Word: londoners
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...bores me," pouted a languid lady of Mayfair. "If it were somebody else's wedding, maybe I'd be as excited as the Americans seem to be. But it's the Royal Family and it bores me." A London cook and waitress politely declined a proffered holiday to celebrate the great event. "We'll go if you think we should, Madam," they told their American mistress. There were other Britons as apathetic, and some were downright resentful at the gushers of news concerning the wedding...
Househunters huffed loudly when Philip and Elizabeth were given huge Clarence House, once the London home of Queen Victoria's "sailor son," the Duke of Edinburgh, as an extra residence. Rationed housewives snorted at news stories of visiting royalty wining & dining at public expense. But for many another Londoner, the wedding was a happy excuse to forget personal hardships, to sentimentalize and enjoy again the elaborate and almost forgotten pageantry of royalty on display. "Why, I can feel myself getting excited already," said a City office girl a week before the event...
Jeweled Anklets. London's papers did their best to keep the popular excitement at fever pitch by printing at least one new fact about the wedding every day. There was news of gifts, each one more fantastic than the last: a grand piano from the R.A.F.; a doily from Mohandas Gandhi, made of yarn spun by the old saint himself; 1,500 cans of lard from the residents of Eritrea; jeweled anklets and a statue of Siva from the Dominion of India; an ivory casket from Pakistan; a traveling bag made of elephants' ears from the women...
...York Daily News's gushing "Nancy Randolph" broke the vows of silence to print the details of the royal wedding dress; "so intricately contrived," said Nancy, as to be "surely uncopyable save by Little People in a glen." Thus reassured, London papers described the dress...
...last week Hugh Dalton strode confidently across the tessellated inner lobby of the House of Commons; he knew that he held Britain's spotlight. In his battered red leather dispatch box were the secrets of Britain's interim budget. Burly, greying John Lees Carvel, political correspondent for London's evening Star, cheerily hailed his old friend Dalton as he approached the door of the House, asked jokingly about the budget. Dalton threw a jovial arm around Carvel's shoulders and, remembering that the journalist liked a nip now & then, said: "John, your whiskey is going...