We’ve seen a right old mess here over the last eight days!

The king died the night of 20 January. I expected the Foreign Office and the doyen to inform all diplomats the next morning what they were to do. Nothing of the sort! Nobody told us a thing. Having waited in vain until lunchtime, I set about making inquiries myself. Alas, Neither Monck (chief of protocol in the Foreign Office) nor the doyen were to be found. I phoned the Swede [Palmstierna], an old-timer in London. He was at work, but he had nothing sensible to say to me. I called Vansittart’s secretariat: they had nothing definite to tell me either, although the secretary did observe that, in his personal opinion, it would be a good idea if I paid a visit to his boss to convey my condolences. I called in, and it was just as well: the Swede was already with V., and the Pole [Raczyński] was next in line after me. Next came the question of the embassy’s flag: for how long should it be kept at half-mast? Again, neither the Foreign Office nor the doyen could give exact advice. I decided that I should keep it that way till the day of the funeral, and that also proved correct: the other diplomats did the same. On 23 January the king’s body was brought from Sandringham to London and the coffin was placed in Westminster Hall in parliament. Hundreds of thousands were filing past the coffin. Should diplomats take part in the procession? Neither the Foreign Office nor the doyen knew. Finally, the marshal of the diplomatic corps gave us a dozen tickets to join the procession without queuing. Agniya and I, Kagan, Ozersky and a few others from our diplomatic staff, processed through Westminster Hall. Who would be present at the funeral from the diplomatic corps? Heads of missions alone or mission members as well? Three days of utter confusion before we were finally told: only heads of missions should attend. Two days passed and we received a new instruction: only members of delegations sent specifically for the funeral should be present. Mission heads who were not members of the delegations were to stay at home. And the ladies? Were wives of ambassadors and envoys to attend the funeral? All week the answer was the same: no. So Agniya ceased worrying about what she would have to wear. Then all of a sudden, at about 6 p.m. on Saturday, 25 January, the marshal of the diplomatic corps phoned and said that ambassadors’ wives were to attend the funeral and that they were to be dressed in black and wear long black veils (18 inches at the front and 1.5 yards at the back). On Monday, 27 January, Agniya had to rush around town to equip herself for the funeral. What suits should men wear at the funeral? All week long we couldn’t get a plain answer. Civil servants at the Foreign Office thought that long black frock-coats would be needed (though none of the diplomats owned them). It was only on Saturday, 25 January, late in the evening, that it was decided that the dress code was finally fixed: tails with black waistcoat and white tie. On the evening of 27 January, the king gave a reception for delegations and heads of mission at Buckingham Palace. The reception was to begin at a quarter past ten, following a dinner given to all the royalties who had come for the funeral. We arrived. The delegations were lined up along the wall in the picture gallery. Monck was running about and telling everyone: the king will come out now, walk around all the delegations, shake hands and make acquaintance. We got ready. And what happened next? The king came in and stopped, and all the delegations started walking up to him one by one – just the opposite of what Monck had said.

The funeral was to take place on 28 January. At the very last moment it became apparent that I would not be able to take part in the whole funeral ceremony. I had to choose: either to participate in the procession from the Westminster Hall to Paddington and not go to Windsor, or go to Windsor to attend the church service and not take part in the procession. Why? Because the procession was scheduled to arrive in Paddington at 11.45 a.m. and then the coffin with the king’s body was to be carried on to Windsor by a special royal train that had seats for heads of the delegations only. In other words, it looked as if Tukhachevsky and myself would have to stay in London. However, the marshal of the diplomatic corps, surely pressed by mission heads and even more so by their wives, provided a special train for ambassadors and arranged special seats for them in the church. In my capacity as an ambassador, I was entitled to enjoy that privilege together with my wife. But our diplomatic train was leaving Paddington at 11.30 a.m., that is, a quarter of an hour before the procession was to arrive at the station. Therefore I had to choose. I could not understand why it was impossible to arrange the departure of the diplomatic train for Windsor at least ten minutes after the procession reached Paddington. On reflection, I chose to go directly to Windsor on board the diplomatic train. We arrived in Windsor at 12.05. The funeral service was to begin at 1.15. Thus, there was a one-hour gap. Why? What for? From the station we walked directly to St George’s Chapel, sat down in pews before the altar, and waited. It was cold and uncomfortable. The ladies sat huddled up tight and shivering, wrapped in overcoats and capes. We spoke in half-whispers to our neighbours (I with a Spanish lady and Agniya with the French ambassador Corbin). The organ was playing, and from time to time dark female figures in long veils would appear, like shadows from another world, taking their seats in the pews. Like spectres from the other world. It was tedious. Time dragged on intolerably. I examined the faces opposite me, of members of government and their wives. There were Baldwin, Simon, Halifax, Duff Cooper, Elliot, Stanley

Oliver Frederick Stanley, Conservative MP, 1924–45; president of the Board of Education, 1935–37; president of the Board of Trade, 1937–40; secretary of state for war in 1940; secretary of state for the colonies, 1942–45.

and others. Eden sat somewhere behind me where I couldn’t see him. The clock struck one, then quarter past. No coffin. Half past one, a quarter to two… Still no coffin. What was the matter? We began feeling uneasy. After a long time, at around two o’clock, there came the loud tramp of thousands of feet, the noise of trumpets and commands, and the king’s coffin upholstered with violet velvet was brought into the chapel. Why the delay? On the way to Paddington, it emerged, crowds had broken through the police cordons and filled up the streets and squares. It took about 40 minutes to clear the route. How odd! Couldn’t all the necessary measures have been taken in order to keep to a strict schedule?…

The coffin was placed on a pedestal before the altar. The royalties all took their seats behind the coffin, and behind them the military, courtiers and numerous others. Final prayers, parting words, and all was over. The pedestal started its slow descent. The coffin sank further and further into the crypt. Now it was already at the bottom. The queen (I had a good view of her from my seat) shuddered and shrank into herself, but she held her nerve. No tears. But the duchess of Athlone

Alice, duchess of Athlone, the last surviving grandchild of Queen Victoria.

wept openly. The new king threw pinches of earth into the open crypt three times. Then the royalties began a slow procession past the crypt. The diplomats and the government did not join and, turning away, left through another door. The Spaniard came up to me and asked: ‘Can you tell me why they kept us in that cold for a whole two hours?’ My thoughts precisely.

I looked to the right and there, to my surprise, was Tukhachevsky. How come? According to the initial plan, he was to accompany the coffin only as far as Paddington. But the authorities, it turned out, had changed their minds at the very last moment, and representatives of foreign armies were also taken to Windsor.

We returned to the railway station. One train left, then another, and a third… The diplomats were still waiting their turn. The marshal of the diplomatic corps was running along the platform and questioning railway officials, policemen and officers, but there was no progress. The marshal was displeased, but helpless. After a 40-minute wait, we boarded the diplomatic train, where lunch had been promised (we were all hungry by then). ‘Lunch’, though, consisted merely of tea and sandwiches. We reached London at four and got home half an hour later.

Such mess and confusion! I am sure the Germans would have organized everything infinitely better in a similar situation. Even we in Moscow would have probably avoided many of the gaffes committed by the English. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the English are good at managing events that come round every year (for instance, the air shows in Hendon). They accumulate experience and make good use of it. But when it comes to arranging something from scratch and – above all – in haste, you may confidently expect a flop. The English seem to have an inborn dislike of looking ahead and working out a detailed programme of action in advance. They are all too willing to rely on their ability to somehow muddle through in the event of an unforeseen development. It’s an English modification of Russian avos.