Prince William

by Penny Junor

  ‘Look at what William’s had to put up with; we had stories into the office weekend after weekend about him being seen in a nightclub, and if it wasn’t him taking drugs, it was the people he was with. Once or twice I’d have to ask William himself about a [press] inquiry – and I always got an honest answer – but several times I’d find out which protection officer was on duty and I’d ask whether William had been at this place at that time. I’d never say, “Where was he?” because that’s invading his privacy. Most of the time they’d reply, “No.” The stories were complete crap. And then we’d find out that some kid in East London was a bit short of money and was making them up.’

  PARTNERS IN CRIME

  One morning in her office in St James’s Palace, Sandy Henney had a telephone call from the gardener at Highgrove. She was in the thick of organising an overseas tour, with a hundred and one other things kicking off. ‘“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, well 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 the boss was], you go and tell him.” 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, that’s what I want.” “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, there’s a reason here.” 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 boys 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, 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 to relax when he came home from a day out, was to go out and feed the chickens and walk down by that wonderful pool, and 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 – my friend Andrew Gailey. “Hello Sandy,” he said. “Got a good 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 boys Granny [their nickname for Sandy] 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.’

  It’s interesting, however, that their father didn’t simply pick up the phone to his two sons and say, ‘What’s the story?’

  William and Harry were ever partners in crime. In Klosters one year, a year when their equally mischievous cousin Zara Phillips was with them, Sandy was sitting in the bar of the hotel, warming up after a freezing day but a very successful photo call. She had kicked her shoes off when she suddenly became aware of frantic waving at the window of the hotel and there, standing outside in the snow, were Tiggy and Harry. ‘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, Oh my God, something’s happened to him, he’s fallen over and broken his neck or something … Tiggy and Harry, and one of the policemen, who was 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,” and he ran around this car and he’s throwing snowballs like nobody’s business because he was prepared to include me in some of the fun. That was the nature of the kid, he loved mucking about and having fun.’

  On another occasion, they were up at Birkhall, where the Queen Mother had a collection of eleven grandfather clocks in the dining room – which are still there today, along with the tartan walls and carpets. Sandy was having supper with them and at 10 o’clock practically jumped out of her skin when all the clocks suddenly started chiming. All three Princes could barely contain their mirth. After supper, they asked her to stay and play a game of cards the boys had made up. ‘The idea was you were kneeling on the floor and had to get these cards down as quickly as you could and of course they thought it was just hysterical and William was pushing me out of the way and I went flying at one stage – everyone roaring with laughter, trying to get back into the game to put my cards down. Is William competitive? Not half. But fun and willing to include people in his life.

  ‘I know he was young and should have been full of life but there was something else about him that meant you couldn’t help but smile when he came into a room because he was always full of fun. It was not like when the Prince walked in and you thought, Oh God, where’s it coming from today, good mood, bad mood or whatever? William or Harry used to walk in, “Oh hello, how are you?”’

  In the summer of 2000, that easy relationship between Sandy and the boys came to a sad end. William’s eighteenth birthday, a major milestone, was looming and Sandy was looking at the perennial problem of how to organise a photo call that he would happily agree to. She came up with a formula that worked brilliantly. It produced some of the best photographs of William ever taken, gave the media a collective snapshot of his life at Eton (which he was on the verge of leaving), and was effectively a big thank you to the media for having allowed him to spend his five years at the school in peace.

  Rather than ask William to perform in front of dozens of cameras, which she knew would be counter-productive, she arranged for only two: photographer Ian Jones from the Daily Telegraph, who had taken William’s confirmation photographs, and television cameraman Eugene Campbell from ITN. She thought William would relax with them, as they were both young, sympathetic and good ambassadors for their profession. She guessed rightly that they would take some excellent shots – over which William would have the right of veto – which would then be ‘pooled’. This is an arrangement the Palace and the media frequently practise; if space or circumstances don’t allow for more than a few members of the press to be with the Royal Family during a visit or an event, the few that can be accommodated distribute their photographs or reports free of charge to every other newspaper and television channel. Ian and Eugene worked over a five-month period, dipping in
and out of William’s Eton life, building up a good rapport with him, which resulted in an intimate and hugely insightful view of the second in line to the throne as he turned eighteen.

  ‘It was almost seen as a two-way learning street,’ recalls Ian Jones. ‘We were there to learn about his school life, but the Palace also saw it as a way for William to learn about the media and how press photographers and TV cameras work and how you put a piece of film together. He got very interested in the composition and the artistic side of it, also the technology and how shots would be edited together. It was an education for him in an area of the media that would be a very important part of his future life. It all went off very, very well and achieved exactly what it set out to do.

  ‘It was lovely; he was very engaging. Once he saw how it worked and what we were looking for, at our next meeting he’d say, “I’ve had thoughts about this, or what do you think about that?” He’d been putting his mind to it and planning ideas for the project. The very first time he was a little bit cautious but when he realised there was a reason to it and what we were doing was worthwhile he was thoroughly involved and really up for it. The cookery was his idea and one of the best bits; he was making a rice dish with chicken stock and it was very good fun.’

  To level out the playing field, the deal was that there would be no exclusives, no preferential treatment, and the photographs would be embargoed so that they all appeared on the same day. The dailies would have ten of them on the Friday for their Saturday editions and the Sundays would have an extra four a day later. Sandy discussed this entire deal at every stage with Stephen Lamport, the Prince’s Private Secretary, with Mark Bolland, his Deputy, and with Les Hinton and Guy Black at the PCC. Everyone gave it their blessing.

  Ian was a freelance under contract to the Daily Telegraph; his editor was Charles Moore, and when he saw the prints, which had been electronically stored on the office system, he liked them so much he wanted to maximise the impact by running them in the glossy Saturday magazine which goes to print earlier than the main body of the paper. He therefore wanted them before the agreed date. Sandy Henney cleared this with Lamport and Bolland and the photographs were released. Shortly afterwards this was leaked to the Daily Mail and The Times and Lamport agreed to let them have a set of photos early for their magazines too. Charles Moore was indignant and refused to let the photographs go. The Telegraph had provided the photographer and the technology; it was not unreasonable, he felt, for the Telegraph to have this slight advantage over its competitors.

  At this point Piers Morgan, editor of the Daily Mirror, got wind of the story. He turned on Sandy, and with scores to settle, wound up the rest of Fleet Street and it all turned very ugly. Sandy had made one crucial mistake. She had relied on a gentleman’s agreement; she had nothing in writing.

  That evening Ian arrived home from work and switched on the evening news to discover he was the lead story. Jenny Bond, the BBC’s royal reporter, was standing in front of St James’s Palace talking about the row, saying, ‘The photographer stands to make millions of pounds out of these pictures.’

  As a freelance, he did hold the copyright, but says, ‘That would never have been the case. I was giving them free of charge to every media outlet in the world. Over time I suppose I might have made a couple of hundred, but considering the hours and hours and hours of work I did on that, all in my own time … it was such an honour, such a privilege and I really thought I was doing something special, not just for William but for the media, which is a profession I love.’

  The issue of copyright took centre stage. ‘It was made to sound as if I had conned them out of the copyright, but every freelance owns his copyright. ITN kept the copyright of the film, Mario Testino keeps the copyright of the pictures he takes, everyone who does portraits for the Royal Family keeps the copyright. I was asked to surrender it and I thought the only honourable course of action was to say, “It’s yours.”’

  The final outcome was not catastrophic. The photographs were released to every newspaper at the same time, they all honoured the embargo and the next day, the media were on to another story. As Andrew Neil, then editor of the Sunday Times said, ‘It was a storm in a Fleet Street teacup.’

  Except at St James’s Palace. Sandy offered Stephen Lamport her resignation as a matter of formality, never for a moment believing it would be accepted. She had consulted them at every stage, she had everyone’s agreement at every stage; her mistake had been to trust men she thought were honourable. If it was a cock-up, it was a collective cock-up. But she was wrong; her resignation was accepted and by three o’clock that afternoon she had cleared her desk and was out on the street and out of a job. The Prince of Wales, for whom she’d tirelessly worked long and unreasonable hours, for seven years, never even said goodbye, but Prince William immediately telephoned.

  ‘He tried to ring me three times but I was so upset – I really was gutted – and I remember saying, “I can’t talk to him because I would be upset and I don’t want to let myself down.” Then he rang for the third time and I thought, Yeah, I can talk to him now. There was no “Poor me, all this horrible publicity and it’s ruined my exams.” It was “How are you? I am so sorry.” There was no thought for himself, it was all about how I was. Total loyalty. I didn’t hear a word from the Prince of Wales, and there’s William, not quite eighteen and right in the middle of his A levels – the total opposite.

  ‘That spoke volumes to me about the sort of man he was going to be: totally loyal to people, and that’s why people won’t let him down, they’d rather see something happen to themselves. They won’t let him down because he will never let them down. Other things were said during that conversation but my last words to him were, “Trust your own judgment, William, it’s sound. There are people you will come across that your instincts will tell you not to trust, there are people you will come across, you will never like, but if they can do a service for you, then let them do it, but you know how far you can trust them.”

  ‘Because he got it. He thought it was his fault; why he thought that, God alone knows; I don’t know what had been said to him. I said, “It’s got nothing to do with you. I accept I’ve done something silly, not dotting i’s and crossing t’s, I put my hands up to it but it’s nothing to do with you. You just carry on with your A levels, it’s fine.” I didn’t tell him what happened, it was a convoluted story and anyway it didn’t matter. I was going and that was it – out, gone, clear your desk, away there’s no looking back – someone else was going to look after him now. The saddest thing was the boys, knowing I would never see them again. I know they’re Princes but they were a huge part of my life; I loved them to bits.’

  Ian Jones heard nothing from William, but the next time he saw him was in Klosters for the traditional Easter photo call. When it was all over and he wired his shots back to London, Ian did some skiing and at lunch time, when everyone was going back up the mountain, boarded a cable car, only to find the Royal party had followed him in. He kept his head down but William noticed him among the crowd and shuffled over in his skis to say hello. Ian, as William knows, is a lifelong supporter of Bolton Wanderers, and Aston Villa had just beaten Bolton in the semi-final play-off at Wembley. ‘We were robbed at Wembley,’ he said with a big grin on his face.

  BLOODY PIRATES

  During William’s final year at Eton, before the photo fiasco, a body of wise men and one woman sat down to discuss his future. Among them were the Prince of Wales, Eric Anderson (Charles’s English teacher at Gordonstoun who was about to return to Eton as Provost), the Right Reverend Richard Chartres (the Bishop of London), Major General Arthur Denaro (Commandant of Sandhurst, the Royal Military Academy) and Dr Andrew Gailey. William had got wind of the meeting and telephoned Sandy. ‘“I want you to go,” he said. “Okay, what do you want me to do?” “Well, I want you to tell them that I want a say in it.” “Okay, William, I’ll go.” And I remember going and feeling slightly intimidated and the discussion was going round the table
and I said, “Excuse me, has anyone asked William what he’d like to do? Don’t you think we should?” and the discussion went on from there. Even at that age he was saying, I know people want to talk about me, but I will make my decisions and I thought, Good lad.’

  He had done well at Eton by any standards, and, like most of his friends, he wanted to take a year off before starting university. There was a burgeoning market for companies offering tailor-made gap years and volunteering programmes that appealed to the parents of public school children. What most of the boys wanted to do was spend the year travelling and chilling on the beaches of Goa. Whatever dreams William might have had, he was never going to be allowed to spend his year doing anything that might have been construed by the press as a holiday.

  Andrew Gailey had been an inspired choice of house master; a man with great humanity and humour, who everyone agrees was crucial in supporting and steering William and Harry through some nightmarish times. William thinks the world of him and he remains a friend, confidant and mentor, and guards his secrets faithfully. Eton can turn out some rather arrogant and self-important men; it also turns out some of the best, who appreciate that they have enjoyed great privilege and recognise that with privilege comes responsibility. Both Princes fall into the latter category, and possess the self-assurance that Eton, at its best, provides, along with the humility that recognises no one man is better than another simply by accident of birth, privilege or education.