‘I am insulted by the people,’ he had cried. ‘I can’t sleep for thinking of them and my ministers. They hate me. They won’t let me alone.’

And so on in such a strain that she had feared he was losing his mind. He had feared it too. ‘Sometimes,’ he said to her, ‘I fear I’m going mad. There should be a Regency Bill. George is too young…’ George had been three years old at the time. ‘A Regency Bill… a Regency Bill…’

And at that time he had developed that urgent repetitive manner of speaking which had stayed with him; and often she was reminded of that terrible time when she, a newcomer to England at that time with a three-year-old George, a two-year-old Frederick and William on the way but not yet arrived, had wondered what her fate would be if her husband went mad.

He had recovered; but such an illness left its scars and often she asked herself: Is he going mad again?

And this notion of sending young William to sea seemed a form of madness.

William sat at the supper table next to his father in the place of honour so that the King might talk to him and give him advice, which he did incessantly.

‘I’ve sent off a hair trunk, my boy, with two chests and two cots done up in a mat. You’ll settle in. You’ll soon be telling us that there’s no life like that of a sailor. Yes, a hair trunk…’

George looked at Frederick and said slyly: ‘Papa, how many hair trunks?’

The King’s white eyebrows shot up and his blue protuberant eyes regarded his eldest son. The young fellow always seemed to him too arrogant and he resented that air of languid elegance about him.

Frederick suppressed a guffaw and their mother trembled while the others looked on in admiration of the Prince of Wales who dared mock their father.

‘A hair trunk, I said.’

‘I see, Papa, I thought there were several.’

‘One hair trunk,’ said the King, ‘two chests and two cots done up in one mat.’

‘William is lucky to have Your Majesty nurse him like a… like a… nursemaid.’

‘H’m,’ said the King, never sure of George, suspecting that he was trying to be insolent but determined not to have friction with his eldest son on the eve of William’s departure.

He turned his attention to William. ‘I shall give you a Bible before you go. Read it every day.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘You are about, my dear boy, to leave your home and to enter into a profession in which, I will not hide from you, you will be obliged to undergo many hardships and be surrounded by danger. You understand, eh, what? Your first duty is to your superior officers. If you are going to command you must first learn to obey; and you should not think that your rank absolves you from any menial task which may be demanded of you. Don’t think that because you are the son of a king you will be treated differently from officers of the same rank. The same discipline and routine will be yours. You will not be known as a prince but as a common sailor. Understand?’

The Prince of Wales shuddered and put a hand over his eyes as though to conceal his emotion; the Queen frowned; but the King was rambling on, having said what he had prepared himself to say and now repeating it.

William was almost glad when the party broke up.

‘Retire early,’ said the King. ‘A good night’s sleep. You’ll need all your wits about you tomorrow.’

George embraced his brother with tears in his eyes. George wept easily and effectively.

‘Don’t forget, William,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon be home. Then we’ll enjoy life… together.’

George could offer more comfort than the King with all his homilies and the Queen with all her fears.

Midshipman Guelph

THE NEXT MORNING William left for Portsmouth to join the Prince George at Spithead, a vessel of ninety-eight guns under the command of Rear-Admiral Digby. He was dressed in plain blue jacket, sailor’s trousers and a low crowned hat. The Prince of Wales suppressed a shudder as he looked at his brother for he did not wish William to know how humiliating he considered it even to wear such clothes.

Final farewells were said and William trying not to cry set off in the company of Mr Majendie, his tutor, who, in spite of the King’s determination to make the Prince live as an ordinary midshipman, must accompany him to give his daily lessons. Although the boy was to be a sailor he must not be uneducated; and as he was not yet fourteen it could not be said that his education was complete. It was only when he was jogging along those country roads in his unfamiliar garments that he was overcome by the strangeness of everything and he felt this was indeed the most wretched moment of his life. He yearned for the old nursery days with George in command; he longed to be anywhere but on the way to join the Prince George. The only comfort was in the name, but even that only reminded him of his beloved brother.

Still, as George had said, he was not the most imaginative of them and this did enable him not to dwell too much on what the future might be but to wait and see what it was like; and he kept telling himself he had always wanted to go to sea.

He tried to think of great battles with himself directing actions from his flagship. Admiral Prince William… but he was supposed to forget he was a prince, of course.

Arrived at Spithead there was no welcome for him. Instructions had been that he was to be treated like any midshipman. He was not without courage and as he descended the ladder into the steerage he felt a lifting of his spirits. After all, this was adventure such as George himself had never had; and he thought of those leaves when he would tell his brothers all about this and they would listen enthralled because it was something they had never experienced. He must act like a king’s son although he must never remind anyone that he was.

He looked about him; what an airless place. Surely the King with his passion for fresh air would never have agreed to his sleeping in such quarters.

This was where midshipmen slept, ate and spent their leisure he supposed. He could not imagine anything less like the royal apartments at Kew, St James’s, Windsor or Buckingham House.

Peering into the gloom he made out a table covered with a stained table-cloth; he wrinkled his nose with disgust at the odour of cooking grease and onions, and wondered what was the horrible smell which dominated everything else and discovered later that it came from the bilge water.

How was he going to eat in such a place, sleep in that narrow berth? How could he live here in between leaves? Going to sea was not what he had thought it would be. He had dreamed of commanding from his flagship, winning great victories – not living in quarters like these. Then with a start he realized he was not alone in this dark place. He was surrounded by silent watchers.

There were other boys down here all wearing the same kind of jacket and trousers and low crowned hats. They were staring at him.

Seeing that he was aware of them, one crept forward and peered into his face. William knew at once that they were conscious of his identity and did not like him the better for it. He knew too that they would have been told: Treat him as one of yourselves. That is the wish of the King.

He thought of George and wondered what he would have done in such circumstances. But George would have refused to wear these clothes in the first place; he would have come here in velvet coat and diamond shoe buckles and no one would have dared look at George as these boys were looking at him now.

‘Have you come to sail with us?’ called a voice from a berth, and a cloud of evil-smelling tobacco came from the same direction.

‘I have,’ said William.

‘You have, have you,’ was the comment. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘I am entered as Prince William Henry,’ said William, ‘but my father’s name is Guelph.’

‘Guelph, is it? We are not to bow three times every time we see you, you know.’

William laughed. ‘Why should anyone bow three times?’ he asked. ‘You must call me William Guelph, for I am now nothing more than a sailor like you. Which is my berth?’

There had always been something natural about William; his fellow midshipmen sensed it now. They had been expecting a swaggering arrogant young coxcomb whom they had determined to put in his place since the orders had gone round that he was to be treated like the rest of them.

But how could they put William in his place when he had already put himself there?

‘I’ll show you,’ said the young man who had asked the questions, leaping from his berth and coming up to William. ‘What do you think of it, eh? It’s not St James’s Palace, you know, and it’s not Windsor Castle.’

William laughed – a rather fresh innocent laugh. He had always had an ability to make friends which his brothers lacked. His was so natural and at heart modest.

The atmosphere changed suddenly. William’s shipmates had decided that although they had a king’s son among them he was not very different from themselves.

A few days after his arrival the Prince George set sail for Torbay and from there went to join the Channel Fleet, the immediate task of which was to prevent the French fleet joining up with that of Spain. This, however, the British fleet failed to accomplish and the combined ships of France and Spain sailed boldly up the Channel as far as Plymouth causing consternation all along the south-west coast of England. The Spanish and French commanders stood on their decks looking through their binoculars at the land and deciding that it would soon be theirs. When they saw the wooded hills of Devon and the rich red soil their eyes glittered greedily, but when they saw too the guns trained on them and heard that Sir Charles Hardy, who commanded the British fleet, was on his way they lost heart and retreated.