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educed so that on certain days of the week there was no hot water supply to some of
the residential areas and hot water had to be fetched from the Great Kitchen as it had in
the days of the early Georges. Baths were painted with a red or black line at the fiveinch
level above which water was not supposed to go and notices hung in every
bathroom enjoining fuel economy. Only one electric lightbulb was allowed in each
bedroom. In the Great Park the land was ploughed up for cereals, gardens were dug up
and cultivated in the Dig for Victory campaign, carriage horses pulled agricultural
machinery, and the King was photographed with the champion porker from his herd of
Large White Pigs, fed entirely on swill from the Castle kitchens, an inspiration to the
numerous Pig Clubs which sprang up throughout the country. As part of the war effort
the Princesses collected tinfoil, rolled bandages and knitted socks for the forces (a trial
for Elizabeth who was not a skilled knitter) and contributed from their pocket money to
the Red Cross, the Girl Guides and the Air Ambulance Fund.
In 1940 Elizabeth was fourteen and Margaret ten, but the floor which they occupied
in the Augusta Tower was still known as ‘the nursery’ and Allah Knight was still very
much in charge. The ‘royal nursery’ consisted of five rooms: the ‘day nursery’, the
schoolroom, Elizabeth’s bedroom, Margaret’s bedroom and Allah Knight’s bedroom.
Bobo’s room was on the floor above, while Crawfie slept on the top floor of the
Victorian Tower. Mrs Knight ruled the nursery floor as she had at No. 145. Meals were
served in the nursery brought up by the nursery footman, Cyril Dickman, from the Great
Kitchen at least five minutes’ walk away. The girls were called by Bobo for breakfast at
9 sharp – ‘it had to be on time, I might tell you,’ the footman recalled. By 9.30 they had
to be in the schoolroom before being let off, usually to ride in the Park, from 11 to 12.
Lunch was at 1 p.m., then back to the schoolroom for lessons from 2 until 4.30, when
there was a properly laid-up tea with sandwiches and cakes. From five o’clock until 7.30
there was free time, often spent with the Girl Guides, and at 7.30 supper, sausage and
mash being one of their favourite dishes. At 9 p.m. the nursery footman took the dogs
out for a walk.
Elizabeth’s strong sense of history was enhanced by her daily experience of living at
Windsor. Crawfie shuddered at such gruesome relics as the shirt that Charles I was
executed in or the bullet extracted from Nelson’s heart (‘Though interesting, I personally
found them somewhat sinister things to share a shelter with,’ she wrote), but Elizabeth
was fascinated by the historical and personal connotations of the Castle. It was, among
other things, the burial place of her ancestors; she had seen her grandfather’s coffin
lowered into the family vault beneath St George’s Chapel. For the past year she had
taken twice-weekly history lessons from the Vice-Provost of Eton, Henry Marten, joint
author of Warner and Marten’s school textbook, History of England. Marten was an
eccentric figure with curious mannerisms; he kept lumps of sugar in his pocket and
munched them at intervals when not taking bites at his handkerchief. He never looked
directly at Elizabeth but over her head as if he were taking a class, and sometimes
absent-mindedly addressed her, the way he did the Eton boys, as ‘Gentlemen’. He kept a
pet raven in his study at Eton which occasionally nipped his ear. During the war he