“MY AND HARRY.”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16662, 18 February 1922, Page 6

“MY AND HARRY.”

THE ROYAL BETROTHAL. (By A. C. HOBBS, in the “Sydney Sun.”) LONDON, November 25. “Here's to her Royal Highness Princess Mary, who’s a grand lass, and to his lordship the \ iscount, who’s a grand Lascelles, as it were. . . j It seems right and fitting that a loyal ! Yorkshireman should be allowed to ex- ! press his feelings first and foremost, and 1 who will chide him for his exuberance j and love of a little joke, Ivlore than ! likely it was made to round off the puffing pride he feels because the “ chiefest | flower in the kingdoms is added to the ; Yorkshire posy.” | The experts have been h inting up i all the family history of the prospec- ! tive bridegroom, the elder son of the Earl of Harewood, and they have ‘"ound i that he is as good as any nice m-m i could ever be. He has had wholesome | ancestors. They stream away over the ' centuries—now and again more or less j hazily—but rise verv strongly and deS finitely in a John de Lascelles, a York--1 sliireman, of Hinderskelfe, who served j his King, Edward the Second, rj’te ! hearty lie in the fourteenth century. You will note also that the prefix “ de ” justifies a claim to the much-prized Norman blood. The blood of adventure, too, bubbled in Lord Lascelles’ forbears. The coffers of the family were very low at times, but the spirit of a glorious and lofty ambition was always very high. Two parliamentarian soldiers of the famly made it their business to sally ffirth, and after a breezy and tossing voyage upon the main in an ancient liner, triey found themselves on the West Indian shores, there to amass a wealth that was to stand their grateful descendants in good stead. THE IDEAL PRINCESS. It helped to build, in 1760, a Hare Wood, the original residence of the Lascelles—later on to be lords of Harewood—and in substantiation of th 6 assumption that there was plenty of time to spare in these bygone days, it ' is said to have taken twelve years in I the building. Harewood House is a fine ! baronial mansion eight miles north of ! and it formed a splendid tack ground for the Yorkshire boy who in j years to come was to win the heart j and hand of a Princess, j And such a Princess! She is a “ woman’s princess.” a writer in I journal affirms, but that is j I think men regard her as just the [ kind of princess a princess should be. f She is a type for all time and for all I mankind, fair, gentle, dignified, cultured, healthy, home-loving, and a little shy and reserved in her girlish development. With a thousand eyes j watching and cameras edging towards j her in circling determination, any girl of sheltered and simple upbringing j would occasionally look round with a i certain shy seriousness. But she is

winsome always. Tho photographs miss her delightful pink and white colouring and the glorious golden mass of her hair. Her smiles are becoming more frequent • she is gaining confidence. We catch her—in just the same way as the Prince was so suddenly arresting—in the act of an engaging laugh, not troubling about the thousand eyes, but genuinely amused and frankly enjoying herself. Then you see her bending over a sick child, chatting with a girl guide, shaking hands with an ex-soldier, or in interested conversation with a grey-bearded mayor of some unpretentious borough. In our short-sightedness we have been rather sorry for Princess Mary, pitying her almost for her constant engagements of a philanthropic and dull nature.

Even at occasional private dances, when the thousand eyes would be more within her own circle, etiquette decided that no man of any age, personal ■endowments or danding skill should ask her for a dance. Shy young Princess ! She. had to choose for herself and tell her hostess with whom she would condescend to float- round the room. It is said that there was always a small crowd of dancing men within easy call, and many a nervously boxful glance met her blue appraising eye. She was a lovely, but unique, wallflower, in that all desired to* approach her, but dare not. Often behind her shyness there must have been hidden a demure smi'e at this little fluttering group. Princess Mary has always been with the King or the Queen at public functions, or with his Majesty in the park, or with her Majesty in acts of benevolence or social ceremonies, rarely “ on her own,” that modern phrase for lonely freedom. Bert our young Princess was quite happy in the arrangement, knowing that her mother shared and cherished her thoughts and ambitions. There was no telling everjtliing to a chum and leaving the mother outside, believing that she could not understand". How tender and close was the intimacy may be gauged from the fact that to the Queen she confided her naive desire to marry an Englishman, and her freedom in this respect was unhampered. She did not want to go to a foreign court, which, however friendly, could be nothing but alien to her. She wanted to be English, and to remain in England, to all the lanes and fields she loved close at hand—to roam over her own moors and to climb her own mountains. “COMPLETELY TAKEN IN.” Whatever a- woman may say about the Princess, it is certain that man in the aggregate also likes her to be this kind of princess. He loves his own special lady, with her little bobbed head or her intricate coiffures, her frou-frou frocks, her slender silken legs, her fashionable exquisiteness, her up-to-date quaint mannerisms—her independence, if you like; but at the back of his mind he thinks a princess should be just what Princess Marv is- A week ago, perhaps, he would have been outwardly unemotional in his consideration of her. but to-day he is running after her carriage* and cheering her and loving her for her blushes, and, truth to tell, his little lady is doing exactly the same. How foolish we all were in our assumption that it was a humdrum sort of life for a girl, and that we knew everything about her, because, at the very first breath of a rumour, of course every paper would print conjectures and foretellings, and tell us all there was to know or guess, long beforehand. We were completely taken in. Nothing could surpass tho tranquil simplicity of it all. No evening edition ran round th« streets hoarsely proclaiming a semblance of the news. No one pretended. No one said confidentially the next day that they had known all about it. No, wo found it quietly and sedately on our breakfast tables in the morning. Princess Alary smiled up at us as we drank our coffee. Those who had not had even time for this, and had rushed headlong in,to the roadway and taken a flying leap on a cityward omnibus or a plunge into the train, found themselves looking innocently over a neighbour’s shoulder to read Princess Mary Betrothed.” It was more than disconcerting when one was expecting to see a painstaking headline about “ Washington Still At The Conference ; or : Ulster Still -

ing Shan’t”; and there in the midaj of the city rush and the world roar, you remembered, the blue eyes or the brown eyes, or the grey eyes of the most beautiful girl in the world. THE MATCH OF THE SEASON. Whatever did all these worrying problems matter? Why did people snap and snarl at each other? Why did tears flow? Why were lips sad? h was such a pity. Almost everyone thought the same, for here was -a twinkle, there a sympathetic smile, here an excited whisper, and a breath of youth touched each lace lightly. We were all so surprised, end we were all so amused. Our little shy Princess had made the match of the season. Because—and it needs a new line to say so—a rich bachelor, the richest* bachelor we possess, and with the record also of being a gallant soldier beloved by his men, was something to attract the notice of any girl. Hun. dreds of bright eyes have watched him in and out of brilliant drawingrooms, from noble windows, at exclusive hunts, ayid amid aristocratic crushes. But he was star-proof. The fire of those dazzling glances just fizzled oft hopelessly. He went through this particular campaign with his vizor down, until, one day in the Sandringham woods, a little "bird whispered to him that his Princess was at his side- Being a brave man, he never wavered for a moment or missed his opportunity. He was, in fact, terrifically brave, for he said to England—“ Do you think lam worthy of your Princess?” He wa-s at the bar of not only all the bright and lustrous eyes of England’s girlhood, but of all the bright and slirewd eyes of England’s newspapers, and they rose up like good sportsmen and deluged him with approbation. Not- one journal minded anything about him being a Lord; nobedy wishes he were at- least a Crown Prince, or even a plain comrade. He is a. lover—that is all they care about, and he has won the love of a charming and important Princess—the most important princess in the world, and everyone is delighting in the romance q! it. Those people who have considered London to be only rather prosaic, perhaps useful, and certainly historically interesting, but lacking, you know, in tho glamour of poetry or in the ecstasy of high imagination, let them read the papers that were published on the morning of "Wednesday, November 23. and they will gape in refreshed astonishment.

London really seethes with sentiment. It only needs a love story about a real princess and a rich and gallant lover to make it speak the most wonderful words. Their astonishment will increase when they find what the newspapers knew about Princess Mary’s many accomplishments anrt personal qualities. They tell you of her skill in riding. driving, fishing, tennis, dancing, not shooting—she is not fond of a gun: how excellently she cooks, her helpfulness to the King secretarially, her linguistic capabilities. her marvellous cleverness with her needle—and the little episode is recalled that when the Prince of Wales was told a long time ago that he would one day be King, he said, “ What a pity it isn’t Mary, she’s so clever, you see.”

The words surged and splashed like a splendid waterfall. They knew all about her sweetness of disposition, her unselfishness, her general lovableuess, and—last, but not least, her sense of humour. What a lucky Princess to have the leaders of every newspaper, without one single exception, paying her this enthusiastic and chivalrous homage ! It was indeed “ This happy day,” to use her own words in her answer to the Lord Mayor. No one questioned her choice. The Princess had chosen, and that was sufficient. Lord Lascelles had not been prominently before the public. We knew he was rich. We knew ho was a brave man. because of his double D.S O. and his Croix de GuerreWe now know that his men loved him, that in the Guards he was affectionately called “ Dom ” on account of -an attractive sort of fastidiousness; that h * is of a quiet disposition, that he is spare in figure, and that he has-very blue eyes. Then we heard that on one o? his rare “leaves” during the war he called upon his old grand-uncle Clnnriearde, and somehow or other the old man took a tremendous fancy to him, and paid the kindest compliment possible by bequeathing his vast fortune to “ Harry Lascelles, by courtesy Viscount/*

There will be plenty to record about him as the days go on, but a delightful characteristic was shown when he confided to a Press representative “I chose the engagement ring myself.” That is just what the fine man of character does; he likes to choose his own token for his lady to wear, and Princess Mary, being herself just what any other happy girl is in the same circumstances, “ entirely approved of it.” It is a single, squarecut emerald; Out if it had been a cluster of any other gem, “ Mary ’ would have loved it because “ Harry chose it.