Bobo and Crawfie dashed to a waiting car which got them to the Abbey well before the Princess and the King arrived.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Buckingham Palace, 21^st November 1947

Dear Mother and Dad,

Wasn’t it wonderful! I am so glad that you managed to share Mrs Clark’s television to see it. You had a better view than I did, I expect. Not that I am complaining – George and I were seated in Poets’ Corner and watched as my little Lilibet and the Duke of Edinburgh (what a lovely new title – a surprise from the King) knelt on those two satin boxes. You will never guess what they were made of … orange boxes! Really. Rationing and austerity applies to royalty too.

From where we were sitting, I could see the light bounce off the beautiful crystals on Lilibet’s dress. The Duke of Edinburgh, as we must now call him, is a very lucky man.

Outside the Abbey, the bells pealed and the crowd cheered as Bobo and I waited for our car to Buckingham Palace and the wedding breakfast.

I had to say goodbye to George because he did not have an invitation to the breakfast, only to the service. He was put out about it, but I tried to cheer him with news that there was a homemade chicken pie waiting for him at Nott Cott.

It was a wonderful lunch, gay and merry. The happiness of everybody there was tangible. Lilibet was radiant, the light of the chandeliers and candles catching every crystal on her dress. I knew then that she would be very happy with Philip and that he knew he was a lucky man.

The King came to find me later and said, ‘Well done, Crawfie. I think she’s happy, don’t you?’

I told him that I had no doubt. Then the Queen kissed me and said what a wonderful day it had been. And I told her, yes, but that I too felt as if I had lost a daughter. And she said, ‘I am sure you do, Crawfie, but we must make the best of it.’ So gracious.

When I eventually got home, there was no sign of George. I didn’t worry too much because he has made friends with a crowd in the little pub at the bottom of the Kensington Palace drive.

After all the great build-up, the Palace – indeed all London – is quiet.

George and I are moving to a small hotel in Kensington tomorrow, because Nott Cott is having some repairs made to it. I had to pack up the few things I had put out in the kitchen and around the house, so I am back to square one – living out of a suitcase with darling George. I have not even had the chance to fully unpack. Queen Mary’s dinner service is still carefully wrapped, as are the table lamps from Princess Margaret. The coffee set from Lilibet had to be rewrapped and put away.