for a dolls' house as a child, and it was one of my most anticipated Christmas presents ever; but when I'd got it, I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. You couldn't actually play with the dolls very well because the rooms were too small, and you certainly couldn't play with it alongside a friend. But you wouldn't have that problem with this house; it was generously sized and roomy, with lots of gorgeous pieces of miniature furniture, and dolls that were the right size to fit - and it looked as if it had been well-used. (We probably tend to think of George III in terms of his madness - but before he was afflicted with that, he was by all accounts an enthusiastic and very hands-on father, among other things.)

But even better, further on, was a miniature house which was presented to Princess Elizabeth on her sixth birthday by the people of Wales. It is in the grounds of the Royal Lodge at Windsor, but the kitchen (above) has been recreated for the exhibition, and a film gives you a virtual tour. It's perfect: just the right size for children, but too little for adults, and everything works - it has electric lighting and running water. Not surprisingly, it's still used today.

(Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

The main part of the exhibition is at the end of the Queen's Gallery. This gallery, for me, was an unexpected and tremendous treat, because there were paintings there by Rembrandt, Vermeer, and others of the Dutch school. This painting by Vermeer, A Lady at the Virginals with a Gentleman - has so much going on. In the foreground is a chequered floor, which demonstrates the mastery of perspective of the Dutch painters of interiors: it leads the eye to the girl, who sits with her back to us while the gentleman watches her. We're instantly in the middle of a drama: what is she thinking? Is she interested in the man? Is he more interested in her? If only she could turn round and wink at us, let us in on her secrets! And there's a portrait by Rembrandt of one Agatha Bas. She isn't made to look pretty: she has thin, straggly hair, a big nose and a slightly wary, resigned expression, almost as if she's a prisoner of her sober, exquisitely painted clothes - black velvet, snowy lace, and a little subtle gold embroidery. But she's so real: there she is, surely just as she was in life.

The exhibition itself has clothes worn by royal children over the last 250 years: tiny shoes, which another blogger, historical fiction writer Elizabeth Hawksley, pointed out to me were made the same for both feet -
apparently shoes made specifically for the right and left foot are quite a recent invention; little tailored coats and suits; a gorgeous fairy dress with wings. But the dress which really struck me was this one, which was Princess Victoria's first evening dress - it's so tiny!

There are also games, paintings and toys - I thought the use of colour in these paintings by Prince Charles at the age of 8-9 was really pretty impressive - though the sketches further on done by Queen Victoria's daughter, Princess Vicky, look positively professional. And any child would envy the 'toy' cars which have been presented over the years. There's just something about child-sized versions of grown-up things that appeals, isn't there? Lucky royals, to have access to such perfect replicas.

There are details of the exhibition here. It's not cheap, but it's a fascinating exhibition in a unique setting, and with so much extra to see as well - especially those wonderful Dutch paintings. There's a special family pavilion with activities for children, a cafe with very splendid cakes etc, and on the way out you walk through the grounds, with a view of the palace; it's quite difficult to believe that you're right in the middle of London. I had a lovely time. My only regret is that I was in a bit of a hurry when I left, and didn't stop to replace my scruffy umbrella with a bright and shiny Buckingham Palace one. (But I did buy a toy corgi. It's for a future grandchild. No really, it is.)

My thanks to the Royal Collection Trust for inviting me!

The First Georgians by Imogen Robertson

Gerorge I, King of Great Britain and Ireland, Elector

of Hanover (1660-1727) Studio of Sir Godfrey Kellner

Britain is going 18th century crazy. I know that because I read it in The Times. 

We have good reason to take this chance to pay a bit more attention to this crucial and often over-looked period of British history. 2014 marks the 300th anniversary of the Hanoverian Succession when the British Crown, after doing a surprising number of back-flips through the family tree and landing on the lap of Sophia, Electress of Hanover, slid thence onto the head of her eldest son Georg Ludwig, who became George I on the death of Queen Anne. 

Just to confirm how important this is, Lucy Worsely is presenting a series on BBC4 about the Georgians starting on 1 May, the Historic Royal Palaces are having a Glorious Georges Season; the V&A are focussing on the leading architect of the period, William Kent and the music of Handel is going to be everywhere.  

If you want to be part of the cognoscenti, then I heartily recommend a visit to The First Georgians: Art & Monarchy 1714-1760 at the Queen’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace. I also recommend a certain series of brilliant mysteries set towards the end of the century, but that probably doesn’t come as a great shock. Theft of Life is out 22 May, by the way.

A Natural History of English Insects
Eleazar Albin (c. 1680- c. 1742)

Writing for this blog brings many pleasures, and this time it was the chance to have breakfast at Buckingham Palace and get a preview of the exhibition in the company of its curators, including Desmond Philip Shawe-Taylor, Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures. He's a brilliant communicator, and they do a mean bacon croissant, the Royals. I had a lovely time. All the items here are from the Royal Collection, and many of the pictures, pieces of furniture and even the silver gilt tableware are in regular use in the Working Palaces. 

‘We have to replace whatever we take, of course,’ one of the curators told me. ‘We can’t just leave a gap.’ It gave me a pleasurable image of members of the Royal Family being in a constant state of mild confusion, putting down a glass on the coffee table and thinking, hang on, didn’t that used to be white marble, or wandering down to breakfast and finding one of the portraits has changed clothes and is now looking in the opposite direction. Then again, that’s probably not the oddest thing about being an HRH.

Johann Sebastian Müller (1715-1792) (engraver)

It’s a great little exhibition, complete with a education room done out as a Coffee House where you can eavesdrop, via tricorn hats with built-in headphones, to the gossips in St James’s Park, and thumb through copies of the Gentleman’s Magazine. It opens with a room of portraits to explain the succession from Anne to George I, and by clever use of a pair of images in the corridor into the first large exhibition space, shows the violent tensions underlying it. On one wall is an engraving of Britannia and Liberty crowning George I, and stamping down Catholicism in the process, and on the other a very elegant oil of the other Royal Family in exile, James II and a young Old Pretender - if you see what I mean.

The exhibition also gives us the chance to see some of the paper treasures of the Royal Collection and the juxtaposition of a display of plans of Royal Palaces with a collection of battle maps, including that of Culloden remind us of those tensions. 

Melchior Baumgartner (1621-86) (clockmaker (case))

In the rooms that follow, visitors get to see some of the decorative works and paintings the first Georges collected or had made for them. The Old Masters include a superb Holbein, and a there is a ridiculous rock crystal and enamel dust-magnet cabinet which plays various Handel tunes, and turns out to be a clock. 

 There are side rooms with displays of miniatures and cameos, botanical works, and cases of fancy wear - snuff boxes, porcelain etc, all of which suggest the wit, sensuality and confidence of the Georgian artists. The pair of Canelettos showing a panoramic view of the Thames from Somerset House is worth the price of admission alone, and in the final room there is a silver gilt dinner service that I think would look excellent in my flat. Particularly the golden crab salts.  Just in case Queen Elizabeth is wondering what to get me for Christmas. 

William Hogarth (1697-1764)
Harlot's Progress 

It’s important to remember the shadows behind all this delicious flim-flam. So much of the wealth that poured into Britain, funding a flowering of the arts and sciences, was the result of colonialism at its worst and the turning of slavery into a profitable industry. The rich and poor lived side by side, but in completely different worlds. I’m glad to say that while celebrating the Georgians, the exhibition doesn’t ignore those contradictions. Hogarth gets a room of his own and he was an exemplar of these paradoxes which make the period so fascinating. He painted his confident, charming portraits of his contemporaries - the example here being the portrait of David Garrick and his wife - at the same time as he was chronicling the horrors of urban poverty and the hypocrisies of the elite - the greed and ruthless use of force which now fills our galleries and museums with such civilised treasures. 

St James's Park and the Mall 
British School c.1745

The exhibition runs until 12th October 2014, but for those who can’t visit in person it’s worth pointing out the superb website. You can see high quality images of all the items in the exhibition, watch videos introducing the period, and listen to Robert Woolley playing Handel on the harpsichord made for Frederick, Prince of Wales. 

All the images above are from the site, and clicking on them will take you to the Royal Collection's information page on each. For those in town, there are various events, including lots of music, linked to the exhibition.

www.imogenrobertson.com

@RobertsonImogen