PRINCESS DIANA - THE ROYAL VISIONARY
Dangerous Ambitions or Incurable Romanticism
I asked her what was going on and she answered, with that curious, secretive turn at the outer edges of her eyes. "Oh it’s a press day for the children "It was almost whimsical and she breathed the words out as if she had been answering the telephone when she was about to take a nap. The words were to remain rolling around in my mind for years to come.
I noticed she had a rather slinky, flimsy long dress through which I could see a shadowy pair of the sort of legs that I looked for in my choice of partner. She was not what I would have thought of as any man´s idea of a sex symbol and a bit lanky for me but there was something in that look that made me feel that she was teasing me gently. The word that came to mind in future years when I thought about her, was demure, whatever that meant. At the time though I was unaware of what was going on... Well, not quite, because her recent change of behavior had alerted the Dolphin Square tenants, who knew something about her not being the ordinary young girl we all thought she was. She had started to ask the arcade grocer, wide eyed and with a bit of a nervous twitch, for proper written receipts for the odd piece of fruit she bought regularly from them. Who on earth however, would, have imagined even in those early days that this singularly shy girl had been chosen to be the next Queen of England or mother of the Crown heir at least
I forget at this moment of time, the name of the kindergarten or where it was, except that it was round the corner and I passed it when I walked to the Pimlico Tandoori restaurant where Diana often went for a curry. It sounded something like New England and the Square was probably St.George´s, and Diana came in and out of the arcade quite frequently with her flat mate who was of a different order of things. For one, she, allowed herself to be taken out but there was little or no chance of getting away with it with Diana. I personally thought Diana was too self conscious and homespun to consider casual dating, a means of further education or entertainment and lived in a world where her friends belonged to a very tight circle. I know of at least one very self assured predator in the vicinity who tried to get his convincing charms through to no avail. It speaks volumes for the so called randy Princess of later years. In fact, those stories, although probably quite true, never ever sounded real to me with respect to the girl I used to know. I suspected that whatever she did, she had either just discovered its attributes and felt too lonely to resist or it was done as a matter of careful deliberation with intent to hurt. Taking into account the type and nationality of the men she appeared to want to have serious affairs with, deliberation often comes to my mind and perhaps some sort of visonary idea of raising future princes of specific countries. One thing that got through to me in those early days though, was that she liked style and her eyebrows arched with that half smile that told you she fully appreciated things like the endless Burgundy Rolls Royce that slid past her front door with me at the wheel. Her very close friend and confidante, the girl who used to work in the Palace Press Office and who met her future husband Major Lyndsey during the Jordan Royal tour, did the same thing when our paths crossed outside the palace. I often wondered if these status symbols were somehow objectives or amusing to those who walked in the shadows of probably the most fascinating caravan of mystique in the world.
I never realized at the time that I knew indirect members of Diana´s family and although I had done business with "Rayne", having supplied uniformed chauffeurs to practically every member of the business aristocracy, I did not associate her with Diana at the time and I can well imagine just how psychologically disruptive she must have been to daddy´s little girl. Least of all, because the last time she slated me (Rayne), she was married to a Press baron and I was not aware that she had moved on to the Spencer household. I got the sharp edge of the then Lady Dartmouth as a result of the campest chauffeur my business organisation had ever sent to anyone and only because he had done the aristocratic circuitry and knew that he always behaved elegantly with a catty savoir faire which got him through. This time however it would appear that he had had enough of the Lady and was elaborately drawing or gesticulating out her every gesture to amused members of the household not daring to imagine that she was only a foot away on the other side of the garden wall.
"N E V E R, N E V E R SEND ME ANYTHING LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN" she hissed with white hot anger. I felt sure that she had not slept all that night with the need to get it across to me as soon as the first flickers of office hours crept into her vigil. I can well understand her annoyance but then it was Rayne, the famous, larger than life, Rayne whose mother was the inimitable and ageless Barbara Cartland who wrote a book a minute or so throughout her life. She later offered chargeable teas for the privilege of her closeness to the new star in the British horizon. It seems a little sad now, taking this astonishing lady´s choice of intensely romantic novel material, that fate had chosen her to be so deeply involved in probably the ultimate and most royal of romantic trajedies of the era. I later pondered on how important it was to the relatively ingenuous Diana to keep her father all to herself and share him with no one other than a woman of her choice. In those early days however, how could anyone have imagined that this shy, introverted, girl would become who she did or that the world would bow at her feet. When did the new foster mother know ? When did Diana´s mother find out ?
It was the shock of dawning realization that dazed me when a close friend of her family and Godmother of one of her sister’s children bamboozled me affectionately about what was what. She did not actually tell me what was going to happen, although she teased me about it much later and after it had been released publically - "No" I had said," genuinely horrified, No. Not under any circumstances. It just wouldn´t work… ." Of course it will, you will see". Even now I ask myself what I saw in Diana which told me that it was a ghastly mistake. When she asked what I thought of the picture of the just married Prince Charles bending over his bride showing his well outlined back view, I told her it was contrived and in bad taste and as bad as the one on his bodyguards shoulder in swimming trunks all those years before. I was beginning to get a whiff of romance on demand and realized just how problematic it was going to be to frame this reluctant Prince in accordance with customary protocol. As one of the first and youngest members of the newly incorporated Institute of Public Relations I itched to get my hands on that pharaonic task, but despite Prince Charles having once broached the subject of professional advise in this respect, contrived imagery was definitely not to the family´s taste. Yet everything to do with the young prince´s regular incursions into press headlines, like the railway sidings affair, was pure smudge and badly done. Had I not felt so compromisingly devoted to a Queen who from those first moments of the early tours, inspired me to feel passionately for the system of government, I would have made a bid for it, but the fear of somehow making the sort of mistake that could earn me disapproval, kept me far from members of her family and particularly from Diana. I say that, even though I knew in my heart , that I could have opened her eyes to realities that could have taught her, like the long suffering Queen Alexandra, how not to mix family with Royal life and still make a go of both. In any case, this genuinely close friend of the Queen and I agreed to differ on the photographic count but she was without doubt totally taken in by Diana´s apparent capability and willingness to toe every line in pursuit of the solid platform on which she had to be set. I had some very disturbing doubts and was not surprised to note the first, alarming cracks in the ceiling. The Royal circuit defies explanation in more ways than one, often seemingly in blatant contradiction to common sense but always moving on to the next and necessary step. Getting emotionally involved in those overwhelmingly theatrical settings, was as easy as tripping on the red carpet, but for some of the surrounding manipulators who were the only ones I could not stomach, anyone who did was a fool. Liking the Royals as genuine people, was, it would seem pure kitch. "Why ?" I quizzed, " I am genuinely fond of them…" "AND IT SHOWS…", came the tart reprimanding reply from the press aide, as if I had committed the unforgiveable indiscretion. I could not make heads or tails of this except that I had become aware, at the front line and often walking alongside the Queen, just how much, unacceptably, unfair pressure was put on the main Royal figures. I could not but feel personally involved somehow and if my own health was a matter of concern for some, I did not see why their´s should not be for me. "Does the Queen not drink.?." I muttered as I saw her looking rather forlorn amidst the sea of lavish refills in the cramped salon. "Of course she does , and she´d like an orange please." Came the strident, authoritative and endearing lament . As on so many other occasions I witnessed, the Queen was totally dependent on the accomplishment of the instructions that turned her in into something other than just a prize object on a long piece of string. How could one NOT like her , or was it sheer perversity on the part of those who were privileged enough to be an influence in her life to keep her away from such mundane things as close contact with people and potential friends. Luckily, everyone roared with approval and the socializing took on a meaningful and enjoyable role. The Queen herself was chuckling with amusement and I could not for the life of me see any wrong in that. Not so for the poor press aide who practically collapsed with horror. Such are the intricacies of the world that a simple country girl like Diana, who took her father´s side, found herself flung into, by nature of the Spencer family genealogical inheritance and it would seem, rights. If anyone was to take her away from that safe harbour, it had to be a prize in its own right and thereby hangs a very interesting tail. Interesting because the Queen particularly, was not the stiff upper lipped frozen fossil that the state and its machinery made her out to be. In fact the very opposite and I cannot help wondering that she found herself in good company with someone like Diana the rebel.
I had a very close look at Diana´s future husband some years earlier in France when some bemused gendarmes had literally pushed two of us standing at the door of the crypt inside a very narrow dungeon in Avignon unaware on our part that the Queen was in there. She no doubt wanted to see the place for specific reasons as much as the skull of Mary Magdalene which had been fitted into her programme for the day. The problem was that her only way out was past our wall hugging bodies, cobwebs and all.. I could see her coming towards us and I died a million times in anticipation of a very embarassing and inescapable situation since I or any other member of the press was not supposed to be there. Obviously, the republican guards outside were having a bit of fun at her expense. They had giggled like ninnies amid cries of "le press ecrit" as they bundled us in. I had thought it was some sort of security measure or impending run over, but it was simply a prank. The truth was that taking into account the way some of those tours were organized – the Moroccan tour was a case in points. I was surprised that she managed to get out of some places unscathed. In any case, Prince Charles came to the rescue. A red puffy face which somehow did not match the myriads of images I had seen of him, loomed largely over ours, menacingly scrutinizing every move or flicker of our eyes. He glared mutely and spoke volumes as concern for his mother (or dislike of the intrusive press), told us wordlessly just where to get off. In any case, it was pretty obvious that Her Majesty´s son was not a happy boy and I could not utter a word of apology or regret. The party stopped just short of us as it normally did when there was doubt ahead, with Prince Charles covering the intervening space. Like two edgy intruders from a Carry On film, we walked in front hoping that we were leading them somewhere. He could have tackled it differently and even led us outside but the incident gave me an idea of the protective type of person he was and his closeness to his mother who had earlier on presented him proudly on an open jeep to madly cheering crowds. Life in Dolphin Square however, prepared one for every aspect of the personal lives of most of anyone who meant anything in the United Kingdom. This vast complex, probably ensconced most of the relatives and friends of friends of the Royals and occasionally the Royals themselves in search of their advisors and sometime providers, like seamstresses and the like. I had at least two who entertained them regularly in my block. "She´s fallen asleep…." Said one of them once after pummeling at my door , as she hurried past me into my lounge like a frenzied messenger about to deliver her last breath. Who ‘ for heavens sake…?.’ Princess Anne, she trotted bluntly. Had it not been Dolphin Square, I would have said "you mean the Poodle---?, but so it was and not always party to these situations, this occasional seamstress had thought it better to let her rest a while on her own, much to my alarm in case she woke up frightened and unattended in what must have been a rather crowded and unusual sort of hideout. "Don´t be so naïve" someone told me after the event, "they are as hard as nails". It made me wonder where they got these notions from which made me watch them discreetly at rather close quarters in search of any such traits. I must say that despite often being within earshot of their conversations that I saw none of this and was often bowled over by the odd remark which showed just how surprised they were at what other people would have just taken for granted. Princess Anne had once been the subject of an attempted and nearly successful ambush in Pall Mall. One of our regular chauffeurs had practically saved her life refusing to expose her to the demented gunman. Waking up in a strange, rather small apartment without someone there to relate to did not seem right and I soon pointed this out. I was never and indeed am still not sure whether it is the enormity of the image that make people treat the Royals as objects, of reverence, but objects nevertheless , or self conscious embarrassment at falling apart at the thought of not coming up to standards. I had gone through a bit of that initially but despite my deep and great respect for what they represented, I saw humans with every bit of everything everyone had. It was this that made me simmer in frustration when I saw things done without appreciation of such simple truths. "I´ts us they want in, not them out…", said a sultry Prince Philip, discussing the barriers put between them and the people. I also sometimes wondered whether the Royals themselves had any choice in the matter and a comment made by an aide with respect to the family being aware of undesirable and undetectable manipulative powers above them, made me wonder too, just how difficult things could be for anyone who did not do things the their pompous way, whoever they were. These directives and retributions by that sinister bureaucratic influence, behind the scenes over which the Royals had little direct charge, could produce effects and hide the cause as I found out. A lady in waiting to whom I posed the question, said with a bit of a wry smile…"You do say some very interesting things……." Pure poetry I would say, but I feel that Diana and her story has more to do with these invisible elements than any form of personal antipathy from the inner Royals themselves who were probably more than aware of the Crown heir´s way of doing things and the banging of heads against brick walls.
The fact that the seamstress, in any case, was quite incapable of handling a whackered Princess speaks volumes and the fact that the Queen´s daughter was there at all, was probably lost on her. Princess Anne told the same Grocer who tried to take Diana out, "if you start like this you continue like it " or something similar, as he felt incapable of taking money off her for her first vegetable purchase. Princess Anne had become a Dolphin Square Tenant many years after the alarming nap, and her little sortie into the arcade had caught the flirty Romeo by surprise, as his favourite Royal loomed larger than life just behind him as he bent down to pick up some stray pimentoes. "Not exactly the way he had hoped to greet Dolphin Square´s most renowned celebrity", he confessed dolefully. But then the Royals probably wonder why people do things the way they do…
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About the Author:Parliamentary correspondentage at the age of 15. Royal touring writer. Agency Commonwealth writer Publisher Britain's first trade journal for drivers. Travel writer and millionaire businessman, hotelier, restauranteur and television presenter. Contributor to Holy Blood and Holy Grail. Messianic Legacy. Sword and the Seal. Articles published in wide variety of British and Commonwealth Journals. Author Al Andalus * a trail of discovery. Lulu
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