On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary (12 page)

B
y the end of 1992, the public’s perception of Prince Charles could not have been worse. He was increasingly portrayed as the villain, while Diana – thanks largely to the Andrew Morton memoir (which she continued to deny having had anything to do with) – was generally viewed as the victim. Charles could do nothing but keep his head down and continue with his responsibilities as heir to the throne.

In 1993, he agreed to do a televised interview for an ITV documentary detailing the various achievements of his exceedingly successful charity, The Prince’s Trust. I thought the program would serve as an ideal vehicle in which to shift focus away from his personal life and back to more worthy matters.

As so often happens with best-laid schemes, things quickly went awry. What was supposed to be a straightforward, strictly work-related interview turned into something much more personal, as Charles was coaxed
into baring his soul on the issue of his failed marriage to Diana.

Filmed in part in the choir stalls of St George’s Chapel, Windsor, the interview proved excruciating at times, as the Prince openly confessed to his extramarital affair with Camilla Parker Bowles. Perhaps equally damaging was the Prince’s contention that, while he was not considering divorce at the time, he did not believe that it would present a barrier to his becoming King. Once he ascended the throne, Charles would serve as Supreme Governor of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith, and this was at a time when divorce was still a highly contentious issue in many religious quarters.

I have no doubt that Richard Aylard, the Prince’s Private Secretary, had persuaded Charles to answer the questions. Interviewer Jonathan Dimbleby would have certainly provided additional influence. Whatever the case, the piece aired in June 1994, just shy of the 25
^th
anniversary of his investiture as Prince of Wales. Charles was met with a firestorm of commentary from armchair pundits and faced criticism across the board. Regrettably, nearly all mention of The Prince’s Trust – a fine institution, and the overriding subject of the documentary as it was originally proposed – was lost in the scandal.

Combustible as the Morton book and Dimbleby interview had been, down in the press office, we couldn’t help but believe that all of Charles and Diana’s ‘dirty laundry’ had finally been aired, and that some sense of normality could one again be established within the Royal Household. We could not have been more wrong.

On 20
^th
November, 1995 (the Queen and Prince Philip’s 48
^th
wedding anniversary), Diana – ever eager to have the last word – fired a final shot, appearing in a televised tell-all interview with Martin Bashir for the BBC’s news magazine programme
Panorama
.

As was the Princess’s intention, neither the Press Office nor the Royal Household at large knew anything about the interview prior to its airing. Only Patrick Jephson, the Princess’s private secretary, had received any hint. Diana had indicated to him that she had done the interview, but revealed nothing about its contents, telling him only, ‘Don’t worry, everything will be all right.’

The BBC was positively covert in keeping the programme under wraps, which only served to ensure a vast viewing audience. Not even Lord Hussey, chairman of the BBC Governors, knew anything about the interview beforehand. Perhaps producers had kept him in the dark because his wife, Lady Susan, served as a Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen.

Bracing for the worst, we in the press office crowded around the television in Charles Anson’s office to watch the broadcast. Most of the press and private secretaries were there, around six of us in total. With the exception of the occasional sharp intake of breath, we watched the interview unfold with silent, rapt attention.

Diana withheld nothing.

‘There were three of us in this marriage,’ she told Bashir, ‘so it was a bit crowded.’ She went on to admit that she’d been in love with James Hewitt, and confirmed that she had been unfaithful to the Prince.

Diana would later confide to friends that she regretted doing the interview. The consequences were entirely as I had expected. The media simply couldn’t get enough of it, splashing her face on magazine covers around the world and filling airwaves with provocative sound bites. Through it all, Diana somehow managed to conduct business as usual. Three days after the
Panorama
interview aired, she left without a backward glance for an official visit to Argentina with her private secretary. The inevitable fallout was left for those back home to deal with…although not all of them did.

Geoff Crawford, Diana’s press secretary, resigned immediately. Her Private Secretary, Patrick Jephson, followed soon after, handing in his notice upon their return from South America. Both men cited a lack of trust as the basis for their resignation, claiming that if she couldn’t take them into her confidence, then there was no point in continuing a working relationship that necessitated a close, personal level of communication.

Admittedly, I too was displeased by Diana’s actions, believing that in many respects it reflected a monumental lack of judgment. I was also dismayed that people who perhaps didn’t have her best interests at heart had managed to talk her into doing something so damning.

And it wasn’t just she who had been affected. The institution of the Monarchy, her extended family and, most importantly, her children, were also made to answer for the Princess’s transgressions. Indeed, as one reporter put it, her interview had, ‘plunged the Monarchy into the greatest crisis since the Abdication.’

It must be said that I was also deeply saddened by what I saw and heard in the
Panorama
piece. I knew from experience how difficult a crumbling marriage could be. It is something I can’t imagine having to endure under a global spotlight. Granted, Diana delivered a masterful performance, but I also couldn’t help but be moved by the authentic vulnerability and pain exhibited throughout the interview. At the end of the day, the woman who had sat down with Martin Bashir was a devoted young mother who had suffered the prolonged and heartbreaking disintegration of her marriage, and who now seemed to be, above all, lonely.

Meanwhile, much of my own attention was turned to the issues of the Palace’s non-human assets, which certainly made for a more harmonious workday. My main concern at the time was overseeing the filming of the on-going restoration at Windsor Castle, with the in-house television crew gathering footage several times a week to document the progress.

I also kept a close eye on the restoration itself, conferring with the specialists involved to ensure that the project continued to run smoothly. As chairman of the restoration committee, the Duke of Edinburgh was a regular visitor to the work site, and we spoke frequently. Very much hands-on, Prince Philip was chiefly responsible for the design of the new stained glass window that was to be installed in the chapel.

I enjoyed being so involved in the Windsor restoration project, but other royal assets also commanded my attention. One such asset was the Royal Collection of fine
art. Spread throughout the various palaces, and having been amassed over centuries from artists spanning the globe, it is the largest and most famous private collection of artworks in the world.

There is estimated to be over a million separate items in the Royal Collection, and the Queen takes her role as its custodian very seriously. She has lived with it for 88 years, and as a result has a deep respect for every piece. While she is not an art historian, she is extremely well educated about a significant number of the items. In terms of inventory, she knows that there are 3,000 objects on permanent loan to museums and galleries in the UK; she knows where the majority of the paintings within the collection are on display, and if a particular painting is missing from its usual spot, she will notice immediately. She has a very good sense of what is included in the Royal Archives and the Royal Library at Windsor, and she could tell you all about the object that decorate the State Banquet table.

In terms of artistic theory and appreciation, Her Majesty can hold her own with anyone, possessing an almost encyclopedic knowledge about a number of different art forms and techniques.

Contrary to popular belief, the Queen does not own the Collection; she holds it in trust for her successors and the nation, which is why so much of it is on public display in all of the royal palaces, as well as in museums and galleries. Because she doesn’t own any of the pieces, she can’t sell any of them.

Towards the end of 1995, it was decided that a number
of paintings from the collection would be sent on an overseas tour to New Zealand, Australia and Canada the following January. Some 30 paintings were chosen, all of them priceless, by such notable artists as Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Stubbs, Winterhalters and Agasse.

The National Gallery of Australia suggested that a knowledgeable representative accompany the paintings in order to speak about them while they were on display. It was agreed, as I had broadcast experience, and might therefore have the necessary tools to avoid boring the pants off of viewers with a slew of curatorial jargon, that I was the obvious choice to send.

The only problem was that I knew bugger all about art.

I fear that this was a rather transparent detail, as one day while walking down Palace Avenue, Diana hooted and pulled her car alongside me to ask how I was enjoying my new position at The Royal Collection. She followed up by asking with a grin, ‘what the fuck to you know about art?’

While I can be a master bluffer at times, it was clear that I had some boning up to do.

Prior to the trip, I familiarized myself with the backgrounds and styles of the paintings I would be exhibiting.
The Young Card Players,
a 17
^th
century French work by one of the Le Nain brothers (no one can confirm which), depicted a group of boys clustered around a table playing
primero
, an early form of poker. Now this was something I could talk about…at least with more authority than lilies or fig leaves.

The work would become my principal subject. I read as much as I could about it and its creator(s). I noted that the
painting was generally described as being ‘Caravaggesque,’ which I found to be a good word – the sort of word that a press secretary-cum-art expert could bandy about with admirable dominion – so I filed it away to wheel out when necessary.

As I continued to put myself through Art School 101, the paintings were sent away for cleaning in preparation for display. Shortly after their return, Christopher Lloyd, Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures, approached me in the press office.

‘You’ll never guess what!’

‘What?’ I asked, somewhat concerned. I had already been scheduled to promote the exhibition on various Australian television programs, and Christopher knew about my fear of being caught out as an unknowledgeable imposter. Had they decided to send him instead?

That wasn’t the case.

‘You know
The Young Card Players?’
he said. ‘Turns out there’s a woman in it too!’

Indeed the card-playing boys had miraculously swelled their ranks. The cleaning process, an art form in itself, had led to the discovery of another character in the painting – a woman, standing in the background looking on. More interestingly, it was determined that the female figure had been painted over sometime in the 18
^th
century. But there was more. The bandage on one of the boy’s heads had disappeared. So, too, had the artist’s signature.

It was ultimately determined that the painting was a fake – a successful attempt to pass off the work as a Caravaggio…so successful, in fact, that when it was
purchased by George IV, then the Prince of Wales, he thought that he was buying a canvas painted by the famed legendary Baroque artist.

For a Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures, I could well understand how this could be a source of great excitement. As an art imbecile, soon expected to wax lyrical on the subject with estimable profundity, I was over the moon. I now had a story – something concrete to talk about, which would hopefully interest viewers even more than discussions of brush strokes and tonal values.

The tour also allowed for a fortunate personal coincidence. My daughter, Victoria, had recently played Snow White in a theatrical production in Newcastle, and had gone on to tour with Disney in Paris, Dubai and Kuwait. Now, she was making an even bigger leap.

‘I’ve applied to drama school,’ she told me, just a couple of weeks before my trip.

‘Where?’

‘New York!’ she exclaimed. ‘You can take me to my audition on your way to Australia.’

I had naturally assumed that she would apply to a school in London, but she had clearly inherited her father’s wanderlust. Would she ever come home to the UK again? Instinct told me that she might not.

Still, I greeted this news with tremendous joy. I did indeed accompany her to the audition before flying on to Sydney. Victoria went on to ace her audition, and accepted a coveted scholarship at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. I could not have been more proud.

That’s not to say that it was an easy adjustment for me. I had relinquished the parental reins a couple of years earlier, but there would be a world of difference in having my little girl an ocean away, as opposed to a couple of tube stops.

Victoria had been just three-and-a-half when my first marriage ended. Aside from the help of a string of au pairs, I raised her as a full-time single dad.

Emotionally, I was not able to accompany her on her permanent move to New York. I was thrilled that she was moving to a good place, and that she was so keen to get there. But with her departure stirring up so many of my own unhappy memories – of being dropped off, motherless and terrified, at boarding school – I simply did not trust myself to go with her on that second trip. Victoria and I said our farewells at Heathrow, and my wife went to New York with her instead. I would have only cried throughout the entire journey.