by David Stubbs
Cheerfully, yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
The Most Revd the Archbishop of Canterbury
Lambeth Palace
London
England
14 December 1958
Dear Archbishop
I heard a hymn – a carol, I think, although it might just have been a Christmas song – all about God and how he watches you at all times, even when you’re sleeping, to check you’re not doing anything wrong. Does he really? I’ve hardly been able to go to the bathroom all week because I get embarrassed if I think someone’s watching me and then I can’t go. Then I got tummy-ache and had to go and see Nurse, and when I told her about it all the other boys in the sickbay laughed and I went bright red.
The next time you talk to God, could you ask him to look the other way while I’m on the loo? I promise him I’m not doing anything bad, just number ones or number twos. I’d ask him myself, but I’m too shy.
Yours, urgently
HRH The Prince of Wales
The Most Revd the Archbishop of Canterbury
Lambeth Palace
London
England
1 January 1960
Dear Archbishop
In our Divinity class yesterday, our teacher was talking about the reasons why God exists and he said that the best reason of all was ‘Design’. That means you can tell the Universe was made by a God because when you look at things like a snail or a worm, you can tell they’ve been crafted by hand. The stars are like that, too.
Except when I look at the sky through my telescope, it doesn’t really seem like it’s been designed, it looks like there was a big bang and everything went BOOOOSSSSSSSSHHHHH! and bits of rock were scattered far and wide.
But suppose God did design the Universe, wouldn’t He have signed it? Suppose you got a really, really powerful telescope and pointed it to the skies in the direction of the bottom right-hand corner of outer space and there was a group of stars all clustered together and arranged into the letters, ‘Made by God’. That’s what I’d have done, if I’d been God and made all creation. Have you got Astronomers you could ask to look and see if it’s there, because then we’d really know?
Yours, as every week
HRH The Prince of Wales
The Sikh Community Leader
Hounslow
London
England
8 July 1977
Dear Sir
Before I begin, I must first welcome your community to this country with open arms. With your warrior spirit, pride and determination to succeed, I feel that you have the makings of great Britons.
However, already I note that we have found ourselves at a quandary, with UK law requiring motorcyclists to wear crash helmets but your people objecting because this prevents them from wearing the sacred turban. It is terrible to think that as a result of this we may never on these shores see a Sikh Barry Sheene – something must be done, though currently I am not sure what.
I am, though, impressed by the idea of you having a Community Leader. In our country, it is the custom to have elected political officials. Some say this is a more sophisticated way of doing things, but I myself sometimes wonder if we have lost a certain wisdom in this regard that you Sikhs have maintained.
Yours, most graciously
HRH The Prince of Wales
Drivers Jonas
Planning Consultants
16 September 1988
Dear Sirs
Recently, I’ve been rather ‘goaded’ by Mr Richard Rogers in particular into putting my money where my mouth is and establishing a practical architectural example of the way I feel Britons would live in harmony with nature, their own souls and the Monarchy.
What I propose is this – a model village near Dorchester, where I have land. It could shine like a candle as an example as to other villages, towns – even city planners. Its dwellings would be modest, as befits the character of the British subject. They would reflect the characteristics key to my vision of Britain – scale, harmony, hierarchy, locality, tone, spirit, elevation, humility, conservation, thrift, proportion, good grammar, diffidence, obedience (to nature, our benefactor or to benefactors in general).
As to the village’s name, I have as yet dashed out a few preliminary thoughts – Charlesville? Charlie-on-Sea? Littler London? Princonia? But an idea of its character is fermenting in my imagination. Here is a village redolent of a merrier England, of maypole dances, russets and fayres, Shire horses, scythes, in which no subject feels the need at any time from cradle to grave to move more than six to ten yards from their dwelling place. Everything is at hand, all humble needs catered for – this is how we would live. Or they, I should say, for my duties would keep me at Highgrove and the Palace.
And what name would we give to those who would live in these communities, which will surely become ‘all the rage’ in the 1990s? Peasants? Perhaps unwise – how about ‘Pleasants’?
Rustically, yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
The Plant Kingdom
6 April 1989
To Whom It May Concern
This letter is not intended for public circulation of any sort – it may be seized on and misunderstood. I have kept a copy for my files but the original I have buried in my garden as a symbolic gesture of delivery although perhaps in some sort of rhizome-type underground movement, its message might in ways as yet unknown to man spread and be transmitted from plant to plant.
In some quarters I am ridiculed among man for talking to plants but the truth is, I have only been lucky enough to talk to a tiny number of you. This letter is intended as a long overdue salute. As plants, you perform a vital function: you sustain the life we enjoy on this earth. I’m not entirely certain of the science but essentially it’s to do with carbon and oxygen.
Our science fiction writers have sometimes presented the notion of plants taking over the planet as a ‘nightmare scenario’ and yet would you make such a poor fist of running things, I often wonder. Then again, you are a gentle species group, not given to domination or tyranny. Asking only for water and the occasional kind word, you do not cavil or make fun of a man’s ears, abandon your roots or answer back. The antidote to cement and concrete, you are in total and quiet accordance with nature. Not for nothing do I often wish I were destined not to reign over men, but to reign over plants – you’re a lot less bother.
Yours, the Defender of all Species
HRH The Prince of Wales
To: Appointed Alien Leader
18 January 1999
Dear ?
This letter is to be read out in the event of an extraterrestrial invasion of Great Britain, being the authentic words, directly committed to stationery paper, of His Royal Highness Prince Charles, The Prince of Wales, KG KT GCB OM AK QSO CD SOM GCL PC AdC(P) FRS, Defender of Many Faiths. It may seem unlikely aliens will ever arrive here, but then whoever imagined the Internet or a telephone you could play the latest popular tunes on? One never knows, so one must anticipate all eventualities.
First of all, assuming your intentions are as friendly as those of our own, seafaring English ancestors who sought out new lands and opportunities, I welcome you. I am sure we have a good deal to learn from each other. It is your custom, I understand, to address those you visit on a new planet with the words, ‘Take me to your leader!’ (I once saw a jolly funny cartoon in The Hotspur of a little green, slitty-eyed fellow with wires coming out of his head standing next to a fire hydrant and saying to it, ‘Take me to your leader!’ That’s something you’ll soon discover about us British – our sense of humour. But I digress.)
The thing is, in this country the leader isn’t actually the King, which I might well be by the time you arrive, but whoever lives at a place called 10 Downing Street (it’s the way we do things). However, if you don’t like our way of doing things and would rather talk to me, that can most certainly be arranged. If you’re part of a successful invasion force, you’d doubtless be ‘callin
g the shots’.
Yours, with greetings and salutations
HRH The Prince of Wales
PS Do you have a faith? If so, allow me to defend it.
Alan Milburn (Minister for Health)
House of Commons
London
England
16 May 2003
Dear Mr Milburn
Every year, we’re losing thousands of man-hours to illness. It’s time to face facts: modern medicine simply isn’t working. We need alternative treatments – herbal, shiatsu, all this wonderful ancient medical wisdom we have sloshing about – well, not the ancient wisdom of dentistry, of course, which essentially consisted of a fellow hacking at another fellow’s rotten tooth with a piece of flint while two other fellows held him down – but a lot of the other sorts, and especially homeopathy.
Many people think of homeopathy as some sort of ill-founded quackery conceived by a crackpot. In fact, it’s anything but this: it was discovered by a Mr Samuel Hahnemann, back in 1796. Yes, a German, I know – but hear me out. Mr Hahnemann thought long and hard and discovered the best way to cure an ailment was to treat ‘like with like’, using an element of what caused the ailment in the first place, diluting it and rapping the container of the solution precisely twelve times against a leather-bound book in order to release its dynamic forces. Must be a leather-bound book, mind – none of your modern paperbacks or it won’t work. And twelve times, not eleven, not thirteen: twelve. A lot of people think I’m making this up, but I’m not.
Now, here’s the thing: water has a memory. We must accept that. It further follows the more you dilute the homeopathic solution – thousands upon thousands of times – the stronger the memory will get. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? Leap with me, Minister! I recommended a homeopathic treatment to my PA (with extract from rose hip, one of nature’s little givers) when she complained of a slight migraine and after several treatments she told me that yes, perhaps she was feeling a little better, or at least possibly so. I’d take that ringing personal endorsement from a trusted employee over a hundred of your so-called ‘evidence-based studies’.
Yours, in faith and healing
HRH The Prince of Wales
Alan Milburn (Minister for Health)
House of Commons
London
England
17 May 2003
Dear Mr Milburn
Further to our correspondence regarding homeopathy, a treatment was recently brought to my attention. It is promoted as a cure for a range of ailments, from rheumatism to high fever. To prepare it, you will need a large copper pan (it must be copper, mind – otherwise the treatment will not work!). Into this dice precisely six grams of fresh parsley, three grams of autumn crocus, then add a dozen milligrams of elderflower extract and – here is the remarkable part – a pint and a half of your own urine. Heat and mix, and then, once it has cooled, tap the pan and its contents nine times on your cranium while incanting the word ‘Chumbawamba!’ over and over. Then consume.
I must admit that I was uncertain of its benefits, though it did appear to work quite effectively as a laxative. On that basis, I agreed to take part in a short promotional video demonstrating the preparation and ingestion of the solution. However, it then emerged that the whole treatment was a ‘prank’ dreamt up by a medical student. Fortunately, news of my involvement was suppressed – not a word about this to anyone, Minister.
This is a cautionary tale. We must beware of bogus treatments, ridiculous placebos that have no effect except in the imagination of pitiful fools, as distinguished from authentic, proven treatments like homeopathy.
Yours, in vigilance
HRH The Prince of Wales
To: Mankind
8 July 2005
This is perhaps the most presumptuous, but perhaps also the most momentous letter I have written in the entire history of my correspondence. But hang it all, it’s one thing addressing this or that man – or, indeed, woman or boy! When does one ever address Mankind, that transcendent human entity to which we all belong? And that is what I propose to do here.
Mankind, I have been worried about you for a long time now. In body, you seem fit enough, though our forefathers might be struck by our increased circumferences, a world in which a Harry Secombe-type physique no longer seems quite out of the ordinary, to be singled out for decades of comic treatment. Your soul, however, is shrivelled as an old, dried-out bladder. What is to be done? Fresh air, I suppose; a reconnection with soil and the natural rhythms of nature. Perhaps. For you to adopt the ways of the Kalahari Bushman, with an ear to the ground and the decrees of the true earth long suppressed by the cacophony of heavy machinery and the clever, but misguided diktats of the intellect.
Yes, that’s it! Live the lives of Bushmen. Pots, grubs, spears, and so forth … Cast aside your washing machines and music decks. That, ultimately, should be your goal. Make that your aim, mankind, all of you, in time! How I envy the Africans in particular, who are closer to this ideal than any of us. I shall observe your progress from Highgrove with great interest and frequent encouragement.
Yours, in solidarity
HRH The Prince of Wales
To: The IOP (Institute of Physics)
76–78 Portland Place
London
England
16 April 2007
Gentlemen (and ladies, should that be appropriate)
For centuries, physicists have striven to grasp that holiest of grails, one which would satisfy all our energy needs in a stroke – the perpetual motion machine. And now, working in my potting shed with the assistance of selected members of staff, I can announce that I feel sure I’m on the cusp of what would be the greatest scientific discovery of the age.
I have enclosed a diagram of the device: it consists of a ping-pong ball proceeding down a descending arrangement of slides, finally returning to a point directly below where it began its journey. But how to return it to that point? I suggest a column of water in a glass tube, which the ball enters before floating up to the top, thereby placing it in a position to resume its circuit. Perpetual motion!
There are just two snags – how to get the ball to enter the column of water, and once it’s floated to the top, impelling it to start sliding down the slide again. At the moment, it requires a couple of nudges for the perpetual circuit to work. It stymies me, but hang it all, gentlemen, that’s how close we are – just nudges away from freedom from our dependence on fossil fuels, oil and nuclear energy! I’ve practically done all the work and I leave it for you boffins to simply provide the final push over the ‘top’. These are exciting times, are they not?
Yours, in soaring optimism
HRH The Prince of Wales
Professor Brian Cox
University of Manchester
Manchester
England
18 January 2011
Dear Professor Cox
I’ve been greatly enjoying your series on the BBC and admire the way you bring science into the home of the everyday ‘fellow’. I don’t know if you’re the right person to whom to address this brainwave I’ve had, but I suppose you’d be kind enough to pass it on if it’s not your ‘department’ because that’s literally what I’m talking about – brainwaves.
I don’t know about you, but I spend a lot of time simply thinking and I hate to think it’s just being frittered away. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks a lot – thousands, millions of us do. Is there not a way of harnessing all that mental energy and putting it to some positive, practical use? I was thinking of some sort of hat lined with tin foil, remotely connected to a small grid. I’m sure my cogitating on a single afternoon would be enough to power a domestic vacuum cleaner for at least half an hour’s ‘hoovering’. We can put a man on the moon, surely we can place a tin-lined hat on his head? You manufacture it using your ‘know-how’, Professor Cox, and I’ll wear it.
Yours, in the hope of things getting better
HRH The Prince of Wales
John Cook
Chairman
British Homeopathic Association
Hahnemann House
29 Park Street West
Luton
England
10 February 2011
Dear Mr Cook
Congratulations! As people slowly come to realise the real answer to what ails us lies beyond science, medicine and knowledge, homeopathy is making headway into the NHS and becoming increasingly accessible to all. On Charing Cross Road, where once were bookshops, are now outlets offering New Age remedies, potions and crystals – this is progress.
With this boom, however, lies a danger: you must have read recently of the attempted suicide of the daughter of pop singer Billy Joel, who took an overdose of homeopathic medicine. Somehow she survived, but we must be alert to the dangers of our young people abusing homeopathic products, either for ‘kicks’ or some self-destructive purpose.