On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary (18 page)

As stunts go it turned out to be a roaring success. The Prince emerged from the hotel first, closely followed by Camilla, which was the cue to get the cameras whirring and flashes popping. There had not been a commotion like it since the days of Diana. An estimated 200 photographers descended on the entrance to the hotel just off London’s Piccadilly, with 60 ladders lined up three rows deep, television satellite vans parked in several side streets and bright television lights illuminating the whole scene.

Alongside the media, several hundred members of the public waited to catch a glimpse as well. Such was the ferocity of the flashguns that evening that newscasters were prompted to warn onlookers who suffered from photosensitive seizures to move away.

As Charles and Camilla walked down the steps of the Ritz towards their a waiting car, there was a cacophony
of shouts and whoops, the mood of the evening being summed up by a woman in the crowd whom, to our delight – and surely to that of the Prince – waved and shouted, ‘Good on you, Charlie!’

It was indeed good to see Prince Charles in a happy place at last, but the dawning of a new era for him on a personal level also served as a reminder that my spell at the Palace was winding down all too quickly. When I joined Buckingham Palace on 1
^st
July, 1988, I knew from the outset that come midnight on 24
^th
September, 2000, I would be required to retire. Suddenly the day I had dreaded was looming just over the horizon.

I
left my job at the Palace in September 2000, and our cosy apartment at Kensington Palace a few weeks later. It was an emotional time but, having been acutely aware of my rapidly approaching retirement date, I had readied myself for the change and was excited for my next chapter.

Upon retiring, I promptly secured a year-long contract with the BBC to act as a freelance royal commentator, which meant being on call and available whenever a royal story broke. Having brushed up on my rusty ice dancing skills, I had also signed up to do an ice skating teaching course, something which, as it turns out, had not gone unnoticed. Just before I left the Palace,
The Times’s
Picture Desk presented me with an appropriate keepsake – a composite picture of Olympic ice dancing gold medalists, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, but with my and Her Majesty’s heads superimposed.

When I had my farewell audience with the Queen in
the 1855 Room a couple of weeks after leaving the press office, I took the photo with me.

‘What have you got there?’ asked the Equerry, Squadron Leader Simon Brailsford, eyeing my envelope suspiciously. I was waiting in the adjoining Bow Room to be ushered in when I opened my envelope and slipped out the picture for him to see. He gasped.

‘You can’t show Her Majesty that!’

I grinned. ‘Oh, trust me I can,’ I said. ‘And I fully intend to.’

And I had the perfect opportunity to do so.

After thanking me for my service and presenting me with my leaving gift, the Queen asked, ‘what are you going to do next?’

I told her I was returning to the other side of the fence to work as a freelance royal commentator. ‘But I’m also going to do some skating, and as patron of the National Ice Skating Association, which you are, I thought you might like to have a look at this, Ma’am.’

While the Queen fetched her reading glasses, I pulled out the picture. Upon seeing it she responded exactly as I had expected. She smiled broadly. The Queen is bestowed with many traits, but what people often don’t know is that she has an excellent sense of humor.

Though my tenure in the press office was formally over, I received a call from my former colleague, Penny Russell-Smith, the following March, asking if I would consider returning to the Palace for a couple of weeks, as they were apparently short of an experienced pair of hands.

I arrived a few days later, expecting nothing more taxing than a couple of weeks reacquainting myself with some former colleagues and perhaps a chance for a nostalgic swim in the Buckingham Palace pool, but that didn’t prove to be the case.

I had barely returned when we were pressed into urgent action. A news story was about to break, one that would need prompt and decisive action to contain it. It involved a royal couple with whom I had previously not had a great deal to do with, namely Prince Edward and his wife Sophie, Countess of Wessex.

When Prince Edward married Sophie Rhys-Jones in June 1999, he was still producing documentaries for his television company Ardent Productions, and Sophie continued to work in the PR industry. She was still doing so at this time, and it was while engaged in a project that she fell victim to a fake sheikh sting set up by the now defunct
News of the World
.

News of the World
stories tended to rear their ugly heads on a Friday afternoon at 5pm on the dot. This was so common one really could set one’s watch by them. But this was the era of the new communications secretary, who managed things differently. The journalist involved was offered an exclusive interview along with a picture of Sophie Wessex in exchange for the paper dropping the story.

In my view the correct course of action would have been to put out a spoiler to all the other newspapers, essentially giving the competition information relating to the story, which would mean the paper with the ‘exclusive’ no longer had an exclusive. By countering in this way, salacious stories were promptly diffused, and the whole debacle would be over within a relatively painless 24 hours.

Sadly, that wasn’t what happened. Following the Communication Secretary’s promise, the
News of the World
got its interview and pictures of Sophie, both conducted in the Belgian Suite at Buckingham Palace – quite a coup – to which it then added in bold three-inch print the arresting headline
MY EDWARD’S NOT GAY
.

The embarrassment and the mess didn’t end there. Another tabloid had apparently been offered the story first but had turned it down, presumably not attaching any credibility to it. Feeling they had missed out on something newsworthy, editors became rather piqued.

Newspaper editors are apt to react robustly when nettled, and this one conformed to type, going into overdrive and running the Sophie sting story for a further week on both its front and inside pages. Meanwhile, the
News of the World,
no longer content with its exclusive interview, called the Palace the following Friday afternoon to report that because the tabloid in question had ‘got it wrong’ editors wanted the opportunity to ‘set the record straight’. Which meant it was going to run the original story after all.

It became a big story.
I could only look on from the wings and hope that everyone learned from it. But there was nothing we could do. The damage was done, and both Prince Edward and Sophie Wessex had to live with it.

My brief additional fortnight wasn’t all about managing a firestorm of tabloid drama, however. Towards the end of my second week, there was room for some light relief.

One of Her Majesty’s regular ceremonial commitments is the granting of audiences to overseas ambassadors. The average term for an ambassador based at his or her country’s embassy in London is around three years, meaning that there is a pretty regular turnover.

To be accepted as an ambassador to the UK, the new incumbent has an audience with the Queen, at which he or she presents their credentials at a formal ceremony. In turn, the newly-appointed foreign ambassador or high commissioner presents his or her Letters of Credence or Letters of High Commission to Her Majesty. It is a regular commitment, so that particular week was just like any other, with an ambassador waiting in the Bow Room to be ushered into the 1855 Room for his audience with Her Majesty.

All ambassadors presenting credentials to the Queen also have a photograph taken with her. I was in the Marble Hall with a Press Association photographer waiting for the Queen to arrive and for us to be allowed in to the room ahead of the incoming ambassador.

As Her Majesty approached, her eyes landed on me. She did a double take while still on the move, somewhat surprised at seeing me.

She smiled. ‘Dickie, what are you doing here?’

‘Ah, well Your Majesty…I missed you so much, I just had to come back and see you.’

She didn’t reply, but there was a definite twinkle in her eye.

What I had said in jest had been true in part. It had been good to catch up with former colleagues, and it was particularly good to bump into the Queen. Forget that she was the Sovereign, I had been blessed with astonishingly good fortune to have had such a great boss for a full dozen years.

But all good things must come to an end. A couple of days later I left the Palace for a second time, at the end of what turned out to be an unexpectedly eventful and rather amusing two-week tenure. I handed over my pass, said farewell and walked out of the Privy Purse door. It had been fun, but I felt no terrible pang of yearning. I had enjoyed 12 glorious years in what had turned out to be quite a showbizzy career choice, after all.

But now the show could go on without me.

W
hen I joined the Palace in 1988, I knew that come my birthday on 25
^th
September, 2000, I would have to retire. While those of us employed by the Palace were not classed as Civil Servants, we did nevertheless fall under Civil Servant guidelines, which clearly mandated a retirement age of 60. Today, employees can continue on until they are 70, but sadly that was not the case in my day.

Once I reached my mid-50s, I began thinking about what I was going to do next, and fortunately it didn’t take long for an answer to present itself. Over the course of my time at the Palace, I had learned and witnessed so much, gaining an insider’s perspective of the inner workings of the Royal Family, which would lend significant credibility to my next venture.

My hope was that I would be able to return to the other side of the fence as a royal commentator. The beauty of commentary is that it is usually reliant upon common sense and fact, so I knew that I would not be breaking confidentiality in sharing my expertise.

I also thought lecturing on different aspects of the Monarchy was a possibility, as was leading media training courses and seminars. For many, retirement is met with a sense of finality and resignation. That was not the case with me.

After leaving the Palace on the eve of my 60
^th
birthday, and allowing myself a day off on my actual birthday, I began a new job as a freelance royal commentator for the BBC the very next day.

The career switch also required an immediate personal transition. Leaving my position at Buckingham Palace meant that my wife and I had to move out of our apartment at Kensington Palace. We didn’t move far, settling quickly and happily into a modest apartment south of Kensington High Street.

While professionally I was back in familiar territory, my new position did require a period of adjustment. Now freelance, I no longer had an office, nor did I have a community of work colleagues with whom to chew the fat as we drank our tea and coffee from bone china cups delivered to us by footmen. I was left to do my networking over countless breakfast and lunch meetings, and even the occasional dinner. It made for a busy schedule, and my working life continued to be, quite often, an around-the-clock affair.

It felt strange to have hopped the fence yet again, although strictly speaking, I was commentating now, rather than reporting.

There was a touch of irony in working for the BBC. I had tried to get my foot in the door there 26 years earlier, immediately following my return from Rhodesia. After
they heard that my only prior experience had been with the Rhodesia Broadcasting Corporation, I was summarily shown the door. It was amazing to see the weight 12 years’ experience at Buckingham Palace carried when it came time to seek new employment.

Working at the BBC offered a number of memorable experiences. Given my interest in ice-skating, the newsroom called me in to comment on Great Britain’s chances for the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. I had already delivered one segment, and was in the green room waiting to do another when I noticed a sudden commotion. As people hurriedly shuffled in and out of the studio, the editor rushed towards me to say that Princess Margaret had died, and that I was to go back on-air immediately.

Due to the casual nature of the Olympics piece, I was dressed in a plain blue shirt and jeans. I hurried into the newsroom and borrowed a black jacket from one unsuspecting soul and a dark tie from another. I was on the air again within five minutes.

When the broadcast concluded I phoned my wife to have her run a suit down to the BBC studio. Since that day, I have always carried a suit in the back of my car with the appropriate ties.

My loud, colourful ties have become something of a talking point over the years. I have them specially hand painted by a lady named Jane Ireland, who has a stall in Covent Garden Market. Each one is unique, and I suppose they have become something of a trademark. I have often been asked if I wore them in front of the Queen. The answer is an unequivocal yes.

Did the Queen like them? Let me put it this way: Sometimes she would look at them as if to say
you can’t be serious
. Other times, she would ignore them all together. Either way, no one ever told me
not
to wear them. Diana’s opinion was expressed in action rather than words. She gave me a posh, albeit more conservative, Hermès tie for my birthday.

In addition to my continual work for the BBC, I also serve as a royal commentator for Sky News, ITV and Channel 5, as well as international news outlets in Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Russia, the Middle East, Japan, South Korea, Australia and New Zealand.

I am also a regular contributor to a number of high-profile cable and network news programs in the US, and have repeatedly worked with Larry King, Piers Morgan, Katie Couric and Elizabeth Vargas.

Once a royal commentator, always a royal commentator, I suppose, as my commitment to (and enthusiasm for) the work continues to this day.

Since finishing my time at the Palace, I have also had the privilege of doing a great deal of public speaking on all matters royal. This has not only provided me with regular work, but regular travel as well. My speaking agenda has led me to a wide and varied range of cities across the UK, USA, South Africa and beyond. Speaking on a number of cruise liners in particular has afforded me the opportunity to see places I might otherwise have never visited.

One of my most memorable cruises presented me with an extraordinary, if unexpected, two-day stop. The ship had originally been scheduled to port in Egypt, but due to
political unrest at the time, the country was given a wide berth and it was decided that we would instead port in Haifa, Israel. We had ex-Royal Marines on board, as well as a Royal Navy liaison officer. A ship of that size normally cruises at 12 knots, but we sailed through pirate-infested waters at a speed of 20 knots. As darkness fell, all of the ship’s deck lights were blacked out.

Israel was a country I had longed to visit. My mother had always rammed home to me, ‘you were born a Jew, and you will die a Jew…what you do in between is your business.’ As I had suddenly found myself with a couple of spare days in Haifa, I decided to join the ship’s tour to Jerusalem.

The visit to the Western Wailing Wall was an awe-inspiring experience. I cannot describe how I felt facing the wall from just a few inches away. I had never practiced religion of any kind, and yet suddenly I felt completely at peace with the faith into which I had been born.

My second day in Haifa would prove equally emotional. Upon my mother and her brother Harry’s arrival in the UK from Germany in 1939, Harry was quickly interned as a foreign alien and sent to Canada. Two years later, he was brought back to the UK and joined the airborne division of the Royal Army Service Corps. Having gone through the war unscathed, he was sent to British-mandated Palestine. I know nothing about his life from that point on, other than the fact that one day my mother received a telegram stating that Corporal Harry Stock had been murdered in hospital by an unknown assailant on Christmas Day. He was 24.

Harry was buried in the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery in Haifa. My mother had visited his grave in
the 1970s, and was saddened to find that his headstone bore the Christian Cross. She put in a request to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission to have it replaced with the Star of David.

That second day in Haifa, in early 2014, I visited Harry’s headstone, which did indeed now bear the Star of David. I hadn’t seen my uncle since 1947, and immediately found myself giving him an oral family history of the past 67 years. I spoke of my mother (his sister), of my daughter, Victoria, and of my grandson, Raff, before telling him a bit about myself. I think I did him proud, and came away completely drained.

I had been forced to give up skating at 17, when my mother and I moved to Rhodesia – a country decidedly lacking in ice rinks. I picked it up again at the age of 55, following a 38-year absence. I immediately rediscovered a passion for it. My skating life has literally come full circle, as once again I spend an inordinate amount of time at Queens… only this time around to the detriment of nothing.

Most days, when I’m not on a speaking tour or meeting television commitments, I can usually be found at the rink. Although I still enjoy skating as much as ever, it continues to get more difficult with age. As president of the dance club, my specialty is still dance. I do it as much as possible in spite of the fact that the ice time and music it requires has been severely curtailed over the years. I also teach group lessons for children of all ages, and have an organizational role in setting up class schedules for both students and my fellow instructors.

Another great pleasure I derive from Queens is producing the annual end-of-year charity show, which features a large number of our young students and adult staff members. One year we had 107 children participate in the show…and I’m pleased to report that not one of them fell over.

I will continue to skate for as long as I am fit and able to do so. It beats jogging or going to the gym. In 2005 I co-produced a semi-professional show to celebrate Queens’s 75
^th
anniversary. I vowed then and there that I would produce the show for its 100
^th
anniversary. It is a vow I fully intend to keep, although I’ll be aged 90 when the time comes.

The past 30 years of my life would not have been so thrilling had I not been able to share them with my wife, Rosemary.

After my divorce I did not actively seek marriage again, although I did experience times in which it would have been nice to have someone permanent in my life. After being a single father for seven years, I was also aware of the importance in Victoria’s having a woman around to whom she could relate.

I was sitting in the LBC newsroom one day, passing the time between reading half-hour news bulletins, when my gaze fell onto a strewn copy of
Time Out
. While not my idea of a scintillating read, I began to thumb through it. Somehow I wound up in the ‘lonely hearts’ small ads. Put it up to fate, but my scanning eyes suddenly fell on the words:
Attractive blonde PR lady seeks
…

I must admit, something about the ‘attractive blonde’ part hooked me. With no more ado, I replied, enclosing one of my publicity pictures for good measure. I then thought nothing more of it.

Turns out the attractive blonde had recently come to the end of a relationship and placed the advertisement in
Time Out
at the instigation of friends during a merry dinner party. She, too, had then given it no more thought…at least until some weeks later when a bulky brown envelope arrived through her letter box, brimming with photographs of would-be suitors.

She had recognized my name, but initially put off responding because she was afraid I was doing a news story on lonely hearts. Fortunately, she changed her mind. Our initial drinks meeting went so well that I called her the next day to invite her to accompany Victoria and me to the ballet that weekend.

Silence.

It seems I had failed to mention the previous evening that I had a daughter.

She went on to accept the invitation.

Two days later, Rosemary called me regarding a professional matter. She had arranged a media event, but as so often happens, journalists who had confirmed invitations with her had cried off at the last minute. She needed me to help make up the numbers. The assignment did not exactly pertain to my royal beat, but I was more than happy to help the ‘attractive blond PR lady’ out of a jam.

It would be our third ‘date’ in less than a week, but I was already smitten. Taking the bull by the horns, I sent her flowers with a note that read:
Say it with flowers – William Penn, 1910. Will you marry me – Dickie Arbiter, 1984
.

Later that afternoon, as Rosemary busied herself arranging for roses to be sent to the journalists who had
come through for her at the event (I wasn’t the only one), her secretary called her and, somewhat timidly, informed her of the flowers I had sent…and of the note I had attached. Astounded, and more than a little panicked, Rosemary told her secretary to cancel the roses to me and send chrysanthemums instead.

I called Rosemary to thank her, and we arranged to meet again. Now face-to-face, I proposed once more. It would not be the last time.

My persistence eventually paid off. I met her in May 1984, and we married four months later. After an inevitable – and understandable – period of adjustment for both of them, Victoria and Rosemary forged a close relationship that still thrives to this day.

There is a school of thought that our honours system in the UK is unfair. For example, why is it that two sports stars of equal merit might be awarded honors at different levels? Why does one receive a Knighthood or Damehood while the other gets a CBE, OBE or MBE?

Honours come via the Government’s Cabinet Office, and can be awarded at any time. In 1995 I was given an LVO (Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order). The Royal Victorian Order was founded in April 1896 by Queen Victoria as a way of rewarding personal service to the Sovereign. It is the one Order given solely at the discretion of the reigning Monarch, and does not have to pass through the government.

At the time, I was working with the Royal Collection, managing media relations for the Buckingham Palace
summer opening and the restoration of Windsor Castle. I was delighted with the news that I would receive the Order, particularly when I learned that it would be listed in the Queen’s Birthday Honours, published in June of that year.

It was given to me during a five-minute private audience with Her Majesty. At 12:55pm on Thursday, 18
^th
July, as the Equerry announced me, I stood in the doorway to the 1855 Room, named for the Emperor Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie, who stayed in the room when they visited London that year.

I bowed my head before moving forward to be greeted the Queen. In her hand was a scarlet box with LVO stamped in gold on the front. She handed it to me with her left hand and shook my right as she said matter-of-factly, ‘You’ve earned this.’