It was into this world of social unrest and unemployment on one hand and immense privilege on the other that the princess was born. Her father, the Duke of York, was the second eldest of four brothers, the sons of King George V and Queen Mary, and second in line to the throne. Her mother, Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, was the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Strathmore, and one of those wonderful people who light up a room with their energy when they enter. Elizabeth had at first refused the duke’s proposal of marriage, anxious she would not enjoy the rigours of royal life, but he was persistent and she finally accepted. On 26 April 1923, she became the first commoner in 300 years to marry into the royal family.

Almost three years later to the day, the duchess went into labour on a dark and dismal April night, with the rain lashing at the windows of the upstairs bedroom, which had been converted into an operating theatre for the birth. The doctors in attendance were Sir Henry Simpson and Walter Jagger and, in the early hours of the morning of 21 April, Sir Henry decided to perform a Caesarean section as the baby was in the breech position. As was the custom then, Home Secretary Sir William Joynson-Hicks was present and sent a message to the Lord Mayor of London to advise him of the imminent birth. Nothing was mentioned about the Caesarean.

A few hours later, it was officially announced that ‘Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York was safely delivered of a Princess at 2.40am this morning’. The Court Circular recorded that the King and Queen, who were in residence at Windsor, ‘received with great pleasure the news that the Duchess of York gave birth to a daughter this morning’.

Many of the national newspapers were able to run the news of the birth as part of their headline news the same day and the Morning Post reported the scene: ‘Outside the big grey façade of 17 Bruton Street a crowd stood, oblivious of the heavy showers of rain, waiting . . . Presently a neat, efficient nurse came and looked down into the street. The upturned faces must have all asked a question, for it was with a nod and the most reassuring smile that the owner of the uniform withdrew.’

‘I must have been one of the first people outside members of the family to see the princess,’ recalls Mabell, Countess of Airlie, in her memoirs. ‘I called at 17 Bruton Street on 22 April, the day after her birth: although I little thought then I was paying homage to the future Queen of England, for in those days there was every expectation that the Prince of Wales (who was holidaying in Biarritz) would marry within the next year or two.’