The Strand Magazine, Volume V, Issue 28, April 1893 | Page 2

breeze denoting the family are
in residence--take a sudden curve in the road, and find yourself in front
of the Norwich gates, admitting to the principal entrance. A solitary
policeman is here on guard, but he knows his business, and knows
every member of the household by sight; and though his duty consists
in merely opening and shutting the gates, you may be quite sure he will
not open to the wrong one.
These gates are worthy of more than a passing glance, for they are a
veritable masterpiece of design and mechanism. They were, in fact, one
of the features of the 1862 Exhibition, and were afterwards presented to
the Prince by the County of Norwich. On the top is the golden crown,
supported by the Prince's feathers. Underneath, held by bronzed griffins,
are heraldic shields representing the various titles of the Prince, while
the remainder is composed of flowers, sprays, and creeping vines. They
are connected with the palisading by rose, shamrock and thistle. The
maker was Barnard, of Norwich.
[Illustration: THE MAIN ENTRANCE
From a Photo. by Bedford Lemere.]
Although this is the chief entrance, it is necessary to proceed up the
avenue and diverge to the left, before the front of the building comes
into view; then it will be seen to be of modernized Elizabethan
architecture; exterior, red brick, with Ketton-stone dressing. Over the
door is a carved inscription as follows: "This house was built by Albert
Edward Prince of Wales and Alexandra his wife, in the year of Our

Lord, 1870." As a matter of fact, the estate had been purchased nine
years previous to that date, for a sum of £220,000, but the Old Manor
House was in such a condition that, after vainly trying to patch up and
add on to, it was found desirable to pull it all down, and build an
entirely new residence. Not only did the mansion need re-building, but
also the cottages of the tenants and labourers: and much to the honour
of the Prince and Princess, these cottages were their first care, and were
all re-built and several new ones erected before they took possession of
their own home.
An invitation to Sandringham is an honour which few would lightly
regard: and if it is your first visit you are in a flutter of anticipation and
expectation, making it somewhat difficult to preserve the calm exterior
that society demands of you. Now there are two distinct sets invited
there; one from Friday to Monday, and one from Monday or Tuesday
to Friday; the former generally including a bishop, dean, or canon for
the Sunday service, two or three eminent statesmen, and a sprinkling of
musical, literary, and artistic celebrities. To this list I will suppose you
to belong.
You have found carriages and baggage vans awaiting what is known as
the "Royal train"--a special run just when the Prince is in
residence--and you and your fellow-visitors have driven up to the
principal entrance. There you alight, and are ushered by the footmen
into a spacious hall or saloon, where you are received with the
distinguished grace and courtesy for which your Royal host and hostess
are so justly celebrated.
[Illustration: THE SALOON
From A Photo. By Bedford Lemere.]
You have only time for a rapid glance at the massive oak carving and
valuable paintings (chief of which is one portraying the family at
afternoon tea, by Zichy) before you find yourself being conducted to
the handsome suite of apartments you will occupy during your visit. A
cup of tea and some light refreshment, and the dinner-hour being 7.30 it
is time to prepare. If you have not been here before, let me give you a

word of warning, or you will commit the dreadful sin of unpunctuality.
Every clock on the place, from the loud-voiced one over the stables to
the tiniest of continental masterpieces, is kept half an hour fast. The
ringing-out of the hour thirty minutes before you expect it is startling in
the extreme; and your maid or man has a bad time of it until you
discover the discrepancy.
At last, however, you are ready, and in due time find yourself amidst
the company in the grand dining saloon, where dinner is served in state,
although not with the frigid formality one is inclined to expect. A
certain degree of nervousness must be felt by all on the first occasion
they dine with Royalty; but your host and hostess are so extremely
affable, and have such a happy gift of putting people at their ease, that
you insensibly forget their august position, and find yourself chatting
with comfort and enjoyment. You will notice the splendid proportions
of this saloon, and the priceless Spanish tapestry with which it is
hung--this was the gift of the