The CSPWC Royal Collection Trust Project has been a 40 year undertaking.
Much of the work was completed by Anthony Batten. Telling the story is best left up to Tony, so below you will find a cleaned-up copy of a conversation he had with Marilyn Harding. You can find the full interview on YouTube.
At the bottom of the interview you will find a few notes about the third gift, as the final 25 paintings have now been selected. Linda Kemp joined Tony as co-chair of the RCT committee in 1999. After Tony's sad passing Linda has continued the work to complete the final phase of the gift of 100 paintings to the Royal Collection Trust in celebration of the 100th Anniversary of the CSPWC.
The Canadian Society of Painters in Water Colour. John B. Aird, Lt. Gov of Ontario, Wil Ogilvie, Julius Griffith, Cynthia Kemerer and Anthony J. Batten
Marilyn Harding: Tony, you’ve told me this story before, and it’s such an intriguing account of how a collection of Canadian watercolour paintings came to be housed at Windsor Castle. I’d love for you to share it with us today so others can enjoy this remarkable journey you began, which will culminate in 2025.
Anthony Batten: The idea actually originated with the Canadian Society of Painters in Water Colour (CSPWC) around 1982 or 1983. At the time, the Society was approaching its 60th anniversary and brainstorming projects to commemorate what we called a Jubilee. I had been elected to the Society in 1980 and was serving on the executive when these discussions took place.
The projects varied. Some involved creating permanent prizes, like sculpted medals to replace certificates. Another idea was to establish a permanent collection in Canada, where every elected member would donate a work to form a diploma collection. That idea came to fruition, as did the awards program. However, the project that excited everyone most was the creation of a collection of 60 watercolours to commemorate the anniversary. Once juried, this collection would serve as a significant tribute, and the hope was to house it in a prestigious location—perhaps the National Gallery of Canada or the Art Gallery of Ontario.
MH: So the selected works were from current CSPWC members?
Tony: Yes, only elected members were eligible, and participation wasn’t mandatory. While it’s always a challenge to get artists enthusiastic about collective projects, we did receive a substantial number of submissions. By 1984, the works had been juried, and the 60 selected paintings formed the collection. At that point, the Society asked me to take charge of the project—possibly because one of my paintings had been juried into the collection.
When I took over, there wasn’t an office or storage facility, so these carefully matted paintings, wrapped in garbage bags, ended up under my bed. With the help of a small team—Cynthia Kemerer, Joanne Clarke, and myself—we started contacting galleries and institutions. We approached the National Gallery, the Art Gallery of Ontario, Rideau Hall, Hart House, and even the Royal Ontario Museum. The feedback was disheartening. Some institutions wanted endowments to accept the works, but the CSPWC didn’t have the funds for that. Others simply declined, citing their own curatorial priorities.
MH: That must have been so frustrating—offering a historic collection, only to face rejection.
Tony: It was. Some institutions didn’t even bother responding, which was incredibly disheartening. But then, a solution presented itself in the most unexpected way.
My partner and I were traveling to the Pacific, and at the Vancouver airport, I bought a coffee table book on the history of the Royal Collection. While reading it on the plane, I noticed a chapter about Prince Philip’s fondness for Australian art and how the Australian Academy had made a significant donation to the Royal Collection. I realized there was no mention of Canadian art in the collection. This sparked an idea: could the CSPWC offer our collection to Windsor Castle?
At our destination, I wrote a letter to the book’s author, the Keeper of the Queen’s Pictures at Windsor Castle, proposing a dialogue about the possibility. I made it clear I wasn’t offering the collection on behalf of the Society but exploring whether such an offer would even be considered.
MH: What happened next?
Tony: By the time I returned from the trip, there was a reply waiting. It stated that, should the CSPWC choose to offer the paintings, Her Majesty the Queen had authorized the Keeper of the Queen’s Pictures to accept the collection. It was incredible—an outright acceptance!
Then reality hit me: I had 60 paintings destined for the Royal Collection sitting under my bed in garbage bags. I thought that must be a first for the Royal Collection. It’s likely even Oliver Cromwell treated it with more dignity during the dispersal of Charles I’s collection!
MH: And that was just the beginning. When you traveled to present the collection, it led to further contributions of Canadian art to the Royal Collection, didn’t it?
Tony: Yes, it became the start of an ongoing relationship. But I still remember walking into the CSPWC executive meeting after receiving that acceptance letter, feeling a bit like a hero.
So okay, we've got a solution. Bill Sherman was the president at the time and asked me to take over the project.
There was a changeover at that point, and by the time the project was due to go over, the society had changed presidents, as they change every two years. Oswald Timmas was the president. The paintings were all bundled up, and we arranged the transfer with the help of the Royal Librarian at Windsor Castle.
I should explain: the Royal Library is a branch of the Royal Collection, which has many sub-branches. It’s all obviously one collection. It includes jewelry, porcelain, furniture (some of which is on display), and a phenomenal collection of works on paper. These works are kept in the Royal Library alongside first-edition books and other treasures. Under the British system of curating collections, watercolors are grouped as works on paper along with prints, photographs, and drawings. That’s the branch of the Royal Collection I dealt with. By the time this project became a reality, the author of the original book had retired, and Oliver Everett had become my contact as the Royal Librarian for the next decade or so. He was a charming man.
I’m not sure I was responsible for every facet of this collection going over, but I was given a contact at Ontario House in London, which was the branch of the Ontario government that had a representative office on King Charles Street in London. Diana Jervis Reed was the cultural attaché there, and I dealt with her because the society was based in Ontario. They agreed to host an exhibition and have the handover take place there. This occurred in 1985/1986, I believe.
Before the paintings left Canada, they were exhibited at the John B. Aird Gallery, Queen’s Park. Then they were bundled up and sent by air. Naively, we just sent them off to Canada House. I remember getting a very distraught message from Diana Jervis Reed because the paintings had arrived along with a customs clearance bill. The value of these paintings as a gift—60 watercolors by key watercolorists—was quite phenomenal. Diana pulled some amazing strings, and the charges were waived since they were a gift to the Queen and the British Crown. It all proceeded well. Oswald Timmas went over for the presentation, and the collection was displayed at Ontario House using frames borrowed from the Royal Collection.
The first group of paintings went over this way. I should perhaps mention that the Royal Collection set parameter measurements for all the artworks. They had to conform to specific sizes, likely due to the available stock frames and the need to fit the works into portfolios in the Royal Library. A couple of works didn’t fit and were returned early, giving the artists a chance to substitute. I remember one artist cutting down their work, and it worked out. The 60 paintings went to Windsor Castle and were displayed at Ontario House for a time. Once they entered the Royal Collection, a selection was exhibited in what was then called the Queen’s Gallery at Windsor Castle, now known as the Drawing Gallery. This beautiful gallery is adjacent to Queen Mary’s dollhouse and showcases updated selections from the Royal Collection.
Oswald Timmas reported that the handover was sensational. It never occurred to me to go over—I was working as a teacher, and this was just a volunteer activity. Dealing with Oliver and Diana, we developed such a great rapport. It was all done on the phone and through letters. Knowing the society’s 75th Anniversary was coming up in 13 years, I dropped a suggestion: “Would you take another 15 for the 75th and keep it current?”
They were thrilled to have this Canadian body of work to update their collection as part of their Commonwealth holdings. They agreed to take 15 for the anniversary and an additional 25 for the society’s Centennial in 2025. Considering Canada’s historical position as the senior dominion of the British Empire, it felt fitting.
Around 1998, we started soliciting entries for the 15 paintings, all conforming to the same size as the previous collection. Over 100 entries were submitted. To ensure the collection reflected the entire country, we aimed for a geographic and stylistic balance, including everything from abstract art to photorealism. Entrants couldn’t already be represented in the earlier 60 paintings.
We selected three jurors from the artists whose works were already in the Royal Collection: Ray Cattell (a renowned abstract artist), Bill Sherman (with a background in illustration and a diverse range), and MaryAnn Ludlam (known for soft-focused landscapes with abstract elements). Shirley Barrie, the society’s administrator, ensured criteria were adhered to, and Diana Jervis Reed joined the jury. By this time, she had become the cultural attaché at Canada House in Trafalgar Square. Thanks to her efforts, the 15 selected works were displayed at Canada House in 2001.
The 15 works represented a mix of old and new members. One artist, Bonnie Brooks from Kingston, Ontario, had just been elected to the society six months prior. Having her work in the Royal Collection was a life-changing moment for her.
The works were first exhibited at the O’Connor Gallery in Canada, sponsored by Dennis O’Connor. This tied into a 75th Anniversary gala dinner at the Arts and Letters Club, where the society was founded in 1925. Ontario’s Lieutenant Governor, Hilary Weston, attended, meeting all the artists.
When it came time for the London presentation, I asked Diana about the possibility of having a member of the Royal Family accept the paintings. While it seemed unlikely due to the competitive allocation of royal visits, Diana reminded me that Prince Charles was an honorary member of the Canadian Society of Painters in Watercolor. She suggested we invite him as our guest.
Like a school teacher would think of inviting the Prince of Wales! Anyway, I followed through on her suggestion and mentioned that we were going to have a reception at Canada House specifically for us. So, there we were—15 artists and the CSPWC president at the time, Neville Clark, along with myself as the organizer. It was truly fun. Thirteen of the artists were on hand for the handover, and on the day of the event, we all arrived at Canada House to check in with Diana Jervis-Read. She gave us instructions on how to behave, how to curtsy and bow, and how to properly greet the Prince of Wales. Then we were guided into a grand reception room overlooking Trafalgar Square, where the paintings were displayed.
I vividly remember walking toward the door. Naturally, the artists were the stars, and since I was one of the “old-timers” from the first collection, I hung back to make sure they all went in first. Neville Clark and I were just about to walk into the reception room when an RCMP officer in full scarlets approached me. “You’re Mr. Batten?” he asked. I said yes. He replied, “Well, you have to wait here.” I began to protest, thinking, No, I need to be in the room before the doors close!But then he said, “No, you’re the host,” and it hit me—they were sticking to formal protocol. It was hilarious! Everyone started laughing because, as it turned out, I was the guest of the High Commissioner, but technically, the Prince of Wales was my guest.
One of the funniest moments, and one any immigrant would understand, came just as the doors closed. I was left standing outside while the reception began inside. I could hear the clinking of glasses and the lively hum of conversation. Suddenly, there was a commotion behind me. The cars had pulled up, and Prince Charles arrived with his entourage. We were introduced and stood chatting for a while. It was fascinating to witness things from behind the scenes. Charles had these charming little habits—apparently, to avoid getting overwhelmed by constant handshakes, he would carry a cup of tea or fiddle with his cufflinks to keep his hands occupied. He was delightful.
The introductions and preparations were precise, timed to the second. At one point, we heard a bang from the other side of the door and someone loudly announcing, “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and party!” The doors flew open. The first thing I saw was my uncle—a man who never believed anything significant happened outside the British Isles. His jaw dropped as he saw me walk in, laughing and chatting with Prince Charles, both of us holding cups of tea. That moment was priceless—revenge of the colonist, indeed!
The reception itself was spectacular, thanks to Diana Jervis-Read and her team at Canada House. After Neville Clark’s speech during the handover, Prince Charles mingled with the artists. When I spoke, I couldn’t resist mentioning that the paintings had been stored under my bed—a comment that drew some laughter. What struck me most was how Prince Charles ignored the strict schedule. He was deeply engaged, spending far more time with each artist than planned. He even asked his aide to reorganize his afternoon.
Then, unexpectedly, one of his aides approached me and asked if we would be interested in visiting Highgrove, the Prince’s country home, to see his paintings. The offer was spontaneous and strictly for the artists. Many of them had family with them or were set to return home in a few days, but about eight or nine of us managed to go to Highgrove.
Linda Kemp and I traveled together during that trip, and we still laugh about the experience. It was a great credit to the artists—from Vancouver to Newfoundland—that Prince Charles took such an interest in them. That spontaneous invitation to Highgrove remains one of my most cherished memories.
Canada House arranged for a minibus two days later, the date we were given for our visit. On the way down, it occurred to us that while the Prince had invited us to see his paintings, there was no guarantee we’d see him again. But when we arrived at Highgrove, navigating through quite elaborate security as we’d been prepped for, we were shown into the house itself. The gardens, a highlight for most visitors, had their own reception area, but we were taken into the house. Accompanying us was Diana Jervis-Read, who had organized much of the event.
Shortly after we arrived, Prince Charles came down to greet us. He and I had a wonderful reintroduction—it had only been two days since we last met, but standing in his office at Highgrove, I recognized one of his paintings on the wall. It was a small landscape of a building, very pleasant, and it had been part of an exhibition some years earlier. What made it special was that it was the first painting Prince Charles had ever had accepted into a juried show without anyone knowing it was his. He’d entered it under one of his many titles, perhaps as “Baron Something” from Scotland, rather than HRH.
I remembered that painting well because it had come to Toronto for a Watercolor Society exhibition. When it arrived at the British Trade Office, I went to pick it up. I signed countless forms for it and brought it home to my apartment, where I worried about its safety. The best hiding place, I decided, was on the back of the toilet in my guest bathroom. Nobody would think to look there for a painting by the Prince of Wales! It stayed there for three months. Of course, I didn’t tell him this part, but I mentioned the painting, and he laughed, saying it was one of his favourites for sentimental reasons.
The tour was extraordinary. Vivian Thierfelder and I found ourselves standing with the Prince of Wales in his bathroom, surrounded by his shaving accoutrements, as he showed us watercolors hanging over the bathtub. It was surreal. At one point, one of his secretaries, a charming woman from Calgary, leaned over and whispered, “You don’t realize how unique this is—this never happens.”
In his study, the relaxed atmosphere continued. Everyone was so at ease. The space had clearly been “prepped” for us, stripped of personal items due to the domestic upheaval in his life at the time. Still, there was one photograph of him hugging one of his sons, likely Harry, in ski clothes. One of the aides quickly turned it face down, explaining it had just arrived as a gift from Dame Shirley Bassey.
As I stood near his desk, I noticed three portrait miniatures. They were stunning. One was of Queen Victoria in a formal frame, another of Queen Alexandra with Cyrillic writing on the satin-lined display box, and the third was a famous watercolor miniature of the Queen Mother as a young girl. My art historian’s eye marvelled at the craftsmanship—one frame was undoubtedly Fabergé. But then it hit me: to him, these weren’t historical treasures; they were family heirlooms. His great-great-grandmother, great-grandmother, and grandmother. It was like me having Aunt Mabel’s photo on my desk—a humbling and charming moment.
Ross Monk, one of the artists there, later described the visit as feeling like a family gathering. The Prince was so personable. We even ended up in Prince Harry’s bedroom, where he showed us some of Harry’s watercolors. That moment really warmed us to him. He spoke like any proud parent, saying Harry was talented but wouldn’t apply himself. As former teachers, several of us recognized that sentiment—it was a conversation we’d had countless times with parents.
What made the day even more remarkable was the exclusivity. We weren’t allowed to photograph or sketch anything, so we had to absorb it all. On the bus ride back, a few of us with good architectural memories started doodling. Those little sketches became incredibly popular and were snapped up quickly.
It was an unforgettable day, filled with charm, warmth, and unique experiences—one I’ll always treasure.
The artists who are included in the first two gifts can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...
