by Penny Junor
He had been just a few weeks into the Lent Half in February 2002 when he was told that his great-aunt, the Queen’s seventy-one-year-old sister, Princess Margaret, had died. She had suffered a series of strokes and been unwell for some years but, in such a close family, it was still a great sadness. She had been a neighbor at Kensington Palace, had befriended the Princess of Wales when Harry was young, and had been at every family get-together. They all attended her funeral at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor—including Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, now aged 101. Despite her own failing health, and a fall just a few days earlier in which she had damaged her arm, she was determined to be there to lay her troubled youngest daughter to rest. She was flown from Sandringham to Windsor by helicopter and carefully helped into a car for the last part of the journey. She was very frail and hidden behind a black veil but, as Margaret’s coffin was taken away, she struggled to her feet. It was the last time Harry saw his great-grandmother.
Six weeks later, in the early evening of 30 March 2002, she died peacefully in her sleep at Royal Lodge, Windsor. No one, possibly, felt her loss more acutely than the Prince of Wales. He had been exceptionally close to his grandmother and was said to have been “completely devastated.” He had been in Klosters with William and Harry and a group of friends when they heard the news, and this time it was the boys’ turn to do the comforting. The whole family, indeed the whole nation, was again in mourning, but at a hundred and one, the Queen Mother had had a good innings. She had two new hips, her own teeth, a full set of marbles, a very good sense of humor, and liked nothing more than the occasional tipple or two. She was a deeply cool great-grandmother.
Plans for her funeral—Operation Tay Bridge—had been in place for years and were very straightforward. Held on 9 April 2002, it was a full-blown State funeral, the like of which Westminster Abbey had not seen since the funeral of her husband King George VI, fifty years before. Her son-in-law, Prince Philip, her grandsons—the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, the Earl of Wessex and Viscount Linley (Princess Margaret’s son)—and breaking tradition, her granddaughter, the Princess Royal—together with her great-grandsons, Princes William and Harry, and Peter Phillips all walked behind the coffin. It was carried on a gun carriage, drawn by the King’s Troop, the Royal Horse Artillery, as Diana’s had been. William and Harry looked sad but composed while their father was visibly distressed; but the walk and the crowds and the service in the Abbey—everything about the day—must have brought unbearable memories flooding back.
And now Henry. Henry, who was young, handsome, healthy, mischievous and happy, with everything to live for. Alex and Claire van Straubenzee had heard about his death at 4:30 in the morning, when the headmaster of Ludgrove telephoned—the call that every parent dreads. They envisaged a small family funeral for him, which was held on 23 December in their local parish church. To their surprise, 350 people turned up on the day and squeezed into the little church, among them, William and Harry, also Tiggy, who was now married, and two of the Princes’ PPOs, who had regularly been with them in Cornwall and knew Henry well.
Harrow School held a service of thanksgiving for him in the school chapel the following month, which a thousand people attended, including William and Harry. Henry’s younger brother, Charlie was only fourteen when Henry died and the Vans say that both William and Harry were enormously supportive to the whole family, but particularly to Charlie. Having been there themselves, they could understand better than most what the family was going through and they are all still very close.
After the memorial service, William went back to St. Andrews and Harry went back to Eton, both of them dealing as best they could with their grief, and having yet another shared experience to bind them. Two boys, so different in so many ways, emotionally fused; their relationship cemented by mutual need for support. Only they had experienced the nightmare of their childhood—the rows, the chaos, the upset; it was nothing unique to their family, except for the fact that it had become public knowledge. Only they had experienced the humiliation of being at all-boy schools when their parents’ infidelities were all over the newspapers. They had come to the not unnatural conclusion that no one, apart from each other, could be trusted.
The events of the next few months proved it to them. Ken Wharfe, Diana’s long-standing and trusted PPO, who’d been a constant figure throughout their childhood, who they’d treated like a favorite uncle, wrote a book about his years with the family. He knew everything and he told everything. On the fifth anniversary of their mother’s death, it was serialized in a Sunday newspaper, supposedly for a six-figure sum. Harry was desperately upset that his mother was yet again being remembered for her private life, and told his father that he wanted to use his eighteenth birthday, just two weeks later, to remind people that she had done a lot of good things too. He didn’t want a big party; he wanted to visit some of her charities instead, he said.
As one of Prince Charles’s aides explained at the time: “For more than a year now, it has bothered Harry that, in such a short time, many people seem to have forgotten about his mother’s charity work. The last straw came when much of the media coverage of the fifth anniversary of her death further eroded what Diana was and what she stood for. Prince Harry has said, ‘I want to do something that evokes memories of Mummy’s charity work.’ Harry, more than William, wears his heart on his sleeve and has been very upset by some of the recent media coverage about his mother. He wants to do something that is tough, cutting-edge and challenging.
“A lot of people look at Prince William and compare him in looks to his mother but, in reality, it is Harry who is more like his mother in many ways. Like his father, Prince William’s future role is clearly defined but Harry, like his mother, needs to find a pathway for himself that is fulfilling and makes a contribution to society. Harry is his mother’s son and he wants to carry on his mother’s mantle. His mission is to remind people of some of the good things that she did and how she took on ‘lost’ causes that other people wanted nothing to do with.”
In October 2002, Paul Burrell, who also knew every intimate detail of the family’s life, went on trial at the Old Bailey. He was accused of stealing several million pounds’ worth of items belonging to the Princess of Wales’s estate, most of which had been found at his home. It was one of a series of revelations that made both William and Harry feel that the people they had grown up with, who had been trusted wholeheartedly and treated as though they were part of the family, had, in fact, been on the make in some way or another.
What had not been found when police raided Burrell’s house was a mahogany box containing a tape recording Diana had made that her sister Sarah had told them contained “sensitive” material. Spurred on by the Spencer family, who were Diana’s executors, the Crown Prosecution Service prosecuted and the case came to court—only to come to a screeching halt a month (and £1.5 million) later, when the Queen mentioned in passing to the Prince of Wales that Burrell had been to see her privately soon after Diana’s death and told her that he was taking a number of papers from Kensington Palace for safekeeping. It was never quite explained why Burrell telling the Queen about a few papers should have exculpated him from having over three hundred items found in his house and under his floorboards. Be that as it may, he walked away a free, if embittered man. And a lot of people were left wondering why so much time and public money had been wasted on so flimsy and inconsequential a case.
The Prince of Wales had been against this prosecution from the start, afraid that it would be upsetting for the Princes, particularly Harry, who was so sensitive about his mother’s memory. And Harry was, predictably, very upset; some of the details that emerged reduced him to tears. Burrell had been closer to Diana than almost anyone: she had trusted him, relied upon him and confided in him. He had been a friend as well as a servant, and he was Harry and William’s friend too. And for the three weeks that he was on trial at the Old Bailey, they watched one close relative after another step into the witness box a
nd recall intimate details of their mother’s behavior and the ups and downs of her dysfunctional family relationships, while the media and the public gorged on the disclosures.
Nothing could have been more damaging to the memory of the Princess. These were not just the exaggeration or lies of the tabloid press, the memories of disloyal bodyguards, or the fanciful writings of people who didn’t know her. These were testimonies delivered under oath. And they painted a very disturbing picture.
Harry found it hard to understand why the trial had happened in the first place; why the man he regarded as a trusted friend has been treated in this way. The truth was that the Prince of Wales had tried to sort it all out privately at the very beginning. He liked Burrell and was grateful to him for the support he had given Diana after their divorce. He knew that life had not been easy for him, and had planned to see Burrell, ask for an explanation and tell him to give back the items he had taken and that would be the end of it. He had made an appointment to meet him one Friday afternoon in August—a meeting that the police mysteriously seem to have known about, because that very morning two detectives paid a visit to Highgrove to tell the Prince of Wales and Prince William that they had evidence that Burrell was profiting from Diana, selling some of the items that he had “stolen” abroad. Prince Charles was left with no alternative but to let justice take its course.
No fewer than four hundred media organizations approached Burrell for his story. He went with Piers Morgan, editor of the Daily Mirror. Announcing the deal, Morgan said, “He will protect the memory of Princess Diana and will honor his pledge to always protect the Queen. But I think there will be many others in the Royal Family and close to the Royal Family who will be quaking in their boots tonight.” His story ran day after day and opened an unpalatable can of worms about unwanted gifts to the Prince of Wales either going to charity, exchanged, or given as a perk to a member of the Household. And the Prince’s valet, Michael Fawcett, who handled the disposal, became known as “Fawcett the Fence.”
Hot on its heels was another damning revelation in the Mail on Sunday. “I WAS RAPED BY CHARLES’S SERVANT” screamed the headline. It was an unreliable story from an unreliable witness—George Smith, a former valet who had suffered from alcohol problems. It was common knowledge that his allegations were on the tape that was in the missing mahogany box. It prompted the Prince to set up an inquiry into the probity of his Household, which threw up plenty of room for improvement in creating systems, but found no fundamental dishonesty.
The following year, 2003, Paul Burrell’s memoirs, A Royal Duty, were published about his time in the Wales Household, in which he all but accused the Prince of Wales of murder, and revealed intimate details about William and Harry and their mother, also detailing her love affairs, quoting letters and notes she had written over the years and conversations they had had. It was serialized in the Daily Mirror. William, up at St. Andrews, read the installments day after day with mounting fury; by the end of the first week he had had enough. He rang Harry, who was by then on his gap year in Australia. He no longer felt sorry for Burrell; he was furious. Between them they agreed on a statement that Colleen released on their behalf. Many were shocked by the vehemence of their words.
“We cannot believe that Paul, who was entrusted with so much, could abuse his position in such a cold and overt betrayal. It is not only deeply painful for the two of us but also for everyone else affected and it would mortify our mother if she were alive today and, if we might say so, we feel we are more able to speak for our mother than Paul. We ask Paul please to bring these revelations to an end.”
Paul issued his own statement. “I am saddened at the statement issued on behalf of Prince William and Prince Harry. Saddened because I know that this book is nothing more than a tribute to their mother. I am convinced that when the Princes and everyone else read this book in its entirety they will think differently. My only intention in writing this book was to defend the Princess and stand in her corner. I have been greatly encouraged by calls of support from some of the Princess’s closest friends within the past forty-eight hours. I would also like to point out that, following the collapse of my trial at the Old Bailey last year, no one from the Royal Family contacted me or said sorry for the unnecessary ordeal myself, my wife and my sons were put through…”
Speaking on the BBC’s Real Story, he said he would never have written the book if the boys had contacted him after the trial. “I was saddened but slightly angry because I know those boys. I felt immediately that those boys were being manipulated and massaged by the system, by the palace, by the gray men in suits—whatever you want to call them. By those people who did exactly the same to their mother. The spin machine has gone forward again. Too many people busy spinning and William and Harry sent out as the emotional cannon.”
HERE TODAY, GONE TOMORROW
There were all sorts of people William and Harry were attached to who provided stability and continuity in their lives. They were not as close as friends and family, but their disappearance (or, in the case of Burrell, betrayal) was not insignificant.
Sandy Henney was one, and the manner of her leaving was as sudden as it was reprehensible. She had been the Prince of Wales’s Press Secretary for seven years and been key at the time of Diana’s death and thereafter, along with Colleen Harris, in protecting both boys and guiding them through various media minefields. She had been there to broach subjects with them that their father had not wanted to do himself and they had had a good, honest and straightforward relationship; they called her “Granny” and teased her rotten—especially Harry. “He was always poking fun at people,” she says, “and he expected you to play back.”
Nothing illustrates the whole family set-up better than a story she tells of the day she was sitting in her office in St. James’s Palace, when the phone rang and it was the head gardener at Highgrove. She was up to her neck organizing an overseas tour. “ ‘Yes David.’ ‘I’ve got a problem.’ ‘Christ, I need another one. What is it?’ He said, ‘The moorhen’s dead.’ I thought, do I give a stuff about the moorhen? I said, ‘Right, David, what do you want me to do about it?’ ‘I want you to tell the Boss.’ I said, ‘You’re down at Highgrove [where he was], you go and tell the Boss.’ He said, ‘But the Prince of Wales is very fond of this bird.’ So I said, ‘You want me, who’s in London, to ring the Boss to tell him the moorhen’s dead because you won’t do it?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, what’s so special about this moorhen?’ ‘It’s because it’s been shot,’ and I thought Oh, and laughed. Now I know why he wants me to tell him, so I said, ‘Okay, but before I do I want you to tell me the full story.’ ‘Well it’s been shot.’ ‘Yes, but by whom?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Come on David.’ He was just like a policeman; he said, ‘The boys were seen walking in the vicinity of the pond.’ ‘Right, so you’re telling me one of the kids has shot the bird?’ ‘Well, I didn’t see it.’ ‘No, but that’s what your understanding is,’ and he said, ‘Yeah.’
“So I rang the Boss. ‘Bernie [the butler], can you put me through to the Boss please?’ ‘Yes, what’s it about?’ ‘Don’t ask, Bernie.’ ‘Your Royal Highness.’ ‘Good afternoon, Sandy.’ ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, sir, but I’ve got some sad news.’ ‘Oh, what’s that?’ ‘The moorhen’s dead,’ and he said, ‘Oh my God, I loved that bird.’ I said, ‘That’s just what David said.’ One of the things he used to do when he came home from a day out was to go out and feed the chickens and walk down by that wonderful pool. It relaxed him.
“Then he said, ‘Those bloody boys!’ I hadn’t said a word. I said, ‘I can’t let you say that because I don’t know that.’ And he said, ‘Where were they?’ I said, ‘Well, they were seen in the vicinity of the pond.’ ‘Right,’ he said, ‘that’s it. I want you to talk to them. I want you to find out which one of them did it, I want to know what happened, and I want an apology.’
“So I thought, Right, they’re at school: and I called my mate Andrew Gailey. ‘Hello Sandy.’ ‘Got a goo
d one for you this time…’ It’s not funny, the bird’s dead, but by this time I’m starting to giggle. ‘Would you mind getting the boys into your office, please, because the Prince is really hacked off about this. Could you tell the kids Granny will give them twenty-four hours for one of them to cough to the Boss. Twenty-four hours and that’s it.’ Some hours later, I’m driving home and Andrew rings and he’s giggling before he starts. He says, ‘I got them into the office and I said, “William. Harry. I’ve had Sandy on the phone and your father’s very upset because someone has shot the moorhen.” ’ They’re looking at each other and saying, ‘Shot the moorhen? Shot the moorhen?’ Then William turns to Andrew and says, ‘Which moorhen is that, Dr. Gailey?’ And Harry says, ‘The one you told me not to shoot!’
“I said, ‘Tell Harry he’s got twenty-four hours,’ and bless his heart he rang his dad and said, ‘I’m so sorry Papa, it was me, I shouldn’t have done it.’ Those boys are so close to each other—the loyalty between them and the mischievousness and sense of honesty, not wishing to tell a lie. Andrew and I were wetting ourselves laughing. The Prince was delighted that Harry had coughed.”
What is curious, and speaks volumes, is that their father didn’t simply telephone William and Harry and ask them himself.
“Harry’s got mischief as his middle name, thank God,” she says. “One smile would melt anyone and he’s got so much going for him. He has an incredible sense of fun and just naughtiness. But he was incredibly endearing, incredibly loving and wanting to help; always wanting to help.”
Another story she tells is of the year they were all in Klosters. Their equally mischievous cousin Zara Phillips was with them. Sandy was warming up in the bar of the hotel after a freezing day, when she noticed Harry and Tiggy waving frantically at the window. “I thought, Oh my God, what’s happened? So I ran out—I was just wearing a jumper and it was freezing bloody cold outside and I got outside the door and that little sod Wales—I mean the big one—was pelting me with snowballs. There’s me thinking he’s fallen over and broken his neck or something… Tiggy and Harry and one of the policemen who were also in on this joke, were roaring with laughter, and I’m chasing William up the road, saying ‘Person of doubtful parentage, you wait till I get hold of you.’”