“It was not long after this episode (being knighted by George VI) that my wife and I became aware that we lacked just one thing to make our lives complete – a dog, a faithful hound.
We had lost our first one, you will remember, at the beginning of the war and we now found another by chance in, off all places, an antique shop in Ascot called the Clock House. It was run by two gentlemen, inevitable known as Tick and Tock, who were celebrated for the quality of their old-world merchandise (I still have a picture said to be of Nell Gwyn, with the signature of the Court painter Willem Wissing on it, which came from there).
The dog was a miniature poodle puppy with exquisite natural manners. When he was sick he did it into your hand without spilling a drop on the carpet. When sleeping he liked to lie round your neck, almost weightless, like a feather boa. When doing what dogs are put out of the house to do he did it behind a bush or in a flower-bed carefully, never in the middle of the lawn. He had fierce moustaches and a determined expression, and we called him Mortimer after Sir Mortimer Wheeler the famous archaeologist. When some time later I met that great antiquary I told him so. “But why?” he asked, with the dazzling smile for which he was so famous on TV. I was on the point of replying “Because he has moustaches just like yours” (which was the truth), but remembering my manners just in time I altered it to “Because he’s always digging up interesting old bones”, which was not really true nor was it much of an improvement on the truth, and though it was meant to be witty it fell flat, and the dazzling smile disappeared.
In the same way, and on the same subject, and trying to be witty but failing, I once remarked to Princess Margaret, who was in difficulty with some corgis at Windsor Castle, that there were really only two sorts of dog, miniature poodles and others (I of course meant to say “corgis and others”). Whilst the mistake would undoubtedly have pleased Mortimer, it failed to amuse her Royal Highness, for I was given the dreaded fish-eye stare.
That happened after the most disappointing luncheon I have ever had. I had been summoned to Windsor Castle by the King’s command to present details of a forthcoming Garter Investiture ceremony and to “remain to luncheon”. His Majesty, with one or two gentlemen in attendance, asked me questions which I was fortunately able to answer, and then disappeared. The rest of us proceeded to a drawing room (stopping at the usual port of call on the way) where we formed, with others already there, the customary “circle” (a half-circle in this case because there were not many people present) and stood conversing with muted voices and lots of smiles but no laughter.
Some minutes later, the doors opened and a majordomo announced “The King” and stood to one side to admit his Majesty and Queen Elizabeth, Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, and a few ladies and gentlemen in close attendance. Purely from the aesthetic point of view it was an engaging sight to see the women already in the room drop as one in an elegant but quickish curtsey whilst the men at the same time did their split-second chin-to-tie bow. The King with the Queen and the Princesses, with one or two attendants following, then did the round and each person there was in turn presented to or greeted by them. This, I believe, was an everyday procedure and I am describing it carefully because the tale which follows is so pitiful that I feel no detail should be omitted.
Each place at the large round dining-table was ticketed with someone’s name (except the King’s and Queen’s) and to my agreeable surprise I found myself placed next to the Queen, on her left. When their Majesties were both seated, and the ladies after them, the remainder followed suit. I was hardly on my chair when the Queen, no doubt out of kindly consideration for my apparent shyness, engaged me in polite conversation, putting to me questions such as “Do you live near here?”, “Do you keep chickens?”, and the like. My trouble was that, before I could answer each question suitably the next was on the way, and as lunch began and as I am a slow eater, I could scarcely manage to swallow one mouthful, or at the most two, of each course as they were served. And what made matters worse was that every time the Queen paused to eat something a lady-in-waiting seated on my immediate left chipped in with some conversation too and what made matters worse still was that my plate was whisked away by a liveried footman before I could swallow more than ten per cent of what was on it. No doubt he thought I did not like it and that he was acting tactfully, and I suspect the Queen thought the same about my not liking it and was probably a little offended. What made matters even much worse still was that I am a gourmet and perhaps rather greedy as well, and the little I did actually get to eat was the most delicious food I have ever tasted.
I returned to Mortimer and gave him a crumb which I found in my shoe, so that he could feel he had partaken, though more frugally even than his master, of a royal Windsor Castle luncheon.”