Christmas with the Queen

Queen Elizabeth II

Buckingham Palace, August 1956

I watch the children as they play with the dogs, and count my blessings. They fill my heart with such joy.

My eyes stray to a photograph on my desk, a candid moment captured between Philip and I in New Zealand. It is hard to believe that it has been two years since we returned from the Commonwealth tour. Since then, it has been a thankfully peaceful time without too much travel or upheaval, and I have enjoyed being more present in the children’s young lives. They grow so alarmingly quickly! I’ve suggested to Philip that it might be time to add another to the family soon. He hasn’t yet responded on the matter.

A great deal of my time is now taken up with the grown-up children in my government. They are forever squabbling and falling out. I do miss dear Winston terribly. He was a steady hand, albeit difficult at times. Anthony Eden is a different character altogether. I sometimes wonder when we might have a woman as our PM. I long for the day.

Apart from the pressing matters of government business, family affairs occupy a great deal of my time. Philip has been in better spirits of late, having launched his Duke of Edinburgh Award, but I still worry for Margaret. It breaks my heart to see her so unhappy, but I must admit, I was relieved when she finally announced she did not intend to marry Peter Townsend. I had hoped we could put the whole sorry episode behind us. With my sister, it was never going to be quite so simple.

“Are you ever getting up?” I ask as I enter her room and pull the curtains back. “It’s nearly eleven.”

She groans and turns away from the light. “Go away. I only went to bed at six.”

I perch on the edge of the bed and reach for her hand. “Don’t be cross with me, Margaret. I can’t bear it.”

She rolls over and pulls up her eye mask. “Good. Then you know how horrible it is to be hurt by someone you love.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I stifle a laugh.

“Whatever is so funny?” she says.

“You look terrible! You look like a panda with your mascara halfway down your cheeks.”

She pulls herself upright and leans against her many pillows. “I wish I was a panda, then I could roam the mountains of China and nobody would ever find me.”

“ I would find you. I wouldn’t stop looking until I did.”

She reaches for her cigarettes and lights one, purposefully exhaling in my direction.

“Besides, I would smell you out easily enough,” I add, wafting my hand in front of my face to dispel the awful smoke. “Come on. Get up. We’re having lunch with Mummy, remember?”

At this, she groans again. “Must I?”

“Yes. You must. We would be thoroughly miserable without you.” I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “I do love you, Margaret. I hope you know that.”

“Yes, Lilibet. You love me. It is that wicked queen inside that doesn’t.”

There is nothing much I can say in response. I leave her to sulk and make my way downstairs.

So much has already happened in the first few years of my reign, both in public and in private. As I walk through the many rooms and look upon the portraits of those who have reigned before me, I wonder how long I will be queen. Winston firmly believes I will out-reign Victoria, having come to the throne so young. After so many years of instability, firstly with my wayward uncle and then with the unexpected death of my dear father, I do hope he is right. I’d like to become a reliable rock for these dear nations. Steady the ship, as Philip might say.

Yet, I do worry. The world is changing at a rapid pace, and there are those who challenge the relevance of a monarchy in modern society.

“Ah, there you are.” Philip strides into the library. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

I glance at my husband. “Is there some emergency? It is not often you seek me out these days.”

He smiles and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Oh dear. Her Majesty is feeling neglected. Off with my head, is it?”

“Don’t be silly, Philip.”

“I was looking for you because the artist is here. You are sitting for a portrait, remember?”

“I was trying to forget.” I let out a long sigh. “Very well. I may as well get on with it.”

Just then, the children barrel into the room, along with the dogs. I smile at their noise and exuberance, a welcome relief from the worry and formality of other matters.

How strange it is to think that one day Charles will be king and will walk these ancient corridors, considering the portraits of past monarchs, just as I have done. Mine will hang among them as , but it is in the private family albums, among the simple snapshots of family holidays and in more candid private moments, where he will see the real me.

Mummy.

Elizabeth “Lilibet” Windsor.