Such an occasion must be celebrated.
As they came into the house – the Queen going first – one of the maids threw an old shoe after her. For the moment the Queen thought that she was the victim of an attack and turned sharply, but there was Mary Kerr, one of her Scottish ladies-in-waiting, standing there unabashed and explaining to Her Majesty that she had to throw the shoe after the Queen otherwise there would have been no luck in the house.
Everyone – even the Prince – joined in the laughter and the Queen picked up the old shoe and thanked Mary for it.
Dinner was taken in the new dining-room and afterwards the company retired to the drawing-room where the curtains were drawn back and the lights shone forth over the sea. It was a wonderful evening and everyone present wanted to drink the health of the Queen and her husband as a house-warming.
This was done and the Prince said that there was a hymn they sang in Germany on such an occasion and he would like to sing it now.
The Queen’s eyes filled with tears of love, devotion and happiness as she listened to her beloved husband’s voice:
God bless our going out, nor
less Our coming in …
Victoria had rarely seen Albert so obsessed by anything as he was about Osborne. He always worked conscientiously. To see him going through the state papers was a lesson to anyone, she often declared. But one was conscious all the time that this was a duty. Osborne was a pleasure and he was almost childish in his enthusiasm.
‘Come and look at this,’ he would say and take her from what she was doing and explain how it would look when it was finished.
He was in constant consultation with workmen. If it were not somehow disrespectful one would say that Albert was almost like a child with a toy over Osborne. And what a wonderful job he was making of it!
‘Sometimes, my love, I think you should have been an architect. I even go so far as to think that you would have enjoyed being a builder.’
Albert smiled indulgently.
He would slip away at all times to see how the work was progressing. One night at about ten o’clock he left the drawing-room and was making his way through a wooded part of the grounds when he was roughly seized.
A policeman had him by the arm.
‘What are you doing here, eh?’ demanded the policeman.
Albert, who never acted without due thought, was silent, and the policeman went on: ‘Prowling about the place. Up to no good I’ll be bound. You come along with me.’
The servants’ quarters were close at hand and the young policeman, delighted that he had arrested, as he thought, a suspect, opened the door and pushed the Prince into the servants’ kitchen, where they were seated round the table over the remains of supper.
‘Caught this beauty on the prowl,’ announced the policeman.
There was a second or two’s silence after which all the servants rose to their feet. The policeman stared at his captive. One of the women said in a shrill voice: ‘It’s His Highness …’
But there was no need. The policeman knew. The Prince acted characteristically. He turned and walked out without a word. In fact he had said nothing during the entire episode.
As soon as the Prince had gone the babel broke forth. ‘Now you’ve done it.’
‘Fancy arresting his Royal Highness!’
‘You’ll hear more of this, young fellow. There’s one thing we have to remember here. The important one is not so much Her Gracious Majesty but His Royal Highness … and that’s because it’s the way Her Majesty wants it.’
The poor young man could scarcely bear his humiliation, especially as he feared it might end in dismissal, and the next morning when he was summoned to the Prince’s study he felt this was indeed the end.
Trembling with mortification the policeman bowed. The Prince inclined his head. Then he said: ‘I have called you here to commend you on your attention to duty. I have already mentioned to your superiors that you acted with promptitude last night and that you should be put in line for promotion.’
The young man began to stammer, but the Prince coldly waved him away.
The policeman couldn’t resist looking in at the kitchens to tell them what had happened.
‘Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when you dragged him in last night,’ said the cook. ‘But you couldn’t see from his face what he was thinking.’
‘That’s it,’ said one of the kitchen hands, ‘you never can. He’s like one of them there masks.’
‘Cold as a corpse,’ said the cook. ‘But just – you’ve got to give him that.’
One of the older women shook her head and said: ‘He might have said it last night, that would have made his nibs here sleep better, eh? But that’s him all over – just, I grant you. But he likes to torture you a bit.’
‘Perhaps he tortures himself too,’ said a pert kitchen maid. ‘The good are like that sometimes.’
When the Queen heard of the incident she laughed uproariously. ‘The idea of arresting you, Albert. And how good of you to speak up for the man. It is pleasant to know we are so well protected at dear Osborne.’
Bertie loved the sea and making sandcastles. He shrieked with laughter as the tide came in and flooded the moat. Affie toddled along beside him, shovelling sand into pails, Bertie’s devoted henchman.
A boy – a little older than Bertie – carrying a basket of fish which his father had caught and which he was taking to a customer, strolled along the beach and watched the progress of the castle. Bertie, who always liked to show Alfred how clever he was, demanded to know what the boy was looking at.
‘At the castle,’ said the boy.
Bertie became very haughty. ‘You must not look unless I say you may.’
‘You can’t stop me,’ said the boy.
Bertie jerked the basket from the boy’s hand and the fish were scattered all over the sand, at which the boy’s face grew scarlet and he punched Bertie in the chest. Bertie was unprepared and went sprawling into the sandcastle. He jumped up and came at the fisher boy but he was no match for him. In less than five minutes Bertie was bleeding from the nose and had a bump on his forehead.
Affie began to scream and attendants were soon running up. The fisher boy thought it was wise to retire and Bertie was taken back to the house.
Such an incident could not be passed over unnoticed. The Queen would want to know what had happened to Bertie’s face and the truth must be told.
There was nothing to be done but to consult the Prince, who immediately summoned Bertie.
‘So you have been fighting?’ he said sternly.
Bertie stammered: ‘Y … yes, Papa.’
‘And for what reason, pray?’
‘He … he … this boy …’
‘Which boy? Pray try to be less incoherent.’
When Papa said ‘pray’ it usually meant one really was in trouble but Bertie felt confident that he was not in the wrong about this. It was that wicked boy who had beaten him; he had scarcely been able to touch his adversary; Bertie put a hand to the bump on his brow and said: ‘Affie and I were building castles and the boy came along. He stared without asking if he could. I knocked his fish all over the sand.’ Bertie wanted to giggle at the thought of the squirming fishes. He elaborated a little: ‘Great big fishes … a big whale and he was going to swallow Affie so I picked up a big stick.’
‘You will go to your room, Bertie, and wait there until I send for you,’ said his father.