by David Stubbs
Yours, against disadvantage
HRH The Prince of Wales
John Prescott
House of Commons
London
England
28 April 2006
Dear Mr Prescott
I must say, I rather enjoy our weekly correspondences – on my part, at any rate. It’s a shame that the affairs of the day, as you go about doing whatever it is that you actually do, prevent you from answering my letters as often as you would like, if at all.
It pains me to know that you are currently suffering difficulties in what my Uncle Dickie used to call the ‘rumpers-pumpers department’. I do miss Dickie. Whenever I reflect upon him, I always dryly remark, much as Mrs Thatcher said of Mr Whitelaw, that every prime minister needs a Willie, so every prince needs a Lord Mountbatten.
I have spoken before about the longings that can beset men of office, of action. We have appetites, which for decency’s sake, we must suppress. In the throes of such longings, I take various courses of action. First, open a window. Sometimes a simple act of ventilation does the trick. Second, conjure up a visual memory of the late Israeli prime minister Golda Meir. If that doesn’t work, here is a method my father taught me: submit to bee stings. A single visit to a hive per month in which you deliberately subject yourself to these animals has a remarkably preserving effect as well as sapping the body of excessive urges: nature’s own remedies are the best, don’t you feel?
Yours, in physical and mental harmony
HRH The Prince of Wales
Jonathon Porritt
Friends of the Earth
26–28 Underwood Street
London
England
13 May 2006
Our time on Planet Earth may be short, Porritt, my old friend, so I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve been mulling over this for a few days and just about reduced the thing to bullet points, which I thought I’d run past your good self for suggestions. I have a contention and it is this:
THE UK MONARCHY IS THE MOST ECO-EFFICIENT MEANS OF PRESIDING OVER THE COUNTRY
• Think about it: for one thing, we’re unelected. This makes for huge paper savings in that it precludes the need for ballots every few years. Factor in the savings in timber – there’s no need for ballot boxes, as well as lead savings – those little pencils, you know.
• Golden carriages are the most efficacious and environmentally ‘clean’ way of getting about London.
• The Monarch only addresses the people once a year and then for ten minutes. There’s none of this 24-hour Parliamentary Channel nonsense – an enormous saving in electricity.
Actually, that was all I could think of. Do you have any more? Not to resort to ‘sound bites’, but I simply wish to point out that those who would do away with us might well be throwing away the baby of ecological sustainability with the bathwater of impetuous Republicanism. Do you not agree? I expect you must.
Yours, logically and ecologically
HRH The Prince of Wales
John Prescott
House of Commons
London
England
1 May 2008
I was a little put out to read that you have in the past suffered from the eating disorder known as bulimia. As you probably know my late, former wife was stricken by this disease and so I have a little insight into what it involves. I just wished to say this: if you should ever feel the need to talk, privately and discreetly about your condition, then please do not hesitate to seek out one of the many experienced counsellors qualified in this field. I believe some of them may be in the phonebook.
Yours, concernedly
HRH The Prince of Wales
Peter Mandelson
House of Lords
London
England
6 June 2009
Congratulations, my Lord, on your elevation to the peerage. I didn’t think you socialists believed in taking ermine so it’s good to see one or two of you are prepared to take the ‘broad view’. I’ve followed your career with great interest from the days when you sported that rather intriguing moustache to your present eminence. That being so, I know you will take what I’m about to say in the friendly and constructive way it’s intended.
I do fear you come across as a somewhat angular, malign sort of fellow. When watching you on the television set, I can’t help but think of Cardinal Richelieu in his flowing red robes or of some high-up cleric travelling across twelfth-century Europe in a caravan, torturing deviants from the true faith. What can be done to soften this a little, I wonder? I too have faced ‘public image’ difficulties. Have you, perhaps, considered writing a children’s book or visiting a discotheque and being seen to ‘let your hair down’ within reasonable bounds, or taking a very young wife? These are just thoughts.
Yours, in elevation
HRH The Prince of Wales
Nigel Farage
UK Independence Party
PO Box 408
Newton Abbot
Devon
England
17 November 2009
Dear Mr Farage
I want to make it clear from the ‘outset’ that I’m not a political person. Some may think a greater integration with Europe is a good thing; others, like yourself, disagree. However, I was rather tickled by the following thought and decided there was no harm in sharing it with you. You may wish to use it on Question Time, a programme on which you seem to appear on a fortnightly basis. You might deliver it as follows:
‘I believe we’re getting to the stage where Brussels bureaucrats will insist His Royal Highness Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales, change the name of his estate “Poundbury” to “Eurobury”.’
[Laughter]
When making this quip, I’d advise you to stick to it as written – otherwise, the rhythm of the comedy is put out.
I must reiterate that I do not have any declared position on Europe and would ask you do not accredit me with this joke. You might wish to make a donation of £25 to The Prince’s Trust, however.
Yours, in jest
HRH The Prince of Wales
David Cameron
The Conservative Party
Millbank Tower
30 Millbank
London
England
8 May 2010
Dear Mr Cameron
I realise you Honourable Gentlemen are apt to cut up somewhat rusty at Royal interventions in political affairs, but in this delicate period of ‘Hung Parliament’ may I pitch in with a constructive suggestion – Con/Lib/Lab coalition?
Hang it all, it seems politics nowadays is a matter of slinging mud where we should be tilling the soil. It seems all three parties are agreed on the absolute basics – the need to go forward together, to do something about litter in the streets, getting young people out and about rather than frowsting indoors and rediscovering our spirituality as a kingdom.
Of course such a coalition would require a neutral leader so as not to get anyone’s backs up. Such a person would need to be an outsider, not considered ‘political’ but someone who his entire adult life has been in contact with politicians of all hues, a man with some sort of vision (of Britain, in particular) and who is currently in search of some sort of role. Do any names spring to mind?
Yours, and at your immediate disposal
HRH The Prince of Wales
PS I know a fellow called ‘Cameron’ – one of the beaters at Balmoral. I expect you know him though curiously, he’d never heard of you.
Andrew Lansley
Secretary of State for Health
House of Commons
London
England
1 June 2010
Dear Mr Lansley
A number of my staff are wont to take ‘cigarette breaks’ throughout the day. I must say, one or two of them smoke desperately hard – I sometimes stare from my bay window on to the back courtyard and see them mumbling to each other and shaking their heads, no doubt in sa
dness at the state of the world. I’ve noticed, however, rummaging through my recycling bin that their packets are emblazoned with bold ‘Health Warnings’.
I wonder if such warnings could not be attached to the sides of some of our modern buildings? Of course one would rather such carbuncles were banned but failing this, large inscriptions in black lettering reading, let’s say, ‘WARNING: THIS BUILDING EMPHASISES THE MECHANICAL OVER THE SPIRITUAL’ or ‘WARNING: THIS BUILDING MAY CAUSE A CERTAIN IMPOVERISHMENT OF THE INNER SELF’ would do the job, I fancy. Could you have your team draw up some drafts? No hurry, anytime in the next fortnight would do.
Yours, in earnest
HRH The Prince of Wales
Nick Clegg
House of Commons
London
England
12 June 2010
Dear Mr Clegg
So, the Deputy Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, eh? Bet you didn’t anticipate that one when the results came through on election night and ‘Cleggmania’ seemed as distant a memory as ‘Osmond-mania’. But here you are, and there it is. We all hope you do a good job and stick to your principles, mobile as they are in this day and age of ‘compromise’.
You know, Mr Clegg, you remind me of a boy with whom I was acquainted at Gordonstoun. His name, oddly enough, was ‘Nick’ or ‘Nicky’. There we both were on the first day during breaktime. The other boys were laughing and playing various games – British Bulldog, Tag, Chinese Burns, that sort of thing … But we found it hard to join in and stood on our own, not able to make a connection with any of the other boys as they played; afraid, perhaps, that they’d tell us to go away and play somewhere else. One experiences loneliness in different ways and at different times in life but that sort of loneliness is the keenest sort, I always feel – young, estranged from parents and from one’s supposed peers with nobody giving a damn.
I looked across at Nick. He was from another house, but he was in the same boat. We exchanged glances, half-smiled and shyly advancing towards each other along the chicken wire perimeter, mumbled our hellos and got talking. I felt a kinship with Nick: we had lots in common. We talked about Airfix, about hating being away from home and our favourite radio shows; we played word games like ‘The Minister’s Cat’. His company was a great comfort, a diversion. We spoke again over the next few days – we had a sort of tacit agreement: same time, same place. We agreed we’d look out for each other.
Then, on the fourth day I approached the spot and waited. Minutes passed, but no Nick. It was the same on the fifth. Perhaps he was sick, I thought. But then during the lunch break I was aware of two boys going around the playground, arms outstretched, chanting, ‘All In For Kill The Prince!’ Gradually, more and more boys joined them, forming a vanguard, their arms about each other’s necks. And then they saw me by the fence and advanced on me like a cavalry charge. Among the faces bearing down on me were some familiar ones twisted with hateful relish: Tubby Braithwaite, ‘Chips’ Dennyson.
I looked around for Nick in the hope that he might appear from nowhere and spring to my defence. After all, we said we’d look out for each other. And suddenly, there he was. There he was, all right – he was one of the boys advancing on me. No flicker of recognition of me or my plight: his eyes were dead as he joined in the fury of the mob as they set on me, grabbing my ears, scraping their knuckles down the side of my head and pulling at my hair. ‘Kill him, kill him!’ they chanted – Nick loudest of all. I suppose he must have made some new friends. I suppose he must have decided it was better to be one of the boys who ‘fitted in’ and this was his way of showing it.
You betrayed me, Nick: I put my faith in you and you betrayed me. (Not you, Mr Clegg! Lost in the mists of the past there for a second …)
HRH The Prince of Wales
Boris Johnson
The London Assembly
London
England
1 October 2010
Dear Mr Johnson
Whenever I see you in the newspapers or on television, you’re always ‘out and about’ on your bicycle. Well done! You’re sending out a very positive, very green message to the people of London.
There’s just one thing, however, and it’s rather a delicate point: you are, it must be admitted, a person of rather generous proportions. I do fear people will look at you in your unfortunate physical condition and think to themselves, ‘Well, cycling hasn’t done him much good, has it? We might as well climb back in our Mondeos or Rovers.’
Would you consider going on a crash diet or high-intensity exercise programme that would get you into the sort of shape that helps ram home the message that cycling really does keep you trim?
Yours, in hope and expectation
HRH The Prince of Wales
Baroness Warsi
House of Lords
London
England
30 November 2010
Dear Baroness Warsi
I am writing to you in your capacity as a prominent British Muslim. I know that you, like me, share the concern that Muslims are not adequately represented in all walks of life in Great Britain. You are prominent, you are British, you are Muslim … As a bonus, you are even a woman. But we both know, your presence could be greater. As an essentially peaceful people, I believe Muslims have a great deal to offer British society.
It concerns me greatly that there are, so far as I know, no inner-city Muslim polo teams in the United Kingdom. I did not encounter a single one all season and, given that the game may well have originated in Asia (where it was known as Chogan) it seems odd there has been so little take-up in such Muslim strongholds as Dewsbury, Bradford, Luton and the Harehills estate in Leeds.
If you were to provide horses and set up stables in these areas, I would be happy to donate some old helmets, mallets and skid boots I have which have seen better days, but would be adequate for community regeneration purposes. Let’s get the disaffected, the underprivileged, on horseback and thirsting for the opening chukka! And if there are no horses available, perhaps large dogs could be used instead? Ideal for the smaller Muslim!
Yours,
HRH The Prince of Wales, Defender of Yourself (and Many Others)
Theresa May
Home Secretary
House of Commons
London
England
10 December 2010
Dear Miss May
I must confess, both my wife and myself were thoroughly shaken up by the events of last night. To have one’s vehicle manhandled and scraped by young men and women practically red with rage, to hear cries for one’s own decapitation, to be temporarily uncertain of any escape route from the angry throng … well, it sort of makes your life flash in front of your eyes.
Most appalling was one of these malcontents managing to set about my wife with a stick. A stick! That’s what really ‘sticks’ with me, if you’ll pardon my pun. It’s the irony of it, hang it all. Like being attacked with a plant, or something. I’ve always been pro the stick – ask my wife, ask Anne, anybody … Whether whittled or in the form of a trusty staff, or propping up a length of runner beans, I have always regarded the stick as Man’s Best Friend, not an assault weapon. Where did that idea come from?
I’d be grateful, Miss May, if you could pass down instructions that the next time these self-styled ‘students’ gather with menace that the police impress upon them, using whatever means of physical force they have at their disposal as necessary, that a stick is not something you beat someone with.
Yours, with rigid resolve
HRH The Prince of Wales
Fellow Sportsmen (and Women)
Head of Sports
BBC TV
London
England
6 January 1972
Dear Sir
I cannot but help notice you honoured my sister Anne with the ‘Sports Personality of the Year’ award last month. I didn’t realise we ‘Royals’ were eligible, alongside the regular Tom, Dick and Stirlings. Under th
ese circumstances, one must confess to feeling a little overlooked. I am a sportsman too, you know. Polo’s the game and if I say so myself, I’m rather good: only yesterday, I scored with a pretty fine forehand in the third chukka – straight from the knock-in. Might have scored more but for a case of broken tack in the fourth chukka.
I also have a personality – I am rather a fan of The Goons and like nothing more than getting ‘out and about’. Could you please bear me in mind for next year – why should Anne get all the glory and not me? It hardly seems fair.
Keenly yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
Brian Clough
Derby County Football Club
Derby
England
17 June 1972
Dear Mr Clough
I write to you because we’ve a lot in common, you and me: we’ve both been impersonated by Mr Mike Yarwood (with varying degrees of success), we’re dark-haired and we were born before 1960. Actually, I’m struggling a little here but you see my point. In winning the Association Football League with Derby County Football Club, you’ve shown you’re a man who likes to get things done.
Now, I’m not writing to you for ‘soccer tips’ – I’m afraid when it comes to your game, I’ve long since shown myself to have ‘two left feet’. What I was looking for was vocal skills. I’m impressed by the way your voice carries – every word seems to hover in the air for a second or so after it’s left your mouth. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed but when I talk, my words seem to tighten – they emerge as if wearing stiff collars and tight shoes. So, instead of ‘outward bound’, I’ll say ‘iteward bind’. I’ve tried to eradicate the thing in front of the mirror – Prince Andrew caught me the other day, chanting, ‘ITE! ITE! ITE! ITE! ITE!’ – and guffawed in that carrying way of his. Trying to say ‘OUT!’, you see, but to no avail.