He was just twenty-four. That’s the first thing you have to wrap your head around when looking at the life of Constantine II of Greece. Most twenty-four-year-olds are figuring out a career or where to go for drinks on a Friday night, but in 1964, Constantine was being handed the keys to a kingdom that was basically a political powder keg.
Honestly, the story of the last King of Greece feels like something pulled straight from a prestige TV drama. You've got the young, handsome Olympic athlete, a teenage bride from Denmark, a brutal military coup, and then decades of wandering Europe as a man without a country. He wasn't just some distant figure in a history book; he was a guy who spent fifty years trying to figure out how to be "former" everything.
The Gold Medalist Who Inherited a Nightmare
Before the politics got ugly, Constantine was a genuine Greek hero. In 1960, he did something no Greek had done since 1912: he won an Olympic gold medal. He was a sailor, competing in the Dragon class at the Rome Olympics. It’s kinda wild to think about now, but he was the first Greek athlete in decades to stand at the top of the podium. That win made him incredibly popular.
But the "King of the Hellenes" title wasn't an easy gig. When his father, King Paul, died of cancer in 1964, Constantine stepped into a role he wasn't quite ready for. He married the eighteen-year-old Princess Anne-Marie of Denmark soon after, and for a hot second, they were the world's most glamorous couple.
Then everything broke.
The "Apostasia" and the Path to Exile
People often blame the young King for the mess that followed. In 1965, he got into a massive fight with his Prime Minister, Georgios Papandreou. It was a classic power struggle—the King vs. the democratically elected leader. Constantine basically forced Papandreou out, an event known as the Apostasia.
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It was a disaster.
The move created a massive power vacuum. For two years, Greece was a mess of unstable governments and angry protests. By 1967, a group of middle-ranking army officers—the "Regime of the Colonels"—had seen enough. They staged a coup and seized control of the country.
Constantine’s reaction to the coup is still debated by historians today. Initially, he stayed. He even took a photo with the junta members, which made it look like he supported them. He later claimed he was just trying to buy time. In December 1967, he tried to lead a "counter-coup" to take the country back.
It failed miserably.
Within hours, he, his wife, and their young children were on a plane to Rome. He wouldn't live in Greece again for forty-six years.
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A Life in the Shadows of Other Thrones
Exile is a strange thing for a royal. You have the titles, the cousins (he was second cousins with King Charles III and his sister Queen Sofia was the Queen of Spain), but you don't have a job.
He ended up in London, living in a big house in Hampstead Garden Suburb. Basically, he became the ultimate "royal neighbor." He was the godfather to Prince William. He spent his days at the tennis club or lunching with the European aristocracy. But he never quite let go of the idea of being King.
In 1974, after the junta collapsed, Greece held a referendum. The people had a choice: bring back the King or stay a republic. The result wasn't even close. Nearly 70% of Greeks voted to ditch the monarchy.
Why the Relationship Stayed So Sour
For decades, the Greek government and the former King were at each other's throats.
- The Passport Issue: Greece stripped him of his citizenship in 1994 because he refused to adopt a surname (he insisted he was just "Constantine of Greece").
- The Property Fight: He sued the Greek state at the European Court of Human Rights over his seized estates, like the Tatoi Palace. He won some money, but not the land.
- The Name: He hated being called "Mr. Glücksburg." He felt it was a slight to his heritage.
The Quiet Return and the Final Act
Surprisingly, things softened in his later years. In 2013, he finally moved back to Greece. He wasn't a threat anymore; he was just an old man who wanted to see the sea. He settled in Porto Heli and eventually moved back to Athens.
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When he died in January 2023 at the age of 82, it felt like the formal end of an era. The Greek government refused him a state funeral—they were still prickly about his role in the 1960s—but half the royals of Europe showed up anyway. You had the Kings and Queens of Spain, Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands all standing in a cathedral in Athens to say goodbye to a man who technically didn't have a country to rule.
What We Can Learn From His Story
Constantine II is a case study in what happens when tradition hits the brick wall of modern politics. He was a man of his time, but he was also a man out of time.
If you're looking to understand the modern Greek identity, you have to look at why they rejected him so firmly. It wasn't just about him; it was about a country wanting to grow up and leave the "crown" behind.
Next Steps for History Buffs:
If you're ever in Athens, take a trip out to the Tatoi Palace grounds. It’s a bit eerie and overgrown, but it’s where he and his ancestors are buried. It gives you a real sense of the grandeur that was lost. Also, if you’re into the British Royal family, look up his interviews—he was one of the few people who could speak candidly about "Aunt Lilibet" (Queen Elizabeth II) because they were truly family.
The monarchy is gone, but the story of the man who wore the crown is still one of the most fascinating chapters in Mediterranean history.