Prince Philip's Century 1921-2021: The Extraordinary Life of the Duke of Edinburgh

By Robert Jobson

Prince Philip's life and legacy. Read the new and definitive biography of the remarkable Duke of Edinburgh.

For decades Prince Philip shared the Queen’s burden of office without upstaging her, always privately providing reassurance and advice but never overstepping the boundaries of his supporting role. It was an unforgiving position – a challenge for anyone – but one that he met head on. He remained the Queen’s adviser and closest confidant and was known as such the world over. That said, he was wise enough to recognise his limitations and the constraints of his role. He always seemed to instinctively know when it was time to step back and let his wife take the lead. His job was, after all, to allow her star to shine.

Robert Jobson’s magnificent biography of the Duke of Edinburgh tells the full story of his remarkable life and achievements, and how, after his marriage in 1947 to Princess Elizabeth, this dedicated military man spent so much of his life dutifully supporting his wife. Though he created a role for himself as a determined moderniser and environmental campaigner, and through the Duke of Edinburgh Awards, encouraged young people to reach their potential, it was perhaps his greatest achievement to have been a loyal husband and companion, and a loving father and grandfather.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ad Lib
• Release date: Apr 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781913721138

Book preview

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Strength And Stay

‘There is nothing like it for morale to be reminded that the years are passing — ever more quickly — and that bits are beginning to drop off the ancient frame. But it is nice to be remembered at all.’

Philip’s response to being awarded an ‘Oldie of the Year Award’ in 2011

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Throughout his long and eventful life, Prince Philip had been a stickler for precision and military detail. The arrangements for his death and funeral, he vowed, would be no different. He could not abide commotion and confusion. He loathed it as much as he did in receiving personal praise. His mantra in life had, after all, always been, ‘Just get on with it’.

Philip was as pragmatic about death as he was practical in life. His first instruction was that he would not die in hospital, but at Windsor Castle, his home. Further detailed instructions for his own funeral, known by the codename ‘Operation Forth Bridge’, were to be carried out to the letter and were incontestable. He ruled that there would be no state service at Westminster Abbey, even though as the Queen’s husband he was entitled to one, nor would his body lie in state. Instead, Prince Philip settled on having a ceremonial military funeral at St George’s Chapel, Windsor, the high-medieval Gothic style Royal Peculiar and the Chapel of the Order of the Garter, located in the Lower Ward of the castle built in 1475. In addition, the duke instructed that a palace official should not confirm or deny anything about his death until the designated footman, dressed in full livery, had attached the framed notice to the gates of Buckingham Palace. Then and only then could the Royal Family’s team of communications officers at the palace press office be allowed to break the silence. Everyone with a role in this final piece of solemn theatre knew exactly what to do and when, so that it could be carried out, as Philip planned, with the minimum of fuss. When the COVID-19 pandemic first struck in March 2020 and both he and the Queen were forced to relocate and self-isolate at Windsor he agreed to simplify the funeral arrangements still further should anything happen to him. He never liked loose ends.

Robust and controversial, Prince Philip inevitably had detractors. They preferred to focus on his so-called ‘gaffes’, perceived blunders and crotchety remarks, rather than his huge achievements. He deserves his place in history on merit. Reducing Philip to a caricature of himself is a gross misrepresentation of one of life’s great characters, leaders and innovators and does him a disservice. He often uttered his risqué comments simply to liven up dull proceedings, and at boring official events he often drew a laugh by saying: ‘You’re going to see the world’s most experienced plaque unveiler at work.’ He once got a roar of laughter from the crowd on a visit to Canada in 1969, ‘I declare this thing open, whatever it is.’ He would tell advisers that when he entered a room, he would look along a line and select one person he would try to make laugh.

I was fortunate to have met the Duke of Edinburgh many times in my capacity as a royal correspondent and author, both in public and private. He was president of my London club, the Naval and Military Club (known as the In & Out club) at 4, St James Square. Indeed, Naval history remained a keen interest throughout his life. He was appointed a Trustee of the National Maritime Museum in 1948. He was instrumental in saving the tea clipper Cutty Sark – now a museum ship stationed in Greenwich – and in establishing the Maritime Trust.

He was funny, sometimes audacious, and sharp-witted on each occasion. He didn’t care about offending the politically correct brigade and spent even less time on any criticism they may have thrown his way. As for the ladies and gentlemen of the press, he had even less time and, despite having a number of friends who were journalists in his earlier years, took to referring to them as ‘The Reptiles’. In 1983 in Bangladesh, the Queen and the duke were standing in the garden of a government building to meet guests waiting in line for a cocktail party. Ashley Walton, the then royal correspondent of the Daily Express, was with other members of the travelling ‘Royal Rat Pack’ of reporters at the end of the line. Philip, not realising he could be overheard, turned to the Queen and grimaced: ‘Here come the bloody reptiles!’

When asked if he felt the press has been unfair to him or misrepresented him, he said, ‘I suppose, yes, occasionally but I think it has its own agenda and, and that’s it, you just have to live with it.’ He saw journalists as fair game, as they saw the royals in a similar light. Whenever he came into direct contact with one, he would toy with his prey, but just like a cat with a mouse he was not actually playing.

When he was guest of honour at the 60th birthday dinner of the Foreign Press Association in London in 1948, he described journalists as ‘the people’s ambassadors’ but then added caustically: ‘I often wish the people didn’t want to know quite so much.’ The Parliamentary Press Gallery invited him as its guest of honour in 1956 and asked for his views on journalists in general. ‘It is very tempting,’ said the duke, ‘but I think I had better wait until I get a bit older.’

Indeed, he had been making jokes at the expense of the press for years. Looking at the Barbary apes on a visit to the Rock of Gibraltar in 1950, accompanied by a posse of press, he joked, ‘Which are the apes, and which are the reporters?’ Even senior journalists who had been invited to his home were not safe. I remember at a media reception held at Windsor Castle in 2002 to mark the Queen’s Golden Jubilee, which I attended, he was on top form.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Simon Kelner.

‘I’m the editor-in-chief of The Independent, sir.’

‘What are you doing here?’ asked the duke?

‘You invited me.’

‘Well, you didn’t have to come!’

His next victim was Martin Townsend, the bespectacled and affable then editor of the Sunday Express.

‘Ah the Sunday Express,’ said Philip. ‘I was very fond of Arthur Christiansen.’

‘Yes, there’s been a long line of distinguished editors,’ replied Townsend.

‘I didn’t say that!’ Philip replied bluntly before walking away.

At the same reception I was chatting to two distinguished Irish journalists as the royals worked the room. Out of nowhere the duke appeared. He peered at the labels on our lapels and as soon as he had worked out that they were Irishmen he then proceeded to tell a completely inappropriate Irish joke. ‘Did you hear the one about the Irish pilot who radioed the Air Traffic Control Tower saying he had a problem?’ They clearly had heard it, but played along politely. ‘Tower control then cleared him to land,’ Philip said, ‘but also asked for his height and position.’

‘Well, I’m five foot eight and I am sitting in the cockpit at the front of the plane,’ said the duke and delighted at being the first to laugh at the punchline of his own joke. We all dutifully joined in. Then he read my name badge which said, Robert Jobson, Royal Correspondent, The Sun. He also recognised my Naval and Military Club tie and just tutted, said, ‘They’ll let anyone in these days’ and walked off to find his next victim with the enthusiasm of a naughty schoolboy.

But there was another side to the duke rarely seen, even when it came to interacting with media. His staff loved him too. Whenever he hosted a party for his team, he made sure everyone who had supported him and his work was invited from the cleaners to his private secretary. He always commanded fierce loyalty.

He was often unpleasant and impatient when dealing with photographers. He let fly with the f-word at an unfortunate photographer during a photo call that he deemed to be taking too long at an event to mark the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Britain on 19 July 2015. His temper exploded as the official photographer dithered. ‘Just take the fucking picture!’ At the Windsor Horse Trials he agreed to allow a woman member of the public to take a picture of her daughter and him together as he was about to leave. However, when the camera failed for the third time, he let out his familiar expletive and drove off, much to the little girl’s surprise.

Despite his reputation, he wasn’t always so rude to photographers and reporters and on rare occasions he could be generous and accommodating. Once Sun photographer Mark Sweeney, later the newspaper’s Scottish picture editor, was sent to scout Balmoral with a colleague and they were getting nowhere. His friend had just taken delivery of a gleaming new BMW and they decided to abandon the royal watch and drive five miles south of Braemar to Loch Muick to take some shots of the car with a classic Scottish background. After a few minutes, a Range Rover Vogue SE pulled up towing a fishing boat, with Philip at the wheel. He was alone.

‘Are you guys off duty?’ Philip asked, mistaking the two photographers for policemen, ‘Could you help me launch the boat into the loch?’ Mark agreed and made sure the duke was aware that they were Sun photographers, which didn’t faze him. They proceeded to help him get the small fishing boat into the water. Without the photographers asking, Philip said, ‘I should get some fish in a while, do you want to get some shots of my pulling them out of the water?’. The pair, both unassuming in their approach, were delighted and sent the excellent and exclusive shots to the picture desks in Glasgow and London who were thrilled.

Most importantly, he was the Queen’s most loyal and trusted supporter, somebody she could rely on completely to help her through the longest reign in British history. At this time of mourning and reflection, it is right to remember and respect his dedicated service to his wife Queen Elizabeth, his country, and the institution of monarchy. A tireless supporter of charity, industry, the arts, and education, he was founder, fellow, patron, president, chairman and member of more than 800 organisations. He was also the head of his family: by the time of his death, he was a father of four, grandfather of eight and great-grandfather of another ten.

For decades, Philip shared the Queen’s burden of office without upstaging her, always privately providing reassurance and advice but never overstepping the boundaries of his supporting role. It was an unforgiving position – a challenge for anyone – but one that he met head on. He remained the Queen’s adviser all her adult life and into his retirement and was instantly recognised the world over. That said, he was wise enough to acknowledge his limitations and the constraints that came with his public role. He always seemed to instinctively know when it was time to step back and let his wife take the lead. His job after all was always to allow her star to shine.

In his 90th birthday interview he told the BBC that he had to work out what his role would be for himself by trial and error. ‘There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, What do you expect me to do? they all looked blank. They had no idea, nobody had much idea,’ he said in a typically forthright manner.

Philip was very reluctant to talk about himself and his achievements too to BBC broadcaster Fiona Bruce, refusing to say what he was most proud of. ‘I couldn’t care less,’ he said gruffly when asked if he thought he had been successful in his role. ‘Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.’ ¹

I am sure Philip did consider his legacy; he did ‘after all’ achieve a great deal in his life both as a role model and leader. He inspired young people to be the best they could be, to develop strength of character through action and experience and gave them a platform to help them achieve it. Perhaps his most far-reaching initiative was his eponymous The Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, which has stretched the capabilities of millions of young people globally. Drawing on his experiences at Gordonstoun, and at the suggestion of his old headmaster, Kurt Hahn, he established the Award in 1956. He appointed Brigadier Sir John Hunt, leader of the British expedition that had scaled Everest three years earlier, as the scheme’s first director. The activity programme was borne out of Philip’s belief that the young should be given opportunities to learn and wanted to introduce young people to new experiences, including physical, skills-based and community challenges ². ‘I don’t run it – I’ve said it’s all fairly second-hand, the whole business. I mean, I eventually got landed with the responsibility or the credit for it,’ he said when pressed about it. ‘I’ve got no reason to be proud of it. It’s satisfying that we’ve set up a formula that works – that’s it,’ he finally said grudgingly to Fiona Bruce. She seemed a little taken aback by the irascible duke, but she soon recovered her composure. Philip, never one for saying sorry, loved putting interviewers on the back foot and testing resolve.

When the at first bullish interviewer Alan Titchmarsh interviewed Philip for ITV’s Philip at 90, the unfortunate television personality didn’t fare much better.

‘You were thrust into combat at a very early age,’ he remarked, before the duke barked back, ‘So was (sic) lots of other people.’

‘Was fatherhood a role you were conscious of fulfilling?’

‘‘No, I was just a father,’ came Philip’s blunt response.

‘It ³ has been a unique position,’ Titchmarsh offered up limply, which Philip batted back, ‘There have been several others, Prince Albert, Prince George.’

‘Were you ⁴ trying to make a difference?’

‘I was asked to do it,’ Philip replied with a deep sigh.

‘You’ve been voted Oldie of the Year.’ Titchmarsh added, his optimism draining from his voice, but this time hopeful of a lighter response.

‘So what?’ Philip responded irritably, ‘You just get old.’

Philip had actually been touched at getting that title from The Oldie publication. In a self-effacing letter to the organisers of an awards ceremony to celebrate the achievements of the elderly, the duke admitted that time was passing ‘ever more quickly’ as he prepared to enter his tenth decade, with the inevitable effect on his ‘morale’. In accepting the award Philip showed he hadn’t allowed physical frailty to affect his sense of humour. He apologised for not being able to appear in person at Simpsons in the Strand to collect it and added, ‘I much appreciate your invitation to receive an ‘Oldie of the Year Award’. There is nothing like it for morale to be reminded that the years are passing — ever more quickly — and that bits are beginning to drop off the ancient frame. But it is nice to be remembered at all.’

Prince Philip was much more, however, than a sharp-witted raconteur, who would walk two-steps behind his wife when carrying out public engagements. He was his wife’s ‘liege man’, dedicated to the Crown and a resolute public servant. He was the Queen’s rock throughout her long reign, and his death will be devastating to her.

For someone who has always kept her feelings a closely guarded secret, it is impossible it know the true depth of impact the loss of her husband will have upon the Queen. She will of course be comforted by her faith. But there is no doubt that she truly loved Philip. On 20 November 1997, after 50 years of marriage, her love and devotion were incontrovertible as she marked their golden wedding anniversary at Banqueting House, Whitehall. She let her guard down for a moment and gave a remarkably personal and heartfelt tribute to her husband. ‘All too often, I fear, Prince Philip has had to listen to me speaking. Frequently we have discussed my intended speech beforehand and, as you will imagine, his views have been expressed in a forthright manner,’ Queen Elizabeth told the audience that included the then British Prime Minister The Rt Hon Tony Blair. ‘He is someone who doesn’t take easily to compliments but he has, quite simply, been my strength and stay all these years, and I, and his whole family, and this and many other countries, owe him a debt greater than he would ever claim, or we shall ever know.’

Elizabeth and Philip’s marriage was not a dynastic arrangement to cement a treaty or an alliance with a foreign power as in days gone by. It was a true love match, built on foundations of romance and loyalty. Philip, who presented the Queen with an engraved ‘E and P’ diamond and ruby bracelet to mark their fifth anniversary, romanced his wife throughout their long lives with love tokens and personal trinkets. At times, like any husband, he infuriated her, but they shared a similar sense of humour and those close to the couple said he always managed to make her laugh. Her Majesty’s life with Philip was never dull. As their beloved daughter-in-law Sophie, Countess of Wessex, wife of their fourth child, Prince Edward, and a close confidante of the Queen, said when she gave a rare glimpse into the dynamic of the relationship, ‘For her to have found somebody like him, I don’t think she could have chosen better. And they make each other laugh – which is half the battle, isn’t it?’

Whenever possible Elizabeth and Philip made time to take afternoon tea together when they were in residence at the same time and would talk over their experiences of the day. Philip lived almost full-time at Wood Farm on the Sandringham Estate in Norfolk after he retired, and while Her Majesty continued with her official duties, such intimacy was less frequent. But when Philip informed his wife, five years Philip’s junior, that he wanted to effectively step down from royal duties, she rightly felt he had earned his rest after nearly 70 years of public service as a working member of the Royal Family.

The COVID-19 lockdowns in 2020 changed this. Forced to shield together in Windsor Castle in isolation from the rest of the Royal Family, Philip and the Queen spent more time together than ever and it brought the couple as close as any time in their 72-year marriage. Having Philip at her side again, and being able to spend quality time with her husband, appeared to give her a new lease of life, those close to her said. They were cared for by a small team of loyal staff, who were dubbed ‘HMS Bubble’. They were able to relax and finally live relatively normal lives, as people in their 90s perhaps should be able to. They de-camped to Balmoral, Aberdeenshire, the Queen’s privately owned Scottish estate, for their summer break, but cut short their trip after six weeks as they found it a little tedious, with all the social distancing rules and restrictions due to coronavirus. They spent a further two weeks on her Norfolk estate, Sandringham before she returned to Windsor, with Philip remaining on Wood Farm, his usual residence after retiring. In early November 2020, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh reunited at Windsor Castle for the second national lockdown, where they spent a quiet Christmas without their family, again due to the coronavirus. It was the first time in 32 years that the couple had not been at Sandringham, normally marked by a procession of royals walking from the big house to nearby St Mary Magdalene church to attend the morning service, watched by members of the public, for the festive period. The Queen also announced that she would not attend a Christmas Day Service at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle to avoid attracting crowds. The Palace said the couple hoped ‘things would get back to normal’ in 2021. Sadly, that was not to be the case. Without Philip at the head of the table, how could it be?

Philip was admitted to the King Edward VII Hospital in London on 17 February 2021 as a ‘precautionary measure’ on the advice of a palace doctor. After being taken to the private hospital by car he walked in unaided. It was not an emergency admission or COVID-related, but it was a warning. Sadly, it came on the day that his retired page Christopher Harry Marlow, who had been honoured with a bar to his Royal Victorian Medal (Silver) by the Queen upon his retirement in 2003, had died. The duke had been ‘feeling unwell for a short period and the doctor was called’ and the phrase that was used by his doctors was ‘an abundance of caution’. Boris Johnson led the nation in sending his best wishes to the duke for a speedy recovery and wished him well while he rested in hospital. The Prince of Wales made a 100-mile trip to visit the Duke of Edinburgh in hospital three days later and spent half an hour at his bedside, leaving shortly before 4pm. Observers described him as looking sombre as he climbed into his car.

During the time they spent together at the castle in lockdown, Elizabeth and Philip were able to rediscover some of the happiness of their earlier years and this will surely give Her Majesty memories to cherish and strength in her time of need and mourning.

1 He was particularly awkward with Fiona Bruce because he understood his friend the broadcaster Selina Scott was due to conduct the interview, but the BBC hierarchy had replaced her.

2 Since it was founded more than four million young people from over 90 countries have taken part. When the scheme marked its 60th anniversary, more than 2.5 million awards had been earned. It was typical of the hands-on involvement that helped give many organisations a push and in some cases, in Philip’s inimitable style, a good shove. At the 50th anniversary of the Duke of Edinburgh’s Awards scheme he got a laugh when he joked, ‘Young people are the same as they always were. They are just as ignorant.’

3 The role of Queen's consort

4 When appointed president of one of the 847 organisations he has headed

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Nomadic Prince

‘I didn’t know any different, you just get on with it.’

Prince Philip when asked about his upbringing

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The Queen and Prince Philip’s marriage is seen as the bedrock of our modern monarchy. For 75 years he was her rock, somebody she could rely on without question. So it seems hard to imagine now that there were many leading figures, including her father, the king, who were against the union. It meant their journey to the altar of Westminster Abbey to pronounce the marital vows was far from smooth. Elizabeth, headstrong and determined despite her comparative youth, had to fight for what she wanted, and what she wanted without question was Philip.

Philip, as a young man, was seen by some in the British establishment as an outsider and a threat. Born Prince Philippos of Greece and Denmark, the man destined to wed the most eligible woman in the world and be elevated to HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, was born on a kitchen table at his family’s villa Mon Repos, south of Corfu City on the Greek isle of Corfu on 10 June 1921 ¹.

Philip may have had the bloodline, connections and good looks to marry well, but events meant he didn’t have the fortune to match. His mother, a great-granddaughter of the last monarch of the Hanoverian dynasty Queen Empress Victoria, was Princess Alice of Battenberg. Born congenitally deaf, she was a Hessian princess by birth as the Battenberg family was a morganatic branch of the House of Hesse-Darmstadt.

The first member of the House of Battenberg was Julia Hauke, whose brother-in-law Grand Duke Louis III of Hesse created her Countess of Battenberg with the style Illustrious Highness in 1851 on her morganatic marriage to Grand Duke Louis’ brother Prince Alexander of Hesse and by Rhine. Julia was elevated in her title to Princess of Battenberg with the style Serene Highness (HSH) in 1858. Two of the sons of Alexander and Julia, Prince Henry of Battenberg and Prince Louis of Battenberg, became associated with the British Royal Family. Prince Henry married Princess Beatrice, the youngest daughter of Queen Victoria. Prince Louis married Victoria’s granddaughter, Princess Victoria of Hesse and by Rhine, and became the First Sea Lord of the British Royal Navy.

Due to understandable anti-German feelings in Britain during the great 1914–1918 war, not even the King, George V, and the Royal Family and their close relations were safe from criticism. Author H. G. Wells confirmed King George’s worst fears in his Times newspaper column, in which he referred to Britain’s ‘Alien and uninspiring court’. George V, who thought Wells to be ‘impertinent’, famously responded, ‘I may be uninspiring but I’ll be damned if I’m an alien.’

Lord Stamfordham, George V’s private secretary, in cahoots with Prime Minster David Lloyd George, felt the King needed to distance himself from his blatant German ancestry given the wave of anti-German feeling sweeping the country at the time. On 17 July 1917 the Privy Council proclaimed, ‘Henceforth the royal family would be called the House of Windsor, having divested itself of its previous surname, as well as all other German degrees, styles, titles, dignitaries, honours and appellations’. After a number of alternatives were considered, including Plantagenet, York, England, Lancaster, d’Este and Fitzroy, Lord Stamfordham’s suggestion of Windsor was adopted, after a minor title once held by Edward III.

His cousin the Kaiser, himself a grandson of Queen Victoria, saw the funny side and remarked he looked forward to attending a performance of The Merry Wives of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. A more serious and altogether grander disapproval came from the Bavarian Count Albrecht von Montgelas, who commented that, ‘The true royal tradition died on that day in 1917 when, for a mere war, King George V changed his name.’

It was not just the immediate family, but all branches of the family that were impacted. The Teck family became the Cambridges and took the Earldom of Athlone, the Battenbergs, Philip’s mother’s family, overnight were transformed into the Mountbattens with the Marquisate of Milford Haven. Prince Louis, his children and his nephews (the living sons of Prince Henry) were effectively forced to renounce their German titles and changed their name to the more English-sounding Mountbatten. (They rejected an alternative translation, Battenhill.) Their cousin, George V, compensated the princes with British peerages. Louis became the 1st Marquess of Milford Haven, while Prince Alexander, Prince Henry’s eldest son, became the 1st Marquess of Carisbrooke. He was offered a dukedom by the King but declined as he could not afford the lavish lifestyle expected of a duke.

As for George, who had always been quintessentially British and found German ‘a rotten language’, he felt the move was timely and necessary, given the hostility to royal houses across Europe which had led to their collapse, and it received a positive reaction in the press. It proved a wise move as one of the most important roles of the Windsor monarchs was to act as national figureheads during the two devastating wars of 1914–1918 and 1939–1945 ostensibly against Germany.

Although Prince Philip’s uncle on his father’s side was King Constantine I of Greece, he did not have a drop of Greek blood as he was descended from both Danish, German and British royalty. Philip’s father was the son of King George I of Greece, a former Danish prince installed as the Greek monarch in 1863 and later assassinated in 1913. Andrea was a major-general in the Greek army and had already left to take up his command the day before his son’s birth and did not see him for months.

Philip’s mother wrote to inform her husband of the ‘splendid, healthy child’ who at birth was sixth in line to the Greek throne. But this was an insecure royal house, one that could be toppled by its volatile people at any given moment. Philip was born into dangerous times. Greece was again involved in a bloody war with old enemy and neighbour Turkey (Asia Minor at the time) and when the military campaign, led by the Greek king, proved an unmitigated disaster, the people and politicians looked to their royal family as scapegoats. After the humiliating defeat was confirmed, discontent spread among the middle-ranking officers and men and it boiled over into a full-scale armed revolt led by anti-royalist senior officers. The destruction of the Greek forces in Anatolia led to calls for those responsible for the shambles to be punished. The government of Petros Protopapadakis resigned on 28 August and the new government headed by Nikolaos Triantafyllakos replaced it. Within days, on 11 September, the revolution was declared, with the formation of a Revolutionary Committee headed by Colonels Nikolaos Plastiras as representative of the army in Chios and Stylianos Gonatas as representative of the army in Lesvos and Commander Dimitrios Fokas as representative of the navy.

The next day, the troops boarded their ships and headed to Athens. Before they arrived there, a military aeroplane delivered a manifesto demanding the resignation of King Constantine I, the dissolution of the parliament and the formation of a new politically independent government. On 13 September, King Constantine resigned and went into exile, in Italy. His son, George II, was declared king. On 15 September, the troops of revolution entered the city of Athens and blocked the efforts Theodoros Pangalos was making to take advantage of the situation and take control of the government. Soon a new government was formed with Sotirios Krokidas as chairman.

With the king forced to leave his country, angry mobs demanded a scapegoat and Philip’s unfortunate father, Andrea, fitted the bill. He was arrested and charged with poor leadership and disobeying a direct order. He was warned by a member of the newly installed government that his son and four daughters would soon be orphans. A date was set for his court-martial in Athens. Philip’s older sister, Princess Sophie of Greece and Denmark, noted the family’s trauma in her private memoir. ‘My father’s trial ended with him being sentenced to death. Many governments tried to save his life including King Alfonso XIII of Spain and the Pope. But finally my father’s first cousin Britain’s George V succeeded in having the death sentence remitted.’

He may have been spared his life by the intervention of his powerful extended family but Andrea felt he had been stripped of his honour. What followed was difficult for the proud prince to live with, the humiliating prospect of a perpetual exile from his country. Indeed thanks to George V ² the family was spirited to safety in the battleship cruiser HMS Calypso. Unsurprisingly, it was a chaotic and dangerous time for the whole family, and they didn’t have enough time to make sure Philip had a proper cot or carriage to carry him in. They had to think quickly to work out a way to transport the infant Philip, so the family got creative and carried him aboard in an orange crate. It might not have been the most comfortable means of travel for Philip, but it managed to help him and his family successfully flee to safety.

With little money and no papers, the royal refugees sailed to Britain dreaming of a calmer existence. But if they thought they would be welcome there due to George’s intervention, they were soon to be disappointed. It was only five years after the Russian Revolution when another of George V’s cousins, Russian Emperor Tsar Nicholas II, his wife Empress Alexandra and their five children, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia and Alexei, had been shot and bayoneted to death by Communist revolutionaries in Yekaterinburg. European royalty was on the run with the rise of socialism and the King did not welcome the idea of having exiled royals on display in England reminding his subjects that royalty and monarchy was not permanent and could be overthrown. The prospect of living in London among a rather hostile people didn’t appeal to Andrea and his family either so instead he decided to take his family to Paris where he was lent a suite of rooms in a palais on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne.

There was always a sense of impermanence for Andrea and his family. The exiled prince soon realised he didn’t have the capital to pay for the household that came with the accommodation so they moved across the Seine to a lodge in the garden of the impressive mansion 5 Rue du Mont-Valérian, situated in the hill-top suburb of St Cloud, a few miles west from the centre of Paris. The property surrounded by apple trees, belonged to the heiress wife of Andrea’s elder brother Prince George of Greece and Denmark, known to the family as ‘Big George’. Princess Marie Bonaparte, who was a great-grandniece of Emperor Napoleon I of France, had inherited her huge wealth from her maternal grandfather François Blanc, the principal real-estate developer of Monte Carlo. She was destined to be a disciple and benefactor of Sigmund Freud and thus central to the establishment of psychoanalysis and sexology in France.

The dramatic escape and fall from power took its toll on Philip’s parents leaving them scarred mentally. They were broke too. Although Marie was a gracious and generous hostess who did her best to support her husband’s brother and his family and small staff, Andrea’s finances were a mess. He had managed to bring some money with him during the hurried exit from Greece and had a bequest from Constantine, his brother, as well as an annuity from his late father but it was not enough to sustain him and his family. He had inherited villa Mon Repos but feared his property in Greece would be confiscated by the revolutionary government. To his surprise it was not and in 1926 he secured a deal to lease it to his wife’s wealthy brother, Lord Louis ‘Dickie’ Mountbatten; that provided another modest source of much-needed cash. He eventually sold Mon Repos to his nephew King George II of Greece in 1937 having won a legal case legitimising his ownership.

Philip’s mother, who had inherited a tenth of the estate of her father Prince Louis of Battenberg, suffered terribly from the family’s enforced refugee status. Her inheritance had been radically reduced due to the war and the Russian Revolution. Philip, sensitive to his surroundings and his family’s plight, appreciated that there was a need to economise and to value what he had, so much so that he acquired a reputation of being mean.

Philip, however, recalled his childhood as a happy time. His resilient family had learned to always make the best of their situation. Supported by his uncle Christopher, in 1927 Philip, aged six, was enrolled at an American school known as the Elms. He settled in quickly insisting on being called ‘just Philip’ (dumping the princely title) when he was asked to introduce himself, as he wisely was reluctant to stand out by letting the other boys know of his high birth.

Princess Alice encouraged the headmaster, Donald MacJannet, known to the boys as ‘Mr Mac’, to establish a Cub Scout group so that her son’s ‘great vitality’ was put to good use. Another key figure of constancy in the young Philip’s life was the family nanny, Emily Roose, a down-to-earth English woman, who instilled a sense of the importance of the English language and values in him.

Philip enjoyed his first school and the challenges it threw up. ‘I had four sisters and we were living in quite a small house just outside Paris and I went to an American children’s school. I was French and English speaking because I had an English nanny and the family spoke about four languages so one got a bit confused,’ he recalled. ‘Often a conversation would start in English then somebody couldn’t remember the word so it went on in French then it went into Greek and then into German and this would happen all the