Garrard
was appointed Court Jeweller by Queen Victoria in 1843, responsible for the
upkeep of the Crown Jewels and for creating jewellery for the Royal Family,
including such pieces as the Imperial Crown of India, the crown of Queen Mary
for her coronation, and the Crown of Queen Elizabeth (the Q Mum). We can go and
admire these fine examples of Garrard's art for a modest fee, at the Crown
Jewels display in the Tower of London. Garrard's
also created Princess Diana's engagement ring, which we can admire free of
charge whenever The Duchess of Cambridge waves her hand.
Recently,
Garrard's saw fit to appoint Jade Jagger (daughter of Mick) as its creative
director, and raunchy pop singer Christina Aguilera as the company's new face.
Gold chain-mail underwear, diamond-studded revolver pendants and devil-themed
trinkets were soon featured in the Garrard's catalogue. It must have seemed
like a good idea at the time, but the upshot was that after 165 years, the
Palace gave Garrard's the pink slip. Henceforth the Crown Jewels and the
Queen's personal jewellery collection will be cared for by Mr Collins, who runs
a quaint jewellery business in Tunbridge Wells High Street and has no truck
with raunchiness in any form.
But
back to The Poltimore Tiara: it was so named after its first owner, Florence
Bampfylde, Lady Poltimore. Good call to name it after her title rather than her
surname – the Bampfylde Tiara sounds like somehing more suited to the Goblin
Queen of Mordor than a peeress of the realm. And never mind a Baroness … a
Princess of the Blood would certainly not pop anything called a Bampfylde onto
her head, especially not on her wedding day! And that is exactly what HRH
Princess Margaret did.
Princess
Margaret and the Poltimore Tiara were meant for each other. The tiara had to
wait nearly a century for its Princess, but one happy day in 1959, the Kismet Fairy
brought them together. It happened like this: after Florence's death in 1909 the
Poltimore passed to Margaret, the third Lady Poltimore. She gave it its grandest
outing yet, to the 1911 coronation of King George V. The Tiara was a bit miffed to be tucked away
behind the Duchesses and Countesses, on the head of a mere Baroness,
considering it was much grander than any of the other tiaras. Still, it was
Westminster Abbey, even in the cheap seats.
But
the Poltimore's Day of Destiny was at hand. The 4th Baron must have
been feeling the pinch, because he offered the Tiara for sale at auction in
1959. Kismet kicked in and Princess Margaret snapped it up for a mere £5,500.
It
was a match made in heaven. If ever there was a tiara that cried out for a
beehive hairdo to set it off, this was it. At last the Tiara came into its own.
On its second outing to Westminster Abbey, it rested proudly on the head of the
bride, a princess, at a royal wedding, the cynosure of more TV cameras and papparazzi
flashes than you could shake a stick at. Its rococo opulence was elegantly set
off by the simplicity of the wedding gown and it lent height to the diminutive
princess.
The
Princess loved that tiara. She even wore it in the bath. I hasten to reassure
the Gentle Reader that the photographer in this instance was no long-lensed
papparazzo from the Murdoch stable, but her husband. There he is, in the
mirror. No scandal here, nothing to see, move along, please.
The
Poltimore is a seriously convertible sparkler. It comes in its own blue leather
fitted case, complete with screwdrivers and alternate settings. It breaks down
into a necklace and eleven brooches. The Princess wore it in al its
incarnations, although she never actually wore all eleven brooches at once (as
far as I know). I wouldn't have put it past that old magpie Queen Mary to find room
for eleven brooches on the royal façade and still manage to hang a few ropes of
pearls round her neck, but her granddaughter showed a bit more restraint.
When
Princess Margaret died, her two children faced inheritance taxes of over 3
million pounds. Some of their mother's jewels had to be sold, including the
Poltimore. (They kept "a few smaller tiaras", so no need to feel
sorry for them.) The reserve was set at $350,000, but it was sold to an anonymous
Asian buyer for a whopping $1.7 million.
I
do hope this stupendous sparkler with its romantic story was not broken up for
the stones, whoppers as they are. I like to think that somewhere in Beijing or
Tokyo there is a lady as petite and pretty as the princess, wearing the tiara
in her scented bubble bath.
