A Brief History of the House of Windsor (33 page)

If insight to the lives of the royal family is easier for the public than it used to be, the present generation is visibly freer and less hidebound than was the case, and they are much more at ease with us. Seeing them today, it seems incredible that within living memory they were forbidden by self-imposed rules from smiling or laughing in public, or injecting humour into speeches.

It is worth remembering, however, that the rules of society have changed in any case, making the lives of the young in general less hidebound. To cite one example: when William was elected to ‘Pop’ at Eton, the prefectorial society whose most conspicuous symbol is a colourful and self-designed waistcoat, the prince wore one bearing the slogan ‘Groovy Baby’, a reference to the then-fashionable Austin Powers spy films. Nobody raised an eyebrow at this. In the 1970s, when his father had put on a sweatshirt to play polo and it happened to bear the title of the film
A Bridge Too Far
(a serious war movie, as opposed to a vulgar spoof), he was reprimanded by courtiers on the grounds that ‘royalty don’t advertise’.

Monarchies need to know – and usually do, by virtue of long practice – when to be formal and when to unbend. In the modern era they must, after all, not only symbolize national virtue but seem like archetypal citizens. The trick is always to tread a fine line between the two. That so many dynasties survive in democratic countries is a testament to their success.

‘If people don’t want it, they won’t have it.’

Prince Charles, on the monarchy

It is beyond doubt that if you dislike the royal family you have a hard time in Britain, especially if you live in the capital. Their image is everywhere. Not only can you not use a stamp or a coin without being reminded of them, but their faces are on thousands of other items – postcards, crockery, biscuit tins. (This is not their fault. They do not hold copyright regarding their own images, and anyone can thus make these souvenirs.) Their insignia, in the shape of the Royal Warrant, appears on everything from cereal packets to vacuum cleaners. Let there be any hint of a royal celebration and shop windows, magazine covers and public spaces will be saturated with them. On these high days and holidays the general, widespread hysteria must be positively sickening for those who do not share the enthusiasm, just as the World Cup is for those with no interest in football. There is no corner of the United Kingdom in which you can avoid it. As one critic railed during the jubilee celebrations of 2012, no view was permitted to appear
in the media other than that the monarchy was worshipped, enjoyed, appreciated overwhelmingly by the British public.

And yet this reflects the genuine, uncontrived (fostered, but not contrived) desire of most of the British people, as shown in opinion polls.

The last major poll, by Mori in May 2012, found that a solid 80 per cent want to keep the monarchy, and while Conservative voters were predictably overwhelming in their support (96 per cent), so were Labour (74 per cent) and Liberal Democrats (84 per cent). The poll was taken just before the Diamond Jubilee, at a high point in the Crown’s fortunes, yet even in its darkest days – in January 1997 a televised debate,
The Nation Decides
, included a telephone survey – support remained at 66 per cent. With two-thirds of the country in favour, there was little to comfort republicans.

June 2012: The Diamond Jubilee

A day of unseasonal chill and fitful sunshine that, before it is over, will have degenerated into wintry cold and almost solid sheets of rain. The usual crowds sit from dawn on the pavements or emerge, bleary-eyed, from pup-tents in St James’s Park. As the hours pass there are more and more of them, still swapping yarns about where they have come from and what other occasions they have seen. As the numbers increase, the media awaken. As usual, the networks have decided that the crowd will be depicted as happily indomitable, determined to enjoy themselves in spite of the weather. This is what the audience both at home and overseas expect from the British – eccentric cheerfulness and a sense of carry-on-regardless. Presenters and cameramen from the television news channels go up and down the kerbsides, telling people what they are going to ask and what the answers must be (‘When we say: “What keeps you going?” you’re to answer: “Adrenalin!” ’) inciting them to wave and grin and cheer like morons as soon as the cameras are turned on. The hordes obey, and are rewarded with a thumbs-up: ‘That was great!’ Eventually, in mid-morning, the
crowd will see a short motorcade that flashes past in minutes. ‘Have I waited four hours for
that?
’ asks one woman. Only in the afternoon, when the participants come back, will there be the bands and horses and gun-carriages that the spectators wanted. But it is frankly not very interesting, not a patch on 2002. This time most of the effort went into a river pageant, and for those on land there is only a short drive up Whitehall and along the Mall to look at. The crowd are bored. Magic sometimes fails to match expectations. And now the rain has come, threatening the fly-past by Second World War aircraft that is the traditional climax to these events.

Nevertheless when the family are back inside the Palace and the slow, almost stately surge of the crowd westward up the Mall begins, kept in check by a solid line of policemen, excitement mounts all over again. As always the climax, the moment more to be savoured than any other, is the appearance on the balcony of those who have been glimpsed in passing a short time earlier. The cheering will be deafening, the sense of goodwill and camaraderie and national unity will be fleeting but forthcoming, the notion of being a participant in something magnificent will bring some members of the crowd to tears. This is the single moment that will live in memory long after the early start, the discomfort and cold and boredom have been forgotten.

Despite such euphoria, there is an often-expressed view in the media that we have all had enough of this, that it will wither away through the increasing indifference of modern and forward-looking people, especially the young. In the days and weeks before the jubilee, and the wedding, there was much talk about the general lack of enthusiasm for these events. The perspective was always the same – that the queen’s subjects are becoming more and more disenchanted with their constitutional arrangements, and that, by implication, there will not be such events in future because the monarchy will have gone. The foreign news coverage was especially dominated by this. Passers-by, stopped at random, opined that either the
occasions meant nothing to them personally or they felt such celebrations were inappropriate at a time of recession and national austerity. On the days themselves, broadcasters even went in search of alternative celebrations – anti-weddings or jubilees – and found small groups of listless men and women doing nothing very much. Those they interviewed, almost invariably young and slovenly, are the sort of people who are against any established order anyway. A female Cambridge undergraduate – a self-confessed anarchist who would thus, by very definition, disapprove equally of every other form of government – was interviewed by American television. In the cut-glass tones of one educated in the Home Counties, she fulminated against the occasion with genuine passion if without any coherent arguments. Anyone watching this type of thing would have been aware of a palpable desperation as the networks looked for someone – anyone – who could present the alternative view. They did not manage to find a single spokesperson to put the case articulately or impressively.

On the afternoon of the river pageant there was a republican protest outside City Hall, close to the route that the vessels, and the royal family, would travel. Attendance was modest, despite the fact that participants had travelled from all over the United Kingdom and beyond (Swedish anti-monarchists, for some reason, were there). Peter Tatchell, an activist and unsuccessful parliamentary candidate, gave a speech in which he acknowledged that those present were a small minority (he was heckled throughout by chants of ‘Long live the queen!’ from loyalists) but compared the ending of the monarchy to the abolition of slavery, the gaining by women of the right to vote and the granting of equality to homosexuals. He pointed out that all of these had been unpopular, unfashionable causes but, because a small number of devoted activists had persevered with them, they had gradually won over the majority and succeeded in their objectives. To pretend that an extremely benign, and widely popular, institution of proven worth – such as the monarchy – is comparable with some
denial of human rights is, at the least, very poor reasoning. After emphasizing that his objection was to the institution of monarchy and not the throne’s current occupant, Tatchell went on to say that the queen has ‘never made any sacrifices’ and ‘never suffered any hardship’ – emphasizing that he appears to know little about her. If his speech sums up the current thinking of republicanism, it has overwhelmingly lost the argument.

Republicans are almost visibly disappointed that members of racial minorities are not more outraged by the royal family’s ethnicity. In fact, among these groups the queen has long since won respect. As Head of the Commonwealth she is known to move easily among the leaders and peoples of the countries from which Britain’s new communities are drawn. She is head of state in a number of them. Her views on racial discrimination – seen most clearly in her reaction to South African apartheid – are well known. However disenchanted minority citizens may become with British governments or other institutions, the monarchy is not a target of their anger. One historian, Philip Howard, has neatly summed up the sovereign’s position thus: ‘Constitutional monarchy is, paradoxically, a democratic institution: by giving the official head of state no power, it makes her a representative of all her subjects, particularly the weaker and the powerless.’ Perhaps minority citizens sense this, or know it, while those who are indignant on their behalf do not. She is all things to all men. That is the beauty of it.

The notion that ‘this is the twenty-first century’ is perhaps the most ludicrous ‘argument’ of the lot, though it is much used by the lazy and the unthinking. What has the date on the calendar to do with whether an institution is useful and effective? The idea that change is compulsory whether or not it is for the better, simply because time has moved on, is a very quick recipe for disaster. We would be left with nothing very useful at all if we got rid of tried and proven things just because they have been around for a long time. Does anyone
suggest we abolish the International Red Cross because it was founded as long ago as 1859? Or the Olympics because they hark back to Ancient Greece? Parliament was first summoned in England in 1295, yet one does not hear people saying: ‘But this is the twenty-first century! Why do we still have a constituent assembly that dates from over seven hundred years ago?’ Institutions such as schools and businesses are proud to advertise the date at which they began, because it suggests that by having been in existence a long time they have not only proved trustworthy but have given satisfaction, gained valuable experience and adapted to suit changing needs. Why should the monarchy, which has done all of these things, not be judged by the same criteria and take the same pride?

There is also an argument produced by republicans that monarchy prevents any person, anywhere, from becoming Britain’s head of state – that there can be no ‘log cabin to White House’ dream, as there is in the United States. Yet the position of British prime minister is not exactly negligible. It is one of the world’s great offices, bringing with it tremendous power and prestige. It was sufficient to satisfy the ambitions of Churchill, Disraeli and Pitt the Elder. Harold Wilson, a working-class boy from Yorkshire, actually lived that dream when he was photographed as a child outside Number 10 Downing Street. He was to return forty years later as the occupant, and twice to serve as prime minister. To anyone of reasonable ambitions the premiership would surely be enough to satisfy them. (Today, in addition, children could grow up wanting to be president of the European Council.) The post of prime minister has the added attraction that it gives its occupant the opportunity to exercise power without its usual accompaniment – the need to preside over hours of mind-numbing official entertaining and protocol. It could be argued that the monarchy has taken on all the dull bits of being in office, saving others the trouble. It is also worth remembering, since politics attracts people with considerable self-regard, that the presence of a monarch keeps in check the
egos of ambitious statesmen. When MPs attend the queen’s garden parties, as they do each summer, it is noticeable how little interest their presence arouses.

Republicans often cannot understand why others do not share their zeal or their perpetual resentment. They seize avidly on any small reverse for the House of Windsor as evidence that victory is imminent. Every time Prince Philip makes one of his trademark
faux pas
they react with spluttering indignation. What the shrill and humourless apostles of political correctness do not realize is that a great many members of the public do not think such incidents worthy of anger. Knowing that these throwaway remarks are unintentional and not meant to offend, they might even find them funny, and may well enjoy the notion that public figures can successfully get away with defying the straitjacket of current orthodoxy. Every instance of Prince Philip or Prince Harry speaking out of turn (often when the media had no business to be eavesdropping in the first place) is trumpeted by newspapers, and may pursue them for years afterward. The public, however, tend to forgive, or simply not to hold it against them in the first place.

There was considerable smirking among progressives when, following the death of the Queen Mother in 2002, there was no immediate rush to sign books of condolence for her. At least one newspaper featured a photograph of a deserted crush-barrier next to St James’s Palace where thousands had been expected, and asked if she did not deserve better after a lifetime of public service. The prophecy that this showed a terminal decline in the popularity of monarchy was to prove seriously premature. Though crowds had been slow to gather, after that they came in very significant numbers. They queued for anything up to nine hours to pass her coffin while she lay in state in Westminster Hall, and over a million lined the streets on the day of her funeral. It was not only a matter of her personal popularity, it was a quiet but effective riposte from the people of Britain to those who predicted that apathy would be their only reaction.