A visit to Paddy Leigh Fermor Hamish Robinson
The day that royalty arranged to visit Patrick Leigh Fermor, he was prepared for almost everything, recalls Hamish Robinson
In September 2008, I was staying in Greece with Patrick Leigh Fermor at his house in Kardamyli in the Mani. One day, Paddy received a call from a Countess Emo – he knew the name – saying she had been given his number by a mutual friend in Rome.
It seemed that the King and Queen of Sweden and five others of their party, including the Countess, would like to visit him on Monday. They were apparently sailing around the Peloponnese, had all been reading Mani and now longed to meet the author.
Paddy struggled to take in all the details, but was delighted, and invited them to lunch. Preparations were put in hand. Paddy’s cook, Elpida, was sent to the town of Stoupa to buy lamb for nine. There were discussions as to whether the guests should be received at the table downstairs, in the library or on the terrace. And Paddy turned to his reference books to find out what he could about the history of the House of Bernadotte.
On Sunday, Countess Emo called again. The party was now in Brussels and had abandoned the cruise owing to high winds. Unfortunately, they would be unable to come to lunch on Monday. Paddy spoke briefly to the Queen herself, who apologised profusely. Paddy sighed, and the reference books were put away – not for long.
The Countess rang again: they had changed their minds. The royal party would come on Monday after all, but at four o’clock. Paddy shrugged. We would have to give them tea.
On Monday, we had lunch early to allow time for Paddy’s nap. Elpida made a trifle, but said I would have to serve the tea. Moreover, we only had cups and saucers for seven. I drove with her to her little house near the beach to borrow two more cups and saucers, with crockery flowers resting on crockery leaves in pink and yellow and pale green.
On my return, I found a security man examining the approaches to
the house with George, owner of Lela’s, a local taverna set up by his mother, Paddy’s housekeeper, Lela Yannakea (pictured).
George said the royal party had eaten at the taverna a couple of nights before. But Paddy had been told on the phone they were in Brussels the day before. Had the royal party been flying back and forth from Brussels? Why Brussels? How mysterious. We shrugged, took showers and changed, and I arranged the teacups, trifle and biscuits for tea.
At four, they arrived: the King, the Queen, a Belgian doctor and his wife, another couple and Countess Emo.
Introductions followed: ‘Your Majesty…’ etc. They began taking pictures, admiring everything as they passed through to the library and out onto the terrace. Had Paddy planted that stand of cypress across the bay? Had he built the house himself? While general remarks were made in English, among themselves they spoke in French.
The King was perhaps 75, tall, with thin streaks of grey hair. His manner was unassuming and gentle, and he gave the impression of a man who, like many kings before him, would have happily devoted himself to his hobbies.
The Queen was a little younger, with a sandy complexion. Her face had the anxious expression of someone who is always indulged, but never quite knows what she wants. Countess Emo was the most striking courtier: a tanned, crisp, lively, very Italian woman of 60 or so. She conveyed her approval with a wink.
The party settled on the terrace overlooking the sea. I served the tea and passed round plates of trifle. The courtiers sat in silence as the King and Queen spoke to Paddy. Paddy sat opposite them, knee to knee, clutching his stick, his head cocked to catch what was said. The call came to tell the story of the capture of General Kreipe – the German officer Paddy kidnapped on Crete in 1944.
This went down extremely well. The Queen professed astonishment. The King repeated the line ‘ Ach so, Herr Major!’ (said by the general after Paddy had shared his appreciation of the poet Horace with him) several times with obvious satisfaction.
The King began to speak of his family history and remarked at one point, ‘We, too, of course, are Saxe-coburg.’
Paddy’s jaw dropped a little. The man he was speaking to could not possibly be the King of Sweden. He told me later of the wave of relief that swept over him when he considered that he had not yet ventured on any allusions to Sweden, Swedish history or the House of Bernadotte. His guest was, in fact, as he rapidly gathered, Albert II, King of the Belgians. How Paddy came to make this unlikely substitution of Sweden for Belgium remains obscure. Kings and queens are rarely called upon to introduce themselves, and it had never occurred to us to seek any confirmation.
In the event, a saving formality prevailed, Paddy’s confidence returned, and the remainder of the visit passed off as happily as it had begun.