When 6th Lord Grantley wrote his autobiography The Silver Spoon back in 1954, nothing was out of bounds – the book is both hilarous and outrageous – and touches on Mary Queen of Scots (less than flattering), his family (eye opening) and his University antics (incendiary – literally). But it is his recollections from the Coronation of the late King George VI that the standout episode in the book. Here is a small taster…
Before I settled down to Oxford the coronation of King George VI took place, and I was bidden to this function. I was luck enough to be drawn by ballot to be an usher for the seats which accommodated the eldest sons of peers, my responsibility being the rows for those whose names began with initials fron N to Z.
I went with my parents to the Abbey in the family state coach… One had to be at the Abbey at 8:00am, as the traffic congestion was appalling, and having taken leave of my parents resplendent in their robes – my step mother being literally smothered with jewellery – I commenced my duties of ushering my group of eldest sons of peers.
It seemed to me that the peerage must have been notable for longevity, for most of the eldest sons seemed to me to be far advanced into the sere and yellow. One old gentleman was so aged it did not seem possible that he could have a father alive, but I subsequently learned that the father was a nobleman of 98 summers, and the eldest son in question was 76.
Watching the arrival of the distinguished guests was fascinating. The uniforms, the jewels, the orders, and the brilliant colours everywhere dazzled the eye, even in the subfuse light of the Abbey. Mt duties as an usher… enabled me to get a near view of the arrival of various famous personalities.
Particularly do I remember the arrival of Lord Roberts. He was a diminutive man and I think must have hired his earl’s robes, as at both the front and back they trailed along the ground at such length that I feared, as I saw the poor little man staggering along, that he would fall flat on his face. He was in the stiff and glorious uniform of a field marshal and, carrying a marshal’s baton and his coronet and holding up his sword, he found it practically impossible to walk up the nave at all.
As he steered towards his appointed seat, someone trod on the back of his robe, with the result being that the tasselled ropes that hold these mediaeval garments were strained apart, and tore off several diamond-studded orders of knighthood with which the front of his body seemed to be entirely plastered.
I was quite near him at this moment, and saw him ineffectively stoop to try and pick up these various jewelled honours. In doing so he proceeded to let go practically everything that he had, including a squalid little packet of sandwiches, which light refreshment everybody had brought, in view of the fact that the ceremony lasted from eight o’clock in the morning till four o’clock in the afternoon.
In view of my proximity to this distinguished but distressed figure, I was able to pick up some of his various goods, and chattels, including the sandwiches, and hand them back to him. The last I saw of him was bravely making his way towards his seat, clutching in his arms the various posessions that I had recovered from him, in a less formal manner than the ocassion and his rank called for.
We have a moat 