For
Pat, Lily and Bella,
with love
CAROLINE BRIMSTONE
...
ASSISTANT DRESSER TO
Queen Elizabeth II
BUCKINGHAM PALACE,LONDON
January 1953
CAROLINE STOOD BACK AS THE YOUNG QUEEN STEPPEDout, majestic in the gleaming silk gown. The soft, white fabric was close around the bodice and waist, flaring out to a full skirt, gold embroidery embellishing the garment to a truly spectacular level.
What a magnificent sight she was! This was a tipping point into a new age, the fresh, feminine monarch a symbol of the future, her taut traditional gown representing the weight of the past.
Following Her Majesty out of the dressing room was the head dresser, nodding to Caroline to start taking notes.
PEOPLE PRESENT
The queen
The Queen Mother
The queen’s grandmother, Queen Mary, seated
Norman Hartnell, the gown’s designer
Three seamstresses, waiting in the wings
Miss MacDonald, the head dresser
Two corgis, tails wagging
Stepping around the dogs, Caroline joined Miss MacDonald, swooping around the queen, smoothing down the thick silk, wondering how it must feel for the young woman getting ready for her coronation. It was almost a year since her father died and she’d become queen at the tender age of twenty-six. And now, she was preparing to be officially crowned.
Everything had to run like clockwork.
Caroline felt a rush of excitement to be there, witnessing the first fitting, listening to the jostle behind the scenes. With the new monarch, all the players were politely tussling for space. Not only were the Queen Mother and old Queen Mary trying to control the young queen, but so were the male advisors and the prime minister, Winston Churchill, dictating to her as if giving rules to a schoolgirl. Even her husband, Philip, expected her to do his bidding.
All her life Elizabeth had been told how to act, but now she was the one in charge.
Would she be able to push through her family and the advisors, take it on for herself?
As Caroline watched the queen balancing her thoughts, she wondered how it would feel, weighing up everyone’s opinions and yet trying to do what was best.
It was the opposite of Caroline’s life.
At thirty-three, Caroline had worked hard to get the promotion to assistant dresser, obtaining it only a few months ago. Like the queen, she’d had to take a deep breath and put herself forward. But for Caroline, it felt desperate, as if one wrong move could unbalance her precarious home life, sending her and her precious daughter into a tailspin. ‘What did we decide for the embroidery?’ The Queen Mother stepped forward to feel the soft fabric. Only a year ago, she had been the queen herself, and now she found herself widowed in her early fifties. Too young to don the name ‘dowager’, the title ‘Queen Mother’ had been concocted, emphasizing her relationship to the new monarch rather than the last.
‘We decided on embroidered flowers, Ma’am.’ The designer, Norman Hartnell, stood to the side, his arms folded as he assessed the dress.A camp, hedonistic middle-aged man, he was a master of fashion and a favourite of the Queen Mother’s. He’d created the queen’s wedding gown only five years ago, with its fifteen-foot train. Based on a Botticelli portrait, it was the stuff of medieval princesses.
And now he had the task of producing a gown that was even more spectacular. After a few weeks of initial sketches, he’d presented nine designs. The queen and her mother had chosen the eighth, recommending that the gold and beaded embroidery depict coloured flowers from across the realm.
