by Kitty Kelley
The Queen, who had reluctantly agreed to pay taxes, trim the Civil List, open Buckingham Palace, and give up the Britannia, was barely accorded customary courtesies. In a breach of civility, she was not consulted when Britain’s National Blood Service removed the crown from its insignia. Her representative was mooned in New Zealand by a Maori protester, who bared his tattooed buttocks and spat on the ground. And in South Africa she was asked by the government to return the Cullinan diamonds, which had been presented to her great-grandfather Edward VII.
The royal family was sinking in its own muck, and their problems were as unpleasant as rotting possums under the country’s front porch. The press began fuming. London’s Sunday Times summed it up for antiroyalists: “Gone With the Windsors.” The New York Times was equally pun-ridden: “Windsors and Losers.”
Monarchists looking for a morality play to guide them had been shoved into a lurid soap opera, complete with illicit sex, phone sex, foot sex, and, according to Charles’s valet, garden sex. The valet, who sold his secrets to a tabloid, asserted that he had found the grass-stained pajamas the Prince had worn during a romp in the Highgrove gardens with his mistress.
The media, once monarchy’s obedient servant, had become the master. So many rumors were circulating that the Palace broke its usual stance of “No comment” and began responding to the most salacious gossip. When scuttlebutt persisted about the health of Prince Andrew, courtiers denied that he was HIV-positive.
“Our stand on the rumors has been constant,” a Palace official told the Sun’s royal correspondent. “Any suggestion that the Duke of York has AIDS is utter rubbish…. He is in command of servicemen, and there is no way he would be allowed to continue his duties if there was any question about his health and fitness.”
The rumors arose after Andrew’s wife, Sarah Ferguson, had been tested for AIDS three times. Her previous drug use and her continued promiscuity with drug users raised concern about what she might have transmitted to her husband. His closest friends worried but said nothing to him. “We wouldn’t dare,” said a woman friend. “And we certainly would say nothing derogatory about Sarah. He won’t hear a word against her.”
Four months after the Palace denied that Andrew had AIDS, he resigned from the navy. He said that as a single father he needed to spend more time with his children. Others suggested the Lieutenant Commander was resigning after seventeen years because he was not qualified for promotion to commander. The navy quickly issued a statement saying that Andrew was a “highly competent and reliable officer.”
Traditionally, military service validates male members of the royal family as manly and patriotic. The thirty-four-year-old Duke of York had served in the Royal Navy like his father, a decorated navy veteran of World War II, and his grandfather Prince Albert, who took part in the Battle of Jutland in World War I and later became King George VI. Andrew had distinguished himself as a helicopter pilot during battle in the Falklands. With his resignation from the military, no longer was a prince of royal blood serving in Her Majesty’s forces.
His younger brother, Edward, had joined the marines, but after ninety days in uniform, he quit. His resignation disturbed his family greatly. His mother implored him to reconsider, saying he would no longer be allowed to wear a military uniform on ceremonial occasions. His sister, Anne, feared that he would be branded a quitter and a weakling. But Edward, then twenty-two years old, said he could not continue with the tough commando training. His father, honorary Captain General of the Royal Marines, shouted at him to pull himself together to spare the royal family embarrassment. The young Prince broke down and cried for hours. But the next day he resigned his commission. The headline in the New York Post: “The Weeping Wimp of Windsor.”
Prince Philip wrote to the marine Commandant, expressing his dissatisfaction. “This is naturally very disappointing,” he wrote, “but I can’t help feeling that the blaze of publicity did not make things any easier for him. I think he now has to face a very difficult problem of readjustment.”
When Philip’s personal letter was published in a newspaper, the Queen sued the paper and won damages, but by then the country knew of the father’s dashed hopes for his son. A comedian on British television announced: “Rumors abound that Prince Philip fathered an unwanted son who has threatened to embarrass him ever since. [Long pause.] His name is Edward.”
When the young Prince decided to become an actor and joined Andrew Lloyd Webber’s acting company, he was further ridiculed. Columnist Taki complained in the Spectator that Edward “is paid out of the public purse to pursue a theatrical career and assorted bachelors.” The hint of the Prince’s homosexuality, previously only whispered, was now hinted at in print. The press snidely characterized him as “the Queen’s youngest son, a confirmed bachelor.” The sexual innuendo became a japing bit of film dialogue in the Australian movie Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, when one transvestite asks another transvestite:
“Can the child of an old queen turn out all right?”
“Well, look at Prince Charles.”
“Yes, but there’s still a question about Prince Edward.”
Whether an outrageous slur or a sly truth telling, the insinuation of homosexuality was treated as fact. When Prince William enrolled at Eton, the headmaster censored an article in the school magazine that claimed the royal family was “full of homosexuals.” He said he did not want to upset the student Prince. But the insinuation resurfaced in The New Yorker, where novelist Julian Barnes wrote of “the seemingly unmarriageable Edward.” In a lecture at the Smithsonian, historian David Cannadine opined: “The Queen is worried that Edward is not divorced. She thinks he’s not normal.” Writer Christopher Hitchens said in an interview, “Gay friends of mine refer to Prince Edward as Dishcloth Doris. ‘Skirts down,’ they’ll shout, ‘here comes Dishcloth Doris.’ ” Gore Vidal later corrected Hitchens. “He’s not Dishcloth Doris,” said Vidal. “He’s Dockyard Doris.” When gossipist Nigel Dempster wrote in the Daily Mail that Edward had a “touching friendship” with a male actor, the young Prince finally responded—angrily. During a visit to New York City, he snapped at reporters and said, “I am not gay.”
When the Queen’s thirty-one-year-old son started dating Sophie Rhys-Jones, their romance was disparaged by one newspaper as “arranged for public consumption.” The tabloids speculated that the tall, blond Prince and his attractive girlfriend were decoys put forward by the Palace to divert attention from the rest of the family. Edward, always prickly about criticism, faxed London’s news organizations and demanded that reporters “leave me and my girlfriend alone and give us privacy.” The Queen obliged by letting it be known she had given permission for Sophie to spend nights with Edward in his apartment at Buckingham Palace. The Archdeacon of York scolded Her Majesty for allowing the couple to live in sin. “We still look to the royal family to set an example,” he said, urging the Windsors to return to the values of “no sex before marriage.” The Queen ignored the clergyman, and Prince Philip called him a pompous ass.
In June of 1994 the Prince of Wales yanked the loose thread of monarchy and watched in dismay as the ancient tapestry began unraveling. He admitted on television that he had been unfaithful to his wife. But, despite his adultery, he asserted that he would still be King. “All my life,” he said, “I have been brought up to… carry out my duty.”
The television interview conducted by Jonathan Dimbleby had been calculated by the Prince as his tit for her tat. His big bow-wow journalist would muffle the tinny arf of her tabloid lapdog. While Andrew Morton’s book had put the camel’s nose under the tent, Jonathan Dimbleby’s book brought the tent crashing down. In presenting his version of his marriage, Charles had ignored proverbial wisdom: “If you seek revenge, dig two graves.”
But Charles discarded the advice of his family, his friends, and his mistress, who had warned that nothing good could come of his candor. His beloved grandmother said she would have nothing to do with the project. But his private secretary, C
ommander Richard Aylard, had played to his pride and his vanity by arguing that he had to reclaim his status. “Put your side of the case, sir,” he said. Aylard convinced him that his best chance was to cooperate with the journalist and give him unprecedented access to personal letters and diaries. The zealous equerry was determined to help the Prince get even with the Princess. He felt that Dimbleby would be the most devoted vessel—and vassal. Aylard envisioned a one-two punch, starting with a flattering documentary, Charles: The Private Man, The Public Role, followed by a laudatory book, The Prince of Wales.
In the television interview Charles tried to prove his worth as a statesman by tackling the touchy subjects of religion, politics, and sex. He presented himself as qualified to become philosopher-king: an Oxbridge graduate, artist, minesweeper skipper, organic farmer, businessman, philanthropist, sportsman, ambassador, humanitarian.
He complained about the media and “the level of intrusion, persistent, endless, carping, pontificating, criticising, examining, inventing the soap opera constantly, trying to turn everyone into celebrities.”
He also spoke about the monarch’s role as Defender of the Faith, saying he would prefer not representing one religion, but rather all religions. Most memorable, though, was his admission of infidelity.
“Gobsmacked,” said the tabloids after hearing the Prince of Wales own up to adultery on television. While they pounded him, his supporters praised him. Historian Elizabeth Longford applauded his honesty, but most people were just plain appalled. The Sun set up a “You the Jury” telephone poll and reported that two-thirds of those who called said they did not want Charles to become King—ever. The Daily Mirror ran an editorial on the front page: “He is not the first royal to be unfaithful. Far from it. But he is the first to appear before 25 million of his subjects to confess.”
The Scout Association considered altering its pledge of duty to God and the monarchy. “We extol the virtues of honesty, integrity, and the sanctity of marriage,” said an Association spokesman. “But Prince Charles does not represent those virtues.” Jonathan Dimbleby defended him on the radio as a deeply spiritual man. “He kneels to pray every night,” said the biographer. Unmoved, one listener called in to say that kneeling down to pray is easy. “It’s getting up to behave well that takes stamina.”
The Queen had insisted on an advance viewing. She worried about what Charles would say on television, especially after his comment weeks before, citing the Scandinavian monarchies as “grander, more pompous, more hard to approach than we are.” Now she watched the two-and-a-half-hour documentary without much comment. She shot the equerry a look when Charles recommended hiring out Britain’s army to other countries like rent-a-cops. She raised her eyebrows when he complained about his staff’s overworking him, and she sighed when he bad-mouthed her staff. “They drive me bonkers,” Charles said of the Queen’s courtiers.
Philip reportedly exploded when he saw the documentary. “Oh, God,” he said, listening to the interview. He muttered something about his son’s brain being sucked dry. Then he added caustically, “Maybe he’s the ‘missing link.’ ” Philip’s comment referred to the unresolved mystery of the Piltdown Man, supposed to be the unknown connection between humans and apes.
“It would not have been appropriate then,” said a man in the room, “to repeat to the Duke what he had once said: ‘Every generation gets precisely the younger generation it deserves.’ ” The man was accustomed to Philip’s outbursts. By way of defense, he said, “There’s a saying that when your only tool is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”
The Queen was heard to say that she thought the interview had been “ill-advised.” She appeared to disapprove of Charles’s redefining the monarch’s role as “Defender of Faith” rather than “Defender of the Faith.” Charles had said that omitting “the” would embrace all religions, not simply Anglicans. “I belong to a hereditary monarchy,” he said. “I understand the parameters, but I’m prepared to push it now and then because I feel strongly about things.” His mother, who had forbidden him to attend the Pope’s Mass during a visit to Rome, was not comfortable with her son’s idiosyncratic attitude toward the Church of England. His father was convinced that his forty-five-year-old son had just set the record for stupidity.
The Palace did not comment on the interview, but almost everyone else did. Time headlined it as “Charles’s Cheatin’ Heart.” And Newsweek reported it as “a bad heir day.” Newsweek also characterized the documentary as “bad sex: painfully tedious foreplay followed by a lightning-quick climax.” The Daily Mail headlined its story “Charles: When I Was Unfaithful,” while the Sun said, “Di Told You So.” One cartoonist drew the Prince of Wales in bed, grinning foolishly with his crown askew. Sitting between two women, he had his arms wrapped around both. The caption: “The Lyin’ King.” Another cartoon showed him standing before two stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments: he was scratching out the Sixth Commandment—”Thou Shalt Not Commit (nor admit) Adultery.”
The Queen’s former private secretary sighed. “In time it will fade,” Martin, Lord Charteris told writer Noreen Taylor. “People will forgive. There is an awful lot to be said for honesty.” The courtier added sadly that this wasn’t the first time the monarchy had gone through troubled times. “But the Queen is enough of a realist,” he said, “to know there is nothing but to sit it out.”
Sitting was her specialty. So she sat for weeks, dreading the biography that was to follow her son’s television interview. Unfortunately the book was published on the eve of her departure for Russia. This was the first trip by a British monarch to that country since Edward VII had visited in 1908. Ten years after that, when the Queen’s grandfather George V declined to send the navy to save his cousins, the Bolsheviks murdered the Czar and his family in a particularly gruesome crime. After the Russian Revolution, the British government turned down all invitations for a state visit to Moscow on the grounds that the communists had killed the monarch’s family. Eventually some members of the royal family did visit the Soviet Union, but the Queen was not allowed by her government to go. Until now. The British government finally gave her permission after Russia’s difficult transition from communism. She considered the trip to be the most important of her reign. But as she stood in Moscow’s Red Square, extending her hand in friendship, she took a hit at home from her son—in that long-awaited book.
Through his approved biographer, Charles showed the Queen as a cold and uncaring mother. He said he had grown up “emotionally estranged” and craving affection that she was “unable or unwilling to offer.” He depicted his father as an acid-tongued martinet and his Gordonstoun teachers as bullies. He described his estranged wife as a self-absorbed neurotic who was mentally unhinged. He said she was twisted with jealousy and temperamentally “volatile,” “hysterical,” “obsessive.” In addition, she was prone to “violent mood swings,” “black phases,” and “bouts of gloom.” He said the only reason he had married her was that his father had pressured him. The middle-aged Prince sounded like the hapless young man in the Danish ballet “The Young Man Must Marry,” who was forced into marriage by his family and ended up betrothed to a girl with three heads. Through Dimbleby, Charles made it clear that Diana was nothing more than a hired womb.
His level of contempt disappointed people who expected their future King to be high-minded and big-hearted. Through Dimbleby, Charles tried to put his case forward and set right the real and imagined wrongs he felt had been done to him. But he came across as petty and small, and he offended his wife, his parents, his sister, his brothers, his children. He even managed to slight his favorite movie star, Barbra Streisand, whom he had once described as “my only pinup… devastatingly attractive and with a great deal of sex appeal.”
Months before, the star had serenaded him in front of twelve thousand fans in London’s Wembley Arena, her first public engagement in twenty-eight years. She sang “Some Day My Prince Will Come” and told her British audience that she wa
s particularly fond of songs about imaginary princes. “What makes it extra special is that there’s a real one in the audience tonight,” she said, looking flirtatiously at the royal box, where Prince Charles was sitting. He beamed. She recalled their first meeting, saying she had not been very gracious. “Who knows, if I had been nice, I might have been the first real Jewish Princess—Princess Babs!”
She imagined the newspaper headlines that might have accompanied their romance: “Blintzes Princess Plays the Palace” and “Barbra Digs Nails into Prince of Wales.” Charles laughed with everyone else and looked pleased when she sang “As If We Never Said Goodbye.” The audience went wild and gave her a two-minute standing ovation. She raised more than $250,000 for The Prince’s Trust. Yet in the Dimbleby book, Charles said her “attractiveness has waned a little.”
He made it up to the diva several months later by inviting her to Highgrove for an overnight visit. But he almost withdrew the invitation after her secretary called to make advance arrangements. She told the Prince of Wales that the star wanted only white flowers in her bedroom and for breakfast an omelette of egg whites. Charles complained to his friend Geoffrey Kent. “She sounds daft,” he said. But he sat up all night with Streisand, who, he said, arrived with eight suitcases. “We discussed philosophy,” he reported to friends.
In the Dimbleby book, Charles described his nanny and his mistress with the same words—”loving,” “warm,” “sympathetic,” “gentle,” and “caring”—words a child might use to describe his mother. He also admitted to three love affairs with Camilla: one before she married in 1973, the second after she had children, and the third in 1986, when he said his marriage to Diana had “irretrievably broken down.”