The crown was worn at all state occasions except the coronation, for which the monarch wears the St. Edward’s Crown. The Imperial State Crown was set with over three thousand stones, including the Black Prince’s ruby (given to the prince by Pedro the Cruel of Castile after the battle of Najara in 1367), the Stuart sapphire (first seen during the reign of Edward IV in the fifteenth century), and the Second Star of Africa (one of the nine stones cut from the enormous Cullinan diamond in 1908).
“And here this lass from Norfolk had it in her hand,” she recalled with a bright smile. “I was dumbstruck.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Why, I tried it on. When else would I be presented with that opportunity? The king must have a larger head than I, because it fell to the bridge of my nose. Then I began to think wearing the crown might not be appropriate, so I removed it.”
By then other refugees were scrambling after pieces of the crown jewels. The Royal Scepter, containing the 530-carat Star of Africa was found by a Norwich automobile mechanic. Intricately worked bracelets and plate were found in the ditch. Gold spurs made for Charles II’s coronation were recovered. The King’s Orb, dented but whole, was found in a furrow by a Norwich waitress. The Imperial Crown of India, made for George V to wear at the Delhi Curbar in 1912, was pulled from the burning bed of the truck by a public school student.
“A man wearing a smith’s apron found a finely wrought sword. I thought the bomb blast had destroyed it, but learned later it was the Sword of Justice, which had always had a broken blade.”
Haselhurst also found the jeweled Sword of State, but an elderly woman pulled it from her grasp. The sword had been damaged and several diamonds and rubies were left behind in the dirt. Haselhurst scooped them up.
“Within just a few minutes, all of it had been gathered. It had been a furious rush. We acted like looters.”
They were not looters. An Austin open-tourer command car found the wreckage. Major General Randolph Gilmore took it upon himself to collect the jewels, his ADC keeping an inventory.
The result of the collection may be the subject of English song a thousand years from now. Not one item was taken from the scene. The refugees lined up at Gilmore’s automobile and one by one handed over the treasures. The crowns, swords, scepters, orbs, spurs, and all the rest were deposited with the general, as were individual stones and pearls knocked loose from their settings. A number of jewels were not recovered until later in the day, when an entire acre of pasture was sifted by a regiment of British army soldiers directed by Edward Anson, the Oxford archaeologist.
One stone, and one only, was not found, a three-carat diamond from a crown made for Queen Victoria in 1887. The English now believe as a tenet of their faith in the monarchy that that diamond was not meant to be uncovered, that it was fated to commemorate the event by lying in that Suffolk field forever.
Self-proclaimed witnesses to historic events grow in number as the years pass. More people later claimed to have heard Lincoln’s Gettysburg address than could have fit within the range of his voice. The fall of the Bastille was allegedly witnessed by more Parisians than could possibly have crammed themselves into the nearby narrow streets.
So it has been with the King’s Ruse, as it was later named by the press. I made sure I spoke with a witness who knew what he was talking about, RAF Captain R. G. Essex, who flew the fabled Dakota from Croydon.
“I was not told of my mission until thirty minutes before take-off,” he told me after the war. “I pride myself on a steady hand, but, truth to tell, I became a bit agitated when I learned who my passenger would be.”
The passenger was to be His Royal Highness George VI, and the flight was to be to Dublin, then to Greenland, and on across the Atlantic. The monarchy was to be removed to Canada for the term of the occupation.
The king and Winston Churchill have given their versions of their meeting, and they are for the most part identical. At midnight of the first day of the invasion, the prime minister requested an audience with the king, who received him immediately. Royal residences in London had all been destroyed or damaged, so his highness was staying in an apartment at Hampton Court Palace, fifteen miles southwest of London. The palace had been a favorite residence of British monarchs for centuries, but Queen Victoria had opened it to the public in 1851. The palace had been reclaimed from the public when Buckingham Palace was destroyed.
The momentous meeting occurred in the palace’s great room. King George knew in advance why Churchill had come. The powers of the British monarch have been in flux since the Magna Carta and are not yet precisely defined. Neither of them could predict the outcome of their discussion.
After brief formalities, Churchill said, “Your Highness, the War Ministry has determined it is no longer safe for you to remain in Great Britain. We ask that you now fly to the Commonwealth of Canada, there to remain until the invader has been repelled.”
“I will share the fate of my people, Prime Minister, so I must refuse your request.”
“We had no doubt you would, Your Highness. I am charged with pointing out, however, that your reign, and indeed the monarchy, may end within a few days if you refuse.”
“I must refuse,” the king said.
Churchill increased the stakes. “Your capture or death would be a mortal blow to your subjects. To remain here would be a disservice to them and to our efforts to win this battle. Your duty is to leave your beloved island.”
“My duty—”
The prime minister brazenly interrupted, “As plainly as I can state it, your duty is to leave.”
That convinced King George, or so it seemed. He stared balefully at Churchill a moment, then nodded. Twenty minutes later he departed for the airbase. His queen and daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret, would escape to Canada on a different plane.
Captain Essex resumed his account. “I was still putting the plane through its preflight when his highness boarded. He immediately entered the cockpit. I attempted to rise, forgetting that I had my straps on. He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back. My copilot, Captain Woodley, could not remove his eyes from him.”
The king then disappeared into the cabin to strap himself into a seat.
The Dakota waited for the escort fighters to take off, then rolled to the end of the runway. By then, several dozen Royal Air Force pilots, crewmen, and mechanics had heard that the king was taking one of their transports. They ran to the edge of the runway, waving and saluting. This was the crowd that would, by individual bragging rights, swell beyond credence in later accounts.
Just as Captain Essex pushed the throttle controls forward and the Pratt and Whitney engines roared, King George reappeared in the cockpit. “Captain, I want you to roll this plane to the end of the runway, then stop it there.”
“Sir?”
“I intend to get out.”
“But, sir—”
“Do not forget with whom you are speaking, Captain.”
“No, sir.”
Captain Essex told me, “Well, I had my orders, and I had my orders. I chose the latter.”
The Dakota rushed forward, and midway down the runway began to slow. The plane halted just short of the end of the strip. Captain Woodley helped the king with the ladder. He descended to the concrete.
Essex recalled, “After his highness told me what to do, I thought this must be some sort of plan, some subterfuge to fool the Germans, and that there would be a limousine waiting at the end of the runway to whisk his highness away. But there was no automobile, and no one waiting for him. There was no plan, apparently. He just walked across the concrete onto the grass, alone, and disappeared into the darkness, to the cheers of the RAF onlookers, who knew very well what they were witnessing.”