Queen Saowabha walking with her grandson.
One of these children was Bisdar Chulasewok, son of Chakrabongse’s ADC, whose father had brought him when he was three to meet Chula carrying a lighted candle and joss-sticks, symbols of willingness ‘to serve the High Prince’. After that, Bisdar came to play at weekends and during holidays, though often he would have preferred to be with his mother, who complained she seldom saw him. Although Chula was always very friendly, Bisdar knew he must never forget their difference in rank. One day when they were enacting a scene from a Western they had seen at the cinema, Chula squaring up to him exclaiming:
‘Forget I’m a Prince. Pretend I’m a commoner - then we can really fight!’ , smiting Bisdar hard on the chin as he spoke. But notwithstanding royal permission and an aching jaw, Bisdar lowered his guard and did not retaliate.
At six o’ clock in the evening, Chula was bathed, given another change of clothing and, after supper at seven, his grandmother’s car – an enormous red Napier – took him and the faithful Chom to Phya Thai. There the little boy would run to the Great Hall where the children of equerries and other court officials waited to play with him. At nine he was sent for by Chom. He was washed again, made ready for bed and given yet another supper – always the same – cold chicken and ham with a good dash of Worcester sauce.
Then he was taken to his grandmother’s room, where she reclined in a great bed enclosed in a high wooden cage, shrouded in a mosquito net. By now, she was herself freshly washed and dressed, ready for her breakfast. Before it was brought in, she chatted with Chula. He was encouraged to bring her news and gossip from Paruskavan, which he knew must include an accurate account of where his parents had been the night before, or who they had entertained if dining at home. He was also expected to describe his mother’s evening dress and the jewellery she had worn.
Afterwards, the Queen would enthral him with legends and tales from the rich mythology of Siam, and even a few from Europe. Red Riding Hood was an especial favourite, and often after telling him the story yet again, she would laughingly ask him whether he was quite sure his Grandma was not a wolf in disguise?
Sometimes she would give him an even greater treat and show him some of her wonderful jewellery. This collection had been assembled by Chulalongkorn during his trips to Europe, and included fabulous pieces and parures from Fabergé in St Petersburg, Benson in London and Cartier in Paris. One of the Cartier’s top designers, Jules Glaezer, recalls receiving a visit from the King, who arrived with his interpreter and asked to see some bracelets. Tray after velvet-lined tray, sparkling with precious gems was laid before the monarch, each dismissed with a negative shake of the head. Finally from a safe the designer’s assistant brought out a display of the most rare and costly bracelets in the entire establishment, which was rewarded by an emphatic royal nod and, at last, after a short colloquy with the King, the interpreter spoke: ‘His Majesty will take this one.’ ‘Which one?’ ‘Why, the whole tray!’ Shopping on his scale naturally resulted in a positively Arabian Nights blaze of jewels.
‘Grandmother had diamonds in all shapes and sizes,’ Chula writes, ‘gorgeous rubies like pomegranate seeds, deep green emeralds the colour of creme-de-menthe. Necklaces, rings, brooches and bracelets, all of dark blue sapphires, pale blue turquoise set in beautifully worked enamel, deep rose and pale pink tourmaline and fire opals, shimmering blue, green and gold. There was exquisitely carved jade and, as for pearls, there were cascades of them, every size and colour from pink to smoky-grey, one marvellous necklace in particular which must have been at least six foot long … ’.
However, despite ownership of these rare and opulent treasures, his Grandmother would put them all aside and as often as not select merely one bracelet, a ring and a simple brooch – frequently one with Chulalongkorn’s monogram – to wear with her mourning black. When all the cases were closed and taken away, a mattress was unrolled for Chula behind her bed, and there he settled till at eleven, the first guests were received and came and went till early morning.
Queen Saowapha with her ropes of pearls and diamonds, gifts from King Chulalongkorn.
From then on, lulled by the murmur of conversation and low laughter, almost awakening at the tone of a familiar voice, listening drowsily for a while then lapsing into sleep again, the child slept fitfully. With the serving of the Queen’s second meal at two-thirty and the offering of iced coffee and refreshments to the visitors, the clinking of cutlery and scent of spicy food mingled with their chatter, flowed and ebbed in and out of his dreams until, at five, the last of them had gone. Then the shutters were closed on the bright morning, the curtains were drawn, and all was hushed at Phya Thai until the following night.
Great pains were taken to ensure that nothing disturbed the royal rest. Two guards diverted traffic to another route on the road outside. In the garden, work that made the slightest sound was halted, and even birds might not sing, checked by two men with blow-pipes and clay bullets – both noiseless – who ceaselessly patrolled the grounds. At eight, little Chula left his Grandmother’s room on tiptoe and, after breakfast, was driven back to Paruskavan with Chom.
Although her beloved husband Chulalongkorn had abolished crawling and prostration in the presence of persons of high rank, his widowed Queen clung to the custom, and none might approach her save in this fashion with the exception of her physician Dr Malcolm Smith. He was permitted to walk into her room for his daily visit and sit on the floor by her bed while he listened to a long recital of her woes and ailments. Even so, he took good care not to sit with soles of his feed turned towards her – the height of disrespect and bad manners – but from his point of vantage on the floor, noted that it was no easy matter for some of her distinguished callers to exit crawling backwards in full dress uniform and a sword.
The doctor, while he had a great liking and admiration for Saowabha, deriving keen pleasure from her reminiscences of the past with which she often entertained him, nevertheless expressed in his book A Physician at the Court of Siam mild disapproval of some of her autocratic ways, particularly that of keeping people waiting so long for an audience.
‘Why don’t you ask to see her immediately – after all you are her son?’ he once ask Chakrabongse.
‘Because she is not only my Mother but also the Queen, and that makes all the difference,’ Chakrabongse replied cheerfully after kicking his heels for an hour or two.
Dr Smith also noted that one night he saw two elderly princesses wait until daylight hoping to be received, only to be utterly ignored as Saowabha swept past without a word, on her way to a rare morning engagement.
The year after King Chulalongkorn’s death, when Chula was three, the Queen had the joy of keeping her grandson entirely to herself for several months at Phya Thai. This was because Chakrabongse was representing Siam at the coronation of George V and Queen Mary in London in June 1911.
Before going to England, Chakrabongse planned to proceed to Russia via the Trans-Siberian railway, taking Katya with him, travelling as his morganatic wife Duchess de Bisnulok. Then after visiting St Petersburg, he would leave for the Coronation while Katya went to stay with her relatives in the Ukraine, where Chakrabongse would join her for a few days before both left on an extended tour of Europe.