Lady in Waiting

What does it mean to live a life surrounded by royalty, privilege, and grandeur—but also by heartbreak, loss, and resilience? In Lady in Waiting, Anne Glenconner invites you into one of the most extraordinary lives of twentieth-century Britain. As the confidante and lifelong friend of Princess Margaret, Glenconner was both insider and observer—a witness to royal traditions and aristocratic eccentricities. Yet her story is far from the fairy tale it appears. Beneath the glittering surface, she endured tragedy, humiliation, and personal challenge with a surprising mix of grace and grit.

Anne Glenconner argues that privilege does not protect anyone from suffering. Her memoir reveals how emotional repression, duty, and gender expectations shaped aristocratic life in Britain—and how she ultimately reclaimed her identity after loss. She contends that being born into privilege can be both a blessing and a cage: a life filled with grandeur demands unflinching endurance and adaptability. Through laughter and courage, Glenconner shows that a person can survive madness, heartbreak, and tragedy without bitterness. Her story becomes a powerful reflection on resilience, loyalty, and reinvention.

A Childhood Framed by Tradition and Gender Expectations

Growing up at Holkham Hall, one of England’s grand estates, Glenconner was born to an aristocratic family whose lineage traced back to the Tudor period. But being a girl in an inheritance system bound by primogeniture meant she was denied the legacy of land and title. From her earliest years she learned that 'being a girl was a disappointment.' Her father, the 5th Earl of Leicester, loved his family but longed for sons to carry on the Coke line. This defining exclusion—her inability to inherit—became a metaphor for the limitations imposed on upper-class women of her generation.

Despite these restrictions, Anne was immersed in privilege: childhood games with Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, Christmas at Buckingham Palace, and summers by the Norfolk coast. Yet the emotional absence of her parents and the rigidness of the time bred stoicism rather than affection—a theme she revisits throughout her life. (Author Deborah Mitford and writer Vita Sackville-West expressed similar frustrations about inheritance laws.)

Being Close to Royalty, But Never Free

Her lifelong friendship with Princess Margaret forms the emotional center of the book. Anne’s role as Lady-in-Waiting allowed her to see the royal family both as icons and as flawed human beings. She portrays Margaret as funny, loyal, irreverent, and at times wounded—unable to reconcile private desires with royal duty. These intimate portraits make Glenconner’s voice unique: she demystifies aristocracy from within. The royal rituals—the Coronation, royal tours, and Balmoral weekends—reveal a world of rigid hierarchy but also genuine affection and charm.

What emerges is not gossip but empathy. As Glenconner recounts, being a Lady-in-Waiting was both an honor and a burden. It trained her to anticipate every royal need while subduing her own emotions. Her friendship with Margaret taught her humor in adversity—the ability to laugh when surrounded by tragedy, a trait echoed by other royal insiders like Marion Crawford and Lady Pamela Hicks.

Love, Marriage, and Madness

The book’s most startling conflict revolves around Glenconner’s marriage to Colin Tennant, the eccentric heir to a bleach-manufacturing fortune. Brilliant, volatile, and flamboyant, Colin moved between genius and insanity. He purchased Mustique—a mosquito-ridden Caribbean island—and transformed it into a paradise for the rich and famous. For Anne, this vision came with chaos: Colin’s unpredictable rages, affairs, and public tantrums tested her patience and emotional endurance. Anne lived between extremes—lavish parties one night, heartbreaking silence the next.

Her candor about marriage and motherhood is rare among aristocratic memoirs. She describes sex, jealousy, and power dynamics with frankness. Reading her story, you see that even castles and crowns cannot insulate a woman from pain. Like Mary S. Lovell’s biography of the Mitford sisters, Glenconner’s recollections show how privilege created isolation as well as advantage.

Loss, Resilience, and Reinvention

Later in life, Glenconner faced unfathomable tragedies: her son Henry’s death from AIDS, her son Charlie’s heroin addiction and death, and her husband’s shocking will that disinherited her. Yet, even amidst this heartbreak, she chose survival over despair. Her courage in nursing her injured son Christopher back from a coma demonstrates a devotion that transcends class and circumstance.

Instead of surrendering to bitterness, the author finds joy in friendship, travel, and laughter. She spends her final years in Norfolk surrounded by community and memories. Glenconner’s mantra becomes a lesson for readers: “The love continues.” Her memoir asks you to reflect—how do you maintain grace when life keeps testing you?

Why Her Story Matters

At first glance, Lady in Waiting appears to be a story about royalty and British aristocracy. But at its core, it's about human endurance. Anne Glenconner’s life bridges worlds—between monarchy and modernity, glamour and grief. Her ability to adapt to every phase of life, from debutante to widow, offers timeless insight into resilience. Like Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, her narrative reveals that survival depends not on forgetting pain but on transforming it into strength. You are reminded that laughter, kindness, and a willingness to move on can heal almost anything—even lives shaped by disappointment and grandeur.

Anne Glenconner’s childhood at Holkham Hall was outwardly idyllic—a sprawling estate, servants, royal visits, and sea air. But beneath that beauty lay an early lesson about gender and status. As the eldest daughter in a family without sons, she was told repeatedly that she was 'the greatest disappointment.' This sense of exclusion echoed throughout British aristocracy, where daughters were often considered ornamental rather than essential.

An Heir’s World Without Heirs

Holkham Hall represented continuity, inheritance, and legacy—all organized around men. The estate’s traditions—taken breakfasts served by footmen, annual shooting parties—reinforced this masculine hierarchy. Anne’s father, the 5th Earl of Leicester, loved tradition as much as he loved his Scots Guards regiment. His affection was formal, constrained by his upbringing. When Anne tried to sit on his lap he pushed her away: she was 'too big.' Love, she realized, was shown through duty, not tenderness.

Her mother, by contrast, was vivacious and progressive—riding motorbikes and running a pottery business from Holkham’s grounds. These two models of British aristocracy—the strict father and the intrepid mother—taught Anne contradiction. She learned to balance decorum with curiosity, obedience with spirit. This blend prepared her later to deal with royal formality and domestic chaos alike.

Friendship with Future Queens

Anne’s only playmates of equal privilege were Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. Together they built sandcastles on Holkham beach and played pranks on footmen. Even as children, the sisters’ personalities were unmistakable—Elizabeth dutiful and serious, Margaret mischievous and radiant. Anne gravitated toward Margaret’s humor, forging a bond that would last a lifetime. (Biographers of Margaret often cite Anne as her 'sanity and laughter' amid royal expectation.) Their early friendship formed the foundation for Glenconner’s later perspective on the strange intersection of public image and private sadness.

War and Stoicism

During World War II, Anne’s aristocratic childhood collided with fear and discipline. Her mother joined her father overseas, leaving Anne and her sister with relatives in Scotland. Their governess tied Anne’s hands to the bed every night—an abuse that Anne endured silently. Such experiences forged her stoicism, the British virtue of 'keeping calm and carrying on.' As she notes later, speaking of the royal family, “We weren’t brought up to complain.” This emotional restraint became both armor and obstacle; it preserved dignity but made empathy scarce.

Through tales of childhood, Glenconner exposes how aristocratic children were trained not for feeling but for duty. The lessons she learned at Holkham—endure, adapt, don’t cry—became her survival code when tragedy struck decades later. For readers, her upbringing feels like a case study in inherited resilience: privilege taught her poise, but suffering taught her strength.

When Anne married Colin Tennant in 1956, she thought she was marrying charm and adventure. She got both—but also volatility. Colin was magnetic: the heir to a vast chemical fortune, part visionary, part tyrant. He famously bought Mustique for £45,000 after sailing past it, claiming he hadn’t even needed to set foot on the island. He would transform it into a Caribbean playground for princes and pop stars. Yet his brilliance came with volcanic mood swings and cruelty.

Mad Love and Social Performance

Anne’s wedding day was grand spectacle—Princess Margaret attended; Norman Hartnell designed her dress—but by her honeymoon in Paris, the dream fractured. Colin erupted when their hotel offered twin beds, screamed at staff, and then took her to a sex show as a 'surprise.' She sat frozen in mortified silence, clutching her purse. This chilling scene recurs throughout the book: public glamour contrasted with private humiliation.

Colin’s life oscillated between eccentric genius and breakdown. He threw extravagant parties, crafted outrageous costumes, and befriended rock icons—but also bit taxi drivers and fainted from temper fits. Anne’s response was not rebellion but endurance, channeling her mother’s advice that a wife must 'carry on.' Their marriage was thus a test of emotional survival disguised as a partnership. (Compared to memoirs like The Bolter by Frances Osborne, Glenconner’s depiction of aristocratic marriage is less decadent, more claustrophobic.)

Building Paradise and Losing Peace

Colin’s vision of Mustique was bold: he wanted to create a utopia for high society. He recruited architect Oliver Messel to design 'Caribbean Palladian' villas and lured Princess Margaret to build her home, Les Jolies Eaux. Anne became the island’s diplomatic heart—managing staff, calming Colin’s tantrums, and befriending locals. “I was the mother of Mustique,” she writes. Guests included Mick Jagger, Raquel Welch, David Bowie, and the Queen herself. Yet the same paradise fueled isolation; Anne was often lonely while Colin ruled the island like a monarch.

Enduring Eccentric Love

What makes Anne’s portrayal so gripping is her refusal to sanitize the absurdity. She describes Colin’s love as theatrical—champagne, outrage, and brilliance—but always unpredictable. He banned her from certain planes, made irrational demands, yet never divorced her. “We were brought up not to throw in the towel,” he said. In the end, their marriage lasted fifty-four years—a paradox of affection and endurance. You are left wondering whether love itself can survive madness.

For over three decades, Anne Glenconner served as Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Margaret, a role that blended service, friendship, and discretion. It was neither glamorous nor passive—it demanded intuition, stamina, and emotional intelligence. She became both confidante and caretaker, traveling across continents and witnessing history from the royal sidelines.

Serving and Surviving Royal Protocol

Her duties involved anticipating every royal need: knowing which drink the Princess preferred (gin at lunch, whisky at dinner), scanning rooms for restrooms before arrivals, and acting as social facilitator. At receptions, she would glide among guests, introducing them one by one, reading the Princess’s expressions to time each conversation perfectly. “I had to be a swan,” Anne says—serene above water, paddling frantically beneath.

Through these experiences, Glenconner displays a mastery of British etiquette as psychological performance. (Nancy Mitford once observed similar tensions in The Pursuit of Love—decorum as disguise.) Yet for Anne, formality became a form of endurance. Royal life taught her patience amid restraint—managing moods, silences, and sarcastic remarks without reaction.

Humanizing the Princess

Readers often encounter Princess Margaret as glamorous rebel or tragic royal. Anne portrays her instead as witty, warm, and capable of laughter even in disgrace. She remembers Margaret’s habit of cleaning Anne’s chandelier in Norfolk or hauling suitcases herself at Glen. The Princess could be imperious but adored normality—dusting shelves, singing at the piano, and teasing Anne until she cried from giggles. In these stories, Glenconner humanizes the monarchy.

The Burden of Loyalty

Loyalty was a second skin for Anne. She stayed beside Princess Margaret through scandals—the Townsend affair, divorce from Tony Armstrong-Jones, and tabloid intrusion. When society mocked, Anne stood steady, reminding the world of Margaret’s kindness and courage. Their friendship became a mirror for duty itself: unwavering even when misunderstood. For the reader, these royal anecdotes translate into a broader truth—serving others often means surrendering part of yourself. And Anne did, without regret.

Of all the book’s stories, the most haunting is Anne’s account of losing two sons and saving another. It transforms Lady in Waiting from society memoir to human testament. Behind the tiaras were nights of agony and defiance that few could imagine.

A Mother’s Battle Against Addiction

Her eldest son, Charlie, descended into heroin addiction by age sixteen. Anne watched helplessly as he gambled his inheritance, stole family heirlooms, and sold photographs of Princess Margaret. She describes confronting him not with anger but compassion: “He wasn’t nasty, but the addiction split his personality.” Her husband’s decision to disinherit him was devastating but pragmatic. Years later, Charlie died from hepatitis C—a casualty of privilege and pain.

Henry’s Bravery and AIDS

Henry, her second son, came out as gay in 1985 and was diagnosed with AIDS during the height of the epidemic. Anne faced not only grief but social stigma: neighbors turned away, friends avoided her. Yet she refused to hide him, washing his towels separately but visiting him daily. Princess Margaret and Diana both showed kindness—Margaret visited him in hospital, and Diana wrote a touching note praising his courage. When Henry died at twenty-nine, Anne organized a funeral full of bright flowers and tropical fruit, saying “It looked like a giant fruit salad.” This blend of humor and heartbreak defines her spirit.

Saving Christopher from a Coma

If despair marked her older boys, redemption came through her youngest, Christopher. After a motorcycle accident in Guatemala, doctors said he would remain a vegetable. Anne rejected their verdict, employing unconventional healing: sensory stimulation, music, and touch, guided by faith. Her persistence paid off—after months, Christopher awoke, whispering the word 'Lamborghini.' That moment, she says, was pure miracle. This triumph encapsulates the emotional heart of the memoir: endurance against impossibility.

You come away feeling that motherhood, not monarchy, defines Glenconner’s courage. Through tragedy, she discovered faith—not as religious dogma but as relentless hope. Her resilience teaches that grief can be transformed into action, compassion, and even laughter.

Anne Glenconner witnessed the private struggles behind public grandeur—the decline of Princess Margaret, the quiet composure of the Queen Mother, and the fading traditions of a royal family entering modernity. Her later chapters feel elegiac, capturing the fragility of power and friendship.

Princess Margaret’s Final Years

Through Anne’s eyes we see Margaret’s transformation from luminous socialite to frail recluse. After strokes and accidents, the Princess faced physical decline with stoic humor. Anne cared for her in Mustique, helping her bathe and laugh even when in pain. Their bond deepened into tenderness—two aging women defying time with wit. When Margaret died in 2002, Anne’s grief was intertwined with gratitude. “Even now, when I face a problem,” she writes, “I think what she would do.”

The Queen Mother’s Grace

Anne’s portrait of the Queen Mother is affectionate and mischievous: watching Dad’s Army standing with martinis, making bawdy jokes about nudists on Holkham Beach. These charming glimpses show a monarchy both human and irresistible. Yet the memoir closes with awareness of mortality—the Queen Mother’s stooped farewell to her daughter’s coffin, months before her own death. Their passing marked 'the end of an age of glamour and discretion.'

Finding Peace in Norfolk

After Colin’s death and betrayals, Anne returned to her farmhouse near Holkham, surrounded by children and grandchildren. Her closing chapters read like gentle epilogue: sailing in creeks, tending her garden, and sharing Bloody Marys with friends. “My days may seem pale in comparison,” she admits, “but I’m happy.” At eighty-seven, she is content to wonder 'Whatever next?' That final phrase captures her lifelong attitude—curious, indestructible, and ready for whatever life brings.