Into the interstices of these activities he fitted his academic life. Some further education was badly needed; his mind in 1912 was a ragbag of miscellaneous information and his power of expressing what he knew was limited. He spelt deplorably; in one letter alone writing ‘chaplin’ for chaplain, ‘chapple’ for chapel, ‘colision’, ‘dammaged’ and ‘explaned’. He was supposed to go regularly to lectures and follow a programme of special studies with tutors. The lectures he frequently eschewed. He went once to hear Walter Raleigh on English literature and complained, ‘It was very hard to understand and I do not think I shall go to any more.’126 The Rev. Lancelot Phelps on political economy proved more attractive: ‘Political Economy interests me more the more that I do it and I think I have quite got hold of the line of thought.’127 But the individual tuition was more important. The Prince studied history with Charles Grant Robertson, French with Monsieur Berthon, German with Professor Fiedler and constitutional law with Sir William Anson, the Warden of All Souls. Anson probably taught the Prince almost everything of importance which he retained from his time at Oxford; a brilliant expositor, a man of charm, humour and generosity, he was liked as well as admired by the Prince – ‘a remarkable and distinguished little man,’ he called him affectionately.128
Unfortunately, the central figure, to whom the Prince had to read an essay every week, was the President of Magdalen, Sir Herbert Warren. Warren had a good mind and no doubt many other redeeming features, but what most struck the undergraduates was that he was a bore and a snob. The Prince loathed him – ‘an awful old man’ he described him.129 Reading an essay to a critical and often supercilious pedagogue is always an ordeal; it is made worse if one dislikes one’s auditor. The Prince dreaded his weekly session. He knew, with reason, that essay-writing was not his forte and rarely got any pleasure from their composition. Most of his efforts survive;130 on St Anselm, Beaconsfield, Chatham, Nelson, ‘The Relation of Democracy to War’, Tennyson. They were conscientious, superficial and unimaginative. Cromwell was ‘one of England’s greatest statesmen and generals’; on ‘Ambition’ he commented: ‘The most ideal form of ambition is when it is used for the sake of one’s country. That patriotism should be the genuine motive is the most perfect thing conceivable.’
His best essay, and the subject which he most cared about, dealt with the explorer Scott. He had read Scott’s Last Expedition while on holiday at York Cottage, a laborious process, since he read slowly and it kept him up until 1 a.m. for almost a month, but a rewarding one: ‘It is a most fascinating book and a wonderful story of pluck in the face of ghastly hardship and suffering.’131 His essay reflected this enthusiasm; Warren thought well enough of it to send it to the King, who passed it on to the historian and former prime minister, Lord Rosebery. Rosebery was predictably enthusiastic: ‘It was really admirable … a clear, sympathetic and vigorous narrative through which one can see the author’s heart. I am quite astonished at it …’ He wrote more as courtier than critic, but the essay did deserve praise. The Prince’s final comment was characteristic: ‘It bears out the fact that Englishmen can endure hardships and face death as it should be faced.’132
It cannot be said that Oxford widened his cultural horizons. ‘We listened to classical music till 10.00. It was very dull,’ he wrote gloomily in his diary; and again after the Russian ballet, ‘That form of entertainment, like most stage things, leaves me stone cold.’133 Nor did he become a reading man. His tutors constantly praised his efforts but pointed out that his knowledge was too superficial; ‘he must read more and think more for himself which is most necessary in his position,’ was his mother’s verdict.134 ‘Bookish he will never be,’ wrote Warren in an otherwise unctuous article in The Times. Unsurprisingly, he went on: ‘The Prince of Wales will not want for power of ready and forcible presentation, either in speech or writing.’135 Lord Esher had long talks with the Prince at Balmoral and found: ‘His memory is excellent and his vocabulary unusual, and above all things, he thinks his own thoughts.’136 (The compliments were not returned. The Prince wrote of Esher: ‘That man has a finger in every pie and one cannot trust him.’137) A quick mind, a retentive memory, considerable curiosity, facility for self-expression: they were not everything but they were a lot.
The Prince admitted he owed something to Oxford but he was never fond of it nor ceased to think he would be better off in the Navy. His diary is pitted with groans about the awfulness of his life, increasing in violence as his second year wore on: ‘I’m absolutely fed up with the place and it has got on my nerves’; ‘It is pretty rotten to be back here’; ‘Back again in this hole!’138 Warren pressed him to stay on for another term and get a degree. ‘The answer to the 1st is NO and the second doesn’t interest me at all!!’139 At least in the spring and summer vacations of 1913 he escaped, both from Oxford and from his parents, to visit Germany. In later life he said that he had felt more at home in Germany than in France, ‘because there I stayed mostly among relations’.140 His diary suggests that he enjoyed himself more because he was that much older and had correspondingly greater liberty. Cadogan replaced Hansell and saw himself more as companion than as tutor, while Professor Fiedler, who was also in the entourage, was a ‘jolly old chap’ who was easily disposed of. Once in Berlin the Prince locked the professor in the bathroom and escaped with a friend to sample the night life, giving the porter the key and saying that something seemed to be wrong with the lock.141
His two longest stays were in Württemberg and Strelitz. He arrived at Württemberg in travelling clothes to find the King and his staff in full dress uniform, but soon settled in comfortably to this slow, sleepy court. Every day after a heavy lunch he and the King would drive around the city and adjoining countryside. At first the King would acknowledge the salutes of his subjects but ‘gradually movements of hand became shorter – eyes closed – all stopped – King sound asleep until horses pulled up at home and groom said “Majestät, ist zu Hause.”142 There was no golf, no tennis, no fishing, one day shooting capercaillie – ‘It is a curious sport … but I am glad to have seen it’ – too much sightseeing and too many visits to the opera. ‘I am getting fed up with life here to say the least of it.’ He was taken to Das Rheingold – ‘such a waste of time’; Siegfried – ‘appallingly dull’; Der Freischutz – ‘not exciting’.143 The King perhaps took in more than his young guest realized. The Prince had enjoyed his visits to an officers’ mess and to the Daimler factory, he told Queen Mary, ‘but visiting Museums he did not seem to like quite so much’.144
Possibly word of this visit got through to Neustrelitz, for the Grand Duchess Augusta wrote in some alarm to say that she feared the Prince would be bored, ‘there being no sports nor Games of any kind’.145 There was no reason to fear anything of the sort, replied Queen Mary firmly: ‘He is quite a contented person and never rushes about after amusement.’146 Her brother Alge, future Earl of Athlone, who was there for the visit, was less confident: ‘Strelitz, as you can imagine, after a short time is more than a young person can stand. A week is enough for Alice and me.’ He found his nephew ‘a mixture of extreme youth and boyishness with the ways of a man over forty … We both, as everyone, liked him extremely. He is so liebenswürdig [lovable] and simple, too much so, he should now realize he is “The Prince” and not require so much pushing forward.’147
Berlin proved the most enjoyable of his visits, mainly because he was entrusted for his entertainment to a young attaché at the British Embassy, Godfrey Thomas, who took him to funfairs, night clubs and the Palais de Danse, ‘where we remained till 2.00. It is a large public place frequented by very doubtful women with whom you go and dance, but it is devoid of all coarseness and vulgarity. I danced a good deal …’148 He spent one night with Kaiser Wilhelm II and was startled to find him seated behind his desk on a military saddle mounted on a wooden block. The Emperor ‘explained condescendingly that he was so accustomed to sitting on a horse he found a saddle more conducive to clear, concise thinking’.149 The Prince found his host unexpectedly easy to talk to and quite enjoyed his visit;150