Harry

by Chris Hutchins

  His favourite choice of garb as a small boy was the little soldier’s uniform James Hewitt had run up for him by his regimental tailor prior to one of the highlights of his early years – a visit to Combermere Barracks, the Windsor home of the Household Cavalry. It was there, clad in the miniature flak jacket, army trousers and beret, which Hewitt had shown him exactly how to position, that he decided on his career plan: clambering on a real tank (and a British one!) he declared, ‘I’m going to be a soldier when I grow up.’

  Fascinated by the vast array of weapons displayed in a gun cabinet in the Cavalry Museum, he pleaded to be allowed to hold one but Diana forbade him, saying there would be plenty of opportunity to do so in the future.

  She was not wrong, although she underestimated Harry’s determination to enter his desired Service: when Hewitt said it would be nice for Harry to one day join his regiment, she replied: ‘Yes, I’d like that too. But sadly this family goes into the navy, which they regard as the Senior Service.’

  Although in essence she was correct, Harry’s father is Colonel-in-Chief of twelve army regiments and the boy was fully aware of the ‘secret’ wardrobe in which Charles’s uniforms hang and had frequently inspected his array of ceremonial medals. However, his grandmother’s position as head of all Britain’s armed forces – the only person in the country who can officially declare war and peace – offered some room for flexibility on that point.

  The miniature army uniform Hewitt had had made for him was worn practically threadbare and his request every Christmas for a replacement ignored, but Harry finally acquired a second one when he accompanied his mother on an official visit to the Light Dragoons Regiment at Bergen-Hohne Barracks near Hanover on 29 July 1993 – a day which should have been a joyous one for Diana since it was the twelfth anniversary of her wedding to Charles. Concerned, so she said, that her sons might fall out over who could ride the tank, she had left William at home and taken the son she said was ‘into soldiers at the moment’.

  Because the visit was an official one, Harry was immaculately dressed in his best school uniform for the benefit of the waiting photographers – but not for long. Not to be outdone by the outfit he’d heard Hewitt had had made, the Light Dragoons’ quartermaster had sent to Kensington Palace for Harry’s measurements and had camouflage fatigues made which the Prince duly turned out in, with a beret to match those worn by the soldiers his mother had just inspected and with camouflage paint applied to his face to perfect the look. He was in his element and duly clambered aboard the Scimitar tank for the ride he’d been promised. This made his visit to the Combermere Barracks look like tame stuff, for the Dragoons had arranged a mock battle with machine guns firing blank rounds at the Scimitar. When he could see through the multi-coloured smoke they had also arranged, Harry directed operations from the tank’s turret. According to an observant reporter present at the time, Harry blotted his copybook on that occasion by waving to his mother from the tank instead of saluting her. But at least he was now in absolutely no doubt about what he wanted to be when he grew up.

  Harry had his chance to use a real gun long before Diana would have wished. Charles introduced him at an early age to grouse shooting. He was just nine when he badly bruised his shoulder during a royal shoot. He had not held the weapon correctly – a mistake he was never likely to repeat. Two years later Prince Philip bought him a shotgun for Christmas, earning himself still more negative points from Diana.

  Unlike their mother, neither boy had any qualms about hunting to kill. On one occasion Harry earned himself negative front-page headlines when, out on a shoot with his father at Sandringham, he misfired and almost felled one of the beaters, the men who were there to drive out the pheasants for the royal party to shoot.

  Harry’s agonising wait to join the army finally ended early in May 2005, four months after the public humiliation over his choice of costume for the fancy dress party, but first he had a wedding to go to. Prince Charles was to marry Camilla in a civil ceremony at the Guildhall, Windsor on 8 April. Well, that was the plan; in the event the wedding was switched to the following day so that Charles could represent the Queen at the funeral of Pope John Paul II on what was originally intended to be his and Camilla’s big day. It was Harry in best mischievous form who chided his father that the worldwide television interest and the crowds thronging the streets on the Saturday were really there to celebrate the union of local lady Grace Beesley to one Fraser Moores half an hour before the heir to the throne wed the woman he had loved for more than thirty years.

  And, however the Queen felt on the day about her eldest son marrying his mistress, it was Harry who made her laugh by imitating the kind of facial expression she famously adopts when confronted with something she disapproves of.

  Covering the wedding for Fox News from the roof of a building that housed a branch of the Threshers booze stores on the ground floor, I mentioned to my co-host, one John Scott, how intolerant Charles was of anyone who drank too much. That had, unfortunately, brought him into conflict on more than one occasion with Diana’s mother, Frances Shand Kydd. She subsequently lost her driving licence through a drink-driving offence she blamed in court on me for writing her a letter which caused her ‘considerable distress’. At the time I was writing, with Dominic Midgley, a book called Diana On The Edge that examined the Princess’s psychological problems; one expert had suggested that anyone who suffered from both bulimia and self-harming had almost certainly been abused as a child. I wrote to her mother to ask if this had been the case. Alas, it caused her to have one too many, after which she unwisely went for a spin in her car and was arrested for driving under the influence. She never forgave me and it is unlikely she ever forgave her royal son-in-law for his occasional expressions of negative opinion. When she died in June 2004 Harry and William flew to the Scottish Isle of Seil for her funeral, but Charles stayed at home.

  When he finally stepped through the doors of the Royal Military Academy in the Berkshire village of Sandhurst on 8 May 2005, as the most senior member of the Royal Family in living memory to enter training there, Harry was under no illusions about the discipline and fortitude he would have to display, particularly in view of the ‘spoiled toff’ reputation concomitant with being a prince. The first five weeks were going to be difficult for a man who enjoyed the kind of freedom and benders he had become accustomed to. A senior royal aide says he was instructed by Charles to tell the Sandhurst commandant, Major General Andrew Ritchie, not to spare the rod:

  But that was one instruction from HRH I purposely did not carry out. It was apparent that Sandhurst was not the kind of place where anybody got spared the rod. I only met Sergeant Major Vince Gaunt once but it was clear he was not going to let up on discipline for anyone – not even an heir to the throne.

  Sandhurst is where all officers in the British Army are taught the qualities of leadership. It’s the equivalent of the Britannia Royal Naval College at Dartmouth, which Harry’s father, grandfather and uncle Andrew attended, and the Royal Air Force College at Cranwell. More than 80 per cent of officer cadets are university graduates and no one can pay to get in although some sons of wealthy foreign potentates have been known to try.

  Charles drove his son there just as he had driven him to Eton on his first day. The playful punch he gave him on the arm as he dropped him off at the Old College training centre in Camberley seemed to signal: ‘Get your act together, you’re a man now.’ But Harry knew he had to do more than most if he was to make a success of this longed-for career since he would be closely watched twenty-four hours a day.

  Nevertheless, once the heir to the throne had left, Harry became just one of the 270 recruits joining that day for the 44-week course and that’s exactly the way he wanted it: although the college was special, he was a normal recruit. Of the three companies, he was told he would be attached to Alamein and become a member of a thirty-strong platoon. After enrolling he picked up the keys to his room and a red name badge with just the word ‘Wales’ printed in
white capital letters. Just as there were no ‘HRH’s at Mrs Mynors’ school when he first entered aged three, Harry noticed the same went for Sandhurst. From this point on he was Officer Cadet Wales. The room he was to call home for the foreseeable future was even more modest than the one he had been allocated at Eton and this time there was no maid to keep it clean and tidy: he was required to provide his own ironing board and to place such items as his toothbrush and paste with exact spaces in between, much as servants had done for him in the past. Even his bed had to be made perfectly with the corners turned back and the blankets folded into a neat block. Everything had to be in perfect order for inspection at 5.30 each morning: ‘I was never up this early unless I was going to bed this late,’ he told a fellow cadet, whom he also told that for the first time in his life he had learned to use a lavatory brush – something a royal maid had once revealed his grandmother was a dab hand at. Just a photograph of his mother – the same one he had kept in his room at Eton – propped on the simple bedside table would define him to visitors – not that there were likely to be many of those. Though thirty-two female cadets joined the same day there was no mixing of the sexes – the women trained in a separate platoon and their rooms were out of bounds. And anyway, there was always Chelsy – with whom he had just enjoyed a romantic break – waiting in the wings. But what, he asked himself, would she make of his almost shaven head? She hadn’t seen him with his Michael Owen cut at Eton.

  Harry had more to contend with than the lack of female company. A fellow cadet was obviously determined to fill the boast back home that he had given the third in line to the throne a beating; he chose his off-duty moment after a group – including Harry – had enjoyed a few beers. ‘He picked on the wrong man, unfortunately,’ says one who witnessed the fight. Harry let him have it where it hurts most and he was never picked on again. ‘Harry always fought to win and he didn’t mind fighting dirty, either,’ explains Ken Wharfe, who took many a punch in his private parts when he had charge of the Prince as a child.

  No mention was made of the incident when he gave an interview on his twenty-first birthday that September to Sky News, BBC Radio and the Press Association. His interviewers had to agree that he was a different man from the one they had encountered in the past; a serious, dedicated soldier. Despite his assertion that ‘I am who I am. I’m not going to change,’ he clearly had. This did not appear to be the party Prince of old, but a fast-maturing, well-disciplined adult whose days of drinking and brawling were over … or so it seemed that day. He said that in certain circumstances he had been treated even more harshly than other recruits – ‘But it did me good’. He was determined to serve on the front line when the time came and gave the frequently repeated quote: ‘There’s no way I’m going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are out fighting for their country.’ And speaking for the first time about the Nazi uniform incident, he did what many had expected at the time and delivered a personal apology: ‘It was a very stupid thing to do and I learned my lesson… That was then and this is now. It’s something I will never do again. It was a stupid thing to do. I think it’s part of growing up.’

  It was during his first term at Sandhurst that Harry was appointed a Counsellor of State on his twenty-first birthday that September, ousting Prince Edward. He would serve in that capacity by standing in for the Queen when she visited Malta two months later to attend the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting and by all accounts he loved being up there, as he put it, ‘with the top guys’. There were more honours to come: a few months later he was appointed as one of nine new Commodores-in-Chief of the Royal Navy: Commodore-in-Chief, Small Ships and Diving. The growing responsibilities seemed to mature him.

  The proudest day of Harry’s life was probably 12 April 2006. The Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Charles, his stepmother the Duchess of Cornwall, his brother and his proud and loving former nanny Tiggy (now Mrs Pettifer) all turned up for his passing-out parade at which he and the other 219 graduates were inspected by his grandmother. The Queen smiled at him and Prince William saluted him. Only one important person in his life was missing: Chelsy had arrived in London but stayed away from the ceremony in order to avoid being a distraction at the extremely formal event. She would see him later at the Sandhurst ball and she would be with him when, at precisely midnight as tradition demanded, he removed the velvet cover from the new officers’ pips on the jacket shoulder of his perfectly tailored £2,000 mess suit. Via another tradition he became a second lieutenant as he climbed the steps to Old College. As a Blues and Royals officer he would receive a salary of almost £22,000 a year. He deserved the honour heaped on him: he had behaved perfectly for forty-four weeks and responded to the strictest discipline without a murmur of dissent. At the ball even he was dazzled by Chelsy’s stunning appearance in a backless turquoise satin dress and with her hair pinned up to emphasise her long neck and tanned back. There was a round of applause as the couple kissed passionately on the dance floor. It was a sign of the change in him that, although each cadet had been allowed to invite nine guests, none of the friends from his wayward days were there – just Chelsy and William. Outside they watched a fireworks display, ate hamburgers smothered with onions and washed them down with champagne. He posed for photographs with anyone who asked, returning a bottom pinch one girl had audaciously carried out.

  To add to his joy Clarence House announced in effect that Cornet Wales was on his way up in the military world: he was to serve in an armoured reconnaissance unit as part of his training to become a troop commander. He would be in charge of eleven men and four tanks and the likelihood was that he would get his wish to serve in a combat zone – probably Iraq or Afghanistan. Harry Wales was going to war.

  It was not, however, that simple. Even as he continued his post-Sandhurst training there were rumours that his promised posting to Iraq would not materialise. The army denied them and Harry apparently insisted – though this has not been confirmed – that he would quit his beloved army if his regiment was sent without him. There were protests from members of the public too – why had he been trained at great expense for a job he might never be allowed to carry out? It gave General Sir Richard Dannatt, Chief of the General Staff, sleepless nights but he finally made up his mind: on 21 February 2007 the Ministry of Defence made it clear that Harry’s wish was to come true. The Ministry’s announcement read:

  We can confirm today that Prince Harry will deploy to Iraq later this year in command of a troop from A Squadron of the Household Cavalry Regiment. While in Iraq Cornet Wales will carry out a normal troop commander’s role involving leading a troop of twelve men in four Scimitar armoured reconnaissance vehicles, each with a crew of three. The decision to deploy him has been a military one. The royal household has been consulted throughout.

  Harry’s godfather Gerald Ward said he was disappointed by the announcement: ‘I fear for anyone’s life in that situation. It is very naïve of the Ministry of Defence to spell out the work he might do and the type of vehicles he may drive.’ He went on to venture that the good relations the Prince of Wales enjoyed with Muslims across the world would serve Harry in good stead.

  The news was, however, received with joy by Harry … and bitter glee by the enemy. Abu Zaid, commander of the Malik Ibn Al Ashtar Brigade declared: ‘We are awaiting the arrival of the young, handsome, spoiled Prince with bated breath. He will return to his grandmother but without ears.’ He had, he said, spies inside the British bases who would notify insurgents whenever and wherever the Prince arrived. No wonder Harry told those bidding him farewell at a London nightclub that he was ‘shitting himself’. The regiment he had chosen to join specialised in the highly dangerous operation of scouting out enemy-held terrain in light armour and was particularly exposed to ambushes and roadside bombs.

  The Army High Command had to think again, however. General Dannatt was forced to announce on 16 May that he had changed his mind. The chilling threats, along with intelligence th
at a crackshot enemy sniper, already responsible for killing six British soldiers, had already been assigned the job of assassinating the Prince, made the risks altogether too great. The Prince would not be going to Iraq, where his one-time hero James Hewitt had served, after all.

  Harry was devastated, although in response to General Dannatt’s declaration that he had proved himself to be an officer of determination and undoubted talent, he made it known that he fully understood and accepted the reasons for the General’s about-turn: his presence on the battlefield would put the lives of those around him at even greater risk. He did his best to explain that when he was allowed a brief meeting with other members of his regiment as they prepared to depart for Iraq. For their part his men said they would happily accept the increased risk to themselves if they could have him as their troop leader.

  ‘That seemed to cheer him up but privately he was in pieces, not helped by those critics who said he shouldn’t have joined the army in the first place if it was only to enhance the Windsors’ glory,’ says a well-informed source. ‘He went out and got blotto.’ Prince Philip joined the chorus of disapproval by saying that Harry should never have been allowed to join the army in the first place: the navy would have provided a ‘far more secure environment’. General Dannatt responded by blaming the media for its criticism of what it had described as a ‘cock-up’, pointing out that during his long army service, the Duke of Kent had not been allowed to go to Northern Ireland during the troubles there since he, as the Queen’s cousin, would have been an obvious target for the IRA.