On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary (14 page)

An even greater silence fell at 6:30pm, when the assembled media were escorted out to the press pen. All gazes moved expectantly towards the sky, awaiting the first glimpse of the tell-tale aircraft lights. It didn’t matter where anyone stood, as they would all have an unimpeded view. Silence reigned across the entire base. Even the arrival of Prime Minister Tony Blair caused little stir.

The plane came into view just before seven. The only movement was that of camera lenses pointing skyward as the wing lights grew brighter with the aircraft’s gradual approach to landing.

Upon landing, the plane taxied away from view, and it was some time before it appeared again, as, prior to its return, the casket had to be turned around inside the hold in order to be carried out by the pallbearers. The aircraft eventually came to a stop outside the terminal building, and the high-pitched whine of the engines gave way to silence.

The media’s presence was hardly felt. There was none of the usual machine gun-like rattle of motor-drives as the Lord Chamberlain, head of the Queen’s household, walked to the foot of the steps to greet the Prince of Wales and Diana’s sisters, who took their places alongside the other dignitaries gathered in front of the plane.

The bearer party from the Queen’s Colour Squadron, RAF Regiment, formed up at the starboard rear cargo door. Draped with the Royal Standard, the casket emerged to an eerie calm. None of us could quite accept what we were seeing as the pallbearers gathered the casket onto their shoulders and moved at a slow march to the awaiting hearse. As my eyes began to water, the true gravity of what I was witnessing fully began to set in.

With the exception of the bowed heads and salutes, there was little ceremony. Within minutes, the assembled party had dispersed and gone their separate ways. Prince Charles immediately flew back to his sons in Scotland. The hearse, followed by a suite car carrying the Princess’s sisters and Lt. Col. Anthony Mather, began its slow journey to London. The Princess was to be taken to a mortuary in Fulham, before making her next journey to the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace, where she would lie until the time came to lay her to rest.

After staying on to answer the remaining press queries, I left the base about 30 minutes behind the hearse, to make my own journey back to London. The airport perimeter was still thronged by the crowd which had gathered to witness the plane’s arrival. As I drove up the M40, the westbound carriageway was still at a standstill as passengers had disgorged from their cars to stand and watch the cortege pass by. That they were still there, a half hour later, reflected a hint of the outpouring of public grief that was to come.

Back in central London, things were moving at a much quicker pace. From my car window I saw that the banks of flowers and mementoes were continuing to build up outside Buckingham Palace, as were the queues to sign the books of condolence we’d quickly arranged to be placed in St James’s Palace.

Upon returning to my desk at the press office, I began to sense the scope of what duties lay ahead in the coming days. I was informed that there would be a planning meeting at 10am the following morning, and turned my attention to the necessary media-related preparations. Questions regarding the impending funeral were flooding in from all fronts. I answered them as best I could with whatever knowledge I was able to offer at the time.

It was almost midnight before I returned home to Kensington Palace – a routine that would continue until the day of the funeral. While I’d been profoundly moved by the sight of the Princess’s casket emerging from the aircraft, I was still so immersed in the tasks at hand, that I’d allowed myself no time to properly grieve the loss that
I felt. In short, I’d consciously flipped the switch in my brain that would keep me in work mode, and resolutely forced myself to stay in that state for the remainder of the day.

It had been 22 hours since I’d left Kensington Palace, and it was only upon seeing the sight that greeted me when I arrived back at home that the enormity of Diana’s loss to the world became readily apparent.

The flowers in particular were a sight to behold – a steadily growing carpet of color completely obscuring the vast stretch of grass that extended from the Kensington Palace railings. Their scent was overwhelming. Heightening the effect was the low buzz from the assembled crowd, which had remained to keep vigil in spite of the late hour. Their unashamed weeping could be heard in every direction, each of them united in their collective shock and grief. Every walk of life was represented – young couples, mothers with little ones, men in smart suits with briefcases, elderly gents and teenagers. Most had probably never even seen Diana in the flesh, and yet their empathy was intense.

Diana had always said that she wanted to be a princess of people’s hearts…and in death, it was clear that she was.

M
onday dawned all too quickly, and preparations for the Princess’s funeral began in earnest.

Before returning to my apartment at Kensington Palace the previous night, I had been to Canada Gate to check on the arrangements for the media. I found that my worst fears had been realised. Though the Royal Family was not in residence, the press was obviously anticipating its imminent return to London.

In response to the continuing pilgrimage to Kensington Palace by members of the public, and in expectation of the Queen’s much-speculated upon arrival at Buckingham Palace, a sprawling, disorganized media camp had begun to take shape in Green Park. I knew it would need to be contained and overseen, and I was greatly relieved when the Royal Parks department said that it would handle the arrangements. Clearly we were still only just beginning to grasp the full scale of the event.

Overnight the Lord Chamberlain, Lord Airlie, and his team had made many of the big decisions, and now it was a case of rolling out the plans and putting them into action. Time was of the essence.

The first of what would prove to be a daily meeting leading up to the funeral itself was held in the Chinese Dining Room in Buckingham Palace, and was led by the Lord Chamberlain. Some two-dozen key personnel were present, including the relevant private and press secretaries and government officials from the prime minister’s office. Among them were John Holmes, Angie Hunter and Alastair Campbell. Also in attendance were the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Paul Condon, Assistant Commissioner, Anthony Speed, the permanent secretary to the Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS), Hayden Phillips, and, on conference call from several hundred miles away at Balmoral, the Queen’s deputy private secretary, Robin Janvrin.

While there was no funeral plan approved by the Princess, there
was
a format for royal funerals in London, and a defined ceremonial route from the Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace to Westminster Abbey. This was duly discussed and agreed upon, contrary to the media-driven spin that gave the impression that the government had masterminded the plans. The only contribution the government made to the proceedings was a blank cheque covering the costs.

The date was also set. The funeral would take place on Saturday, 6
^th
September, which gave us less than five days to put everything into place. We were told that it would
take the form of a ‘non-ceremonial royal funeral’, which left almost everyone around the table none the wiser.

Once explained, it turned out to be very simple. A service would be held in Westminster Abbey, and the route would follow the same path set for ‘Tay Bridge.’

The word ‘Tay’ in this particular instance refers to the Queen Mother. The context of the word ‘bridge’ is rather lovely. Each individual royal funeral plan has the suffix ‘bridge’ attached to it. It is used to denote the deceased’s final journey – bridging the gap between life on earth and the hereafter.

It was decided that Diana’s procession would follow the same path as the funeral planned for the Queen Mother. It would leave the Chapel Royal, travel down The Mall, up Horse Guards Approach Road, across Horse Guards Parade Ground, though the arch of HQ London District, Horse Guards building, and turn right into Whitehall, before processing on to the Abbey. The interment would then take place in the Spencer Family vault at Great Brington, near to the family home at Althorp House.

In essence, the term ‘non-ceremonial’ meant that there would be less pomp and pageantry than there would have been had the Princess still been married to Prince Charles – no marching military, no bands and no street liners, which collectively was at least one less element to worry about. There would, however, be a gun carriage from the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery to bear the coffin, accompanied by a bearer party from the Welsh Guards.

The final item on the agenda that morning was the
matter of the guest list for the service, but as it was to be collated by the Princess’s office, the meeting was able to adjourn and we were all able to crack on with our various responsibilities. The burden of time weighed heavily on all our shoulders. We had less than five days to organise what would be the biggest royal event since the Princess’s wedding 16 years earlier – something that took at least twice as many months to plan.

Behind Canada Gate, workers toiled rapidly to construct the commentary boxes – similar to those built for the start of the summer openings four years earlier – to house the broadcasters. My part in the proceedings was now clear. I was to manage the press for what was proving to be the biggest international media event in royal history. While Penny was tasked with updating the newly-launched royal website, detailing the arrangements for the funeral, I got in touch with the DCMS, which was coordinating the press positions along the planned route and at Church House, which would also be providing facilities for a full media briefing three days hence.

In the short term, I needed to convene a meeting with the various networks – BBC Television and Radio, ITN, Sky and IRN – so that I could explain the proposed route, along with details and timings.

The irony of what we were doing was not lost on any member of the team. Only ten days previously, we had walked the exact same route, discussed the exact same plans and agreed upon the exact same terms for the Queen Mother’s funeral. We never imagined we would be doing
it so soon after, for another royal entirely, one for whom we never could have predicted such a tragedy.

Still, for want of a blessing, it was helpful to have everything so fresh in our minds. It was also reassuring that, true to their word, the Royal Parks department seemed to be managing the media encampment that was growing in Green Park by the hour.

So far so good. But perhaps there was something we
could
have predicted – that something had to give.

It was all going too easily.

Tuesday’s morning meeting was once again held in the Chinese Dining Room, and as was the case the previous day, it began with many questions. It was becoming apparent that there were a couple of elephants in the room that needed addressing as a matter of priority, namely: Why hadn’t the Queen returned to speak to her people, and why was there no flag flying at half-mast over Buckingham Palace?

The nation was still in a state of shock about the Princess’s death. The evidence was all around us in the escalating mountains of flowers, candles and cuddly toys, the sheer numbers of people streaming into the capital to pay their respects, and the headlines that were beginning to appear on television and in the papers declaring that the people wanted their Monarch back, and they wanted it to happen now.

We, of course, knew the facts. The Queen and her
family were dealing with the tragedy in their own private way. Her Majesty’s primary concern was protecting Princes William and Harry from the glare of the media spotlight, and from the unprecedented number of grieving masses flooding into London – all sights for which the boys would have to brace themselves when the time came to return home. Amidst the outpouring of public sorrow over the woman the Prime Minister had dubbed the ‘People’s Princess’, it was easy to forget that there were two bereaved children involved…but not by Her Majesty. She was determined to stay with her grandsons for as long as she possibly could.

It was becoming rapidly apparent that the media were not happy with the Queen’s notable absence. Hard on the heels of the negative press surrounding the Waleses divorce, the decision was seen as inappropriate in some quarters. ‘
SPEAK TO US, MA’AM,
’ thundered one paper. ‘
YOUR PEOPLE ARE SUFFERING
,’ wailed another. ‘
SHOW US YOU CARE,
’ demanded a third. Such headlines only served to whip up yet more negative public opinion, underlining the media-led common belief that our Royal Family was getting it wrong, and was distinctly out of touch.

It needed addressing, but once the conference link to Balmoral was established, the comments from the deputy private secretary were not positive. The Queen still had no immediate plans to travel to London, and her secretary was apparently also struggling with the requests to fly a Union Flag at half-mast over Buckingham Palace, and whether to have all the male members of the Royal Family
walk behind the gun carriage. It has long been tradition for royal males with a military connection to walk behind the gun carriage at a royal funeral, but I think everyone was in agreement that the two young Princes, aged only 12 and 15, should be excused. To have to endure walking through the streets of London, lined with wailing masses, following their mother’s funeral procession, must have felt nigh on impossible to them.

But it was Prince Philip who made a deal with his grandsons saying, ‘If I walk will you both walk?’ They agreed. I don’t doubt that as the years have passed, they feel profoundly grateful to have found the strength to do so.

In terms of other walkers, it was my colleague, Penny Russell-Smith, who came up with the inspired suggestion that, as there wouldn’t be the usual royal ceremonial components, it might be appropriate to invite representatives from some of the Princess’s many charities to walk behind the gun carriage as part of the funeral procession.

The idea was adopted immediately, as was my own suggestion of finding a way to include the tens of thousands of people who would be flocking to the capital, but who, due to sheer numbers, would be unlikely to see the procession themselves. I proposed deploying loudspeakers along the route, so that people could hear the funeral service, and to erect a giant screen in Hyde Park so that other spectators could watch the event as it unfolded.

The police were so enthused by this idea that they suggested we go one step further and put up a screen in Regent’s Park as well. I disagreed.

‘I don’t think people will go there,’ I argued. ‘Almost everyone will want to be as close to the route as they can get, even if they can’t actually see.’

Due to growing concerns for the public’s health and safety, the police did so anyway, partly to divert the crowds. With the number of incoming onlookers now estimated to be in excess of a million, police were worried about the implications of that many people clustered around a processional route that was currently too short.

As discussions continued, the obvious solution was to extend the route to allow for more space. The police commissioner suggested re-routing the procession around Trafalgar Square. He promised to look into the logistics and report back in the morning. As the meeting drew to a close we were left with the remaining questions of flags and protocols still undecided, and the delicate issue of when the Queen might address the nation still hanging frustratingly in the air.

I put it out of my mind. There was no point in doing otherwise. I had another day of broadcast arrangements with which to deal.

And for now, I just had to get some sleep.

I rose at 5am and was at the office within half an hour. My daughter, Victoria, had arrived from New York late Monday night. Nothing would have prevented her from coming, and I had told her she could take my place in the Abbey come Saturday. Regrettably, I had hardly seen her,
as I had been working almost around the clock. Fuelled purely by adrenalin, I scarcely even felt tired anymore.

When I reached the Palace, I saw that there had clearly been no progress overnight with regards to the flag. The notably bare flagpole still skewered the late-summer sky. I wasn’t surprised. From the start, my instinct had been that they should concede on this one point and just get the flag up there. After all, it wasn’t a constitutional issue, but merely a traditional one, and sometimes traditions have to either make way for new ones or be put aside as expediency dictates.

This was such a time. Maintaining its constant pressure on the matter, the media pitted itself against equally resolute courtiers – courtiers unwilling to explain to the Queen that she was playing right into the hands of the press, thereby further fueling the negative headlines.

Part of the problem was that the media was not fully conversant with the facts. Several members were calling for the Royal Standard to be flown at half-mast, but this was never going to happen as the Royal Standard is
never
flown at half-mast. And so came the call for the Union Flag. This, too, was impossible, as the Union Flag
never
flies over Buckingham Palace…and so the debacle rumbled on.

I turned my attention to matters which were more my preserve – visiting the media encampment and having a check through of the morning papers before heading to the Chinese Dining Room for the 10am meeting.

Lord Airlie confirmed what we all already knew. There had still been no resolution on the issue of the flag, nor on
two other key items for which the media was beginning to bay – that the Queen should travel down from Balmoral to be seen among her people, and that she make a televised address to the nation. The latter, were it to happen, would also be a first, as Her Majesty only addresses the nation during her annual Christmas Day message.

But this was a circumstance without precedent, and we all knew it. The nation, if not at a standstill, had certainly been gripped like never before. The Princess’s death was now being discussed by media around the world, and the absence of an official royal response was becoming glaringly conspicuous.

We knew that we would have to say something within the next 24 hours. We also knew that, whatever happened next, we were at the hands of a hostile media. Had the Queen instead hurried down to London and left her grieving grandsons, she would have been attacked for being cold and uncaring. She was damned either way.

There were no more positive developments regarding the processional route either. The police commissioner had returned with the news that the proposed Trafalgar Square extension had been deemed insufficient to ease the crowd pressure, so it was back to the drawing board. But then Michael Gibbins, the Princess’s Private Secretary, came up with an inspired idea.