Diana: Story of a Princess

by Tim Clayton

  In mid-July Diana discovered a bracelet in Michael Colborne’s office with the initials ‘G’ and ‘F’ cut into it. It was intended for Camilla. Diana stormed out of the room. According to Charles, it was a thank-you present for years of friendship and G F meant ‘Girl Friday’, his nickname for the supportive Camilla. But Diana believed the letters stood for ‘Gladys’ and ‘Fred’, and that the characters were intertwined on the bracelet when she saw it, suggesting a relationship more intimate than the one Charles was implying with his Robinson Crusoe analogy. This incident was witnessed by courtiers, and only the interpretation of it is in doubt: Charles’s apologists go with the G F explanation, Diana’s with G and F intertwined.

  Diana and Charles had a heated row that afternoon. Diana pleaded with him not to give Camilla the present out of respect for her feelings. He insisted on doing so, in person, on 27 July, two days before their wedding.

  Charles had already admitted to a relationship with Camilla but maintained it was now in the past. A number of royal officials have told us that Diana questioned them repeatedly about Camilla. Embarrassed, they would change the subject. Diana struck the Parker Bowleses and the Tryons off the invitation list to the wedding breakfast. She and Charles argued again. She asked him outright whether he still loved Camilla. He said yes he did, just as he loved many old friends, but insisted upon his word of honour that from now on he would remain faithful to Diana. It was then that Diana panicked the office into arranging the Ménage-à-trois lunch in a bid to clear the air.

  At the time it seemed to have worked, but Diana evidently went over her conversations with Camilla again and again in her mind. Her analysis suggested that Camilla saw hunting and country life as her opportunity to maintain her affair with Charles. She appears to have interpreted Camilla’s ‘Will you hunt?’ as a code for ‘Do you accept he will be mine some weekends?’ Penny Junor, who has heard Camilla Parker Bowles’s side of the story, believes that anything that might have touched on hunting was simply small talk: a friendly part of a friendly occasion that both women – at the time – felt had gone very well. Camilla says that she thought Diana was a good match for Charles and accepted that her relationship with him was over for ever.

  * * *

  Charles was away touring the Duchy of Cornwall on 20 and 21 July. He rejoined Diana on 22 July for a wedding rehearsal followed by his stag night at White’s Club. On Saturday, 25 July, four days before the wedding, Charles played polo in the annual cup match between the navy and the army. There were those who thought he should not have done it. The repercussions of a fall could have been serious, and a team of doctors with ambulances stood by, watching anxiously from the sidelines. Playing for the army that day was a young officer named James Hewitt:

  Prince Charles was playing for the navy, and the army lost by one goal. Actually I’d fouled him just before the end of the last chukka which gave away a penalty, a forty yard penalty, from which he was able to score. So, it was my fault that they lost, really. He got the goal and I said, ‘Well, there’s your wedding present, Sir.’

  Diana was biting her nails. The press was out in force for the last pictures of the single girl. Her every gesture was accompanied by the whirring of cameras. To add to her anxiety, Charles was planning to deliver his bracelet on Monday. She watched under visible strain and then, halfway through the match, fled the field in tears, hurried away by Lady Romsey. Prince Charles came over and tried to comfort her. Then he lost his temper with members of his staff, shouting angrily for his car to be brought round. David May, a reporter for the Sunday Times, had been standing away from the main press pack. Diana had stormed right past him and he had seen everything else that followed. His story led the following day’s paper, with Diana’s tears ascribed to pre-nuptial tension.

  Diana’s doubts were mounting, as Robert Spencer confirms:

  I am sure that Diana did have reservations about getting married at that stage because her father told me so. But her father and I never discussed the question of Camilla Parker Bowles, her name never came up. We just felt that it was a natural thing to happen because her husband had gone off on a pre-planned trip, she had moved into Buckingham Palace, which was strange and lonely, and there was the tremendous strain of getting ready for the wedding. That was enough to make any girl think ‘Gosh, I can’t go through with this’.

  * * *

  ‘Uniform or Evening Dress. Tiaras optional,’ read the note at the bottom of the silver-edged card. Mary Robertson knew that she was to be invited to the wedding because Diana had written to tell her so, but an invitation to a ball at Buckingham Palace as well! She packed her husband’s new tuxedo alongside her lavender ballgown and long white gloves and flew back to London on 24 July.

  The joy and excitement were just palpable. By the time we got here, there were people camping out on the streets already, to have a good view of the procession to St Paul’s. The weather was beautiful, flags flying everywhere; you couldn’t imagine a more joyous event.

  The night of the ball was 27 July, the Monday before the Wednesday wedding. It was a warm, light summer’s evening. The Robertsons were driven through the crowds that clustered around the gates of Buckingham Palace. As they swept in, Mary was pinching herself and thinking about Cinderella. The receiving line stretched right up the Grand Staircase, and the nervous Americans stood under the shiny domed skylight alongside duchesses and bishops, presidents and princesses. Everywhere Mary looked were lace-trimmed gowns, dazzling jewels and tall, handsome men in ribbons and medals. Charles looked regal in his red dress uniform, Diana was ravishing in deep pink ruffled taffeta with the most enormous diamond necklace sparkling at her neck. She cried out, ‘Mrs Robertson, I’m so glad you are here,’ gave her a tight hug, and then introduced her and Pat (her husband) with a loud ‘Oh look, Charles, it’s Patrick’s parents from America’.

  They wandered through a succession of elegant reception rooms. There were mirrors, chandeliers, gilded frames, carved wood, velvets, silks and brocades, columns, marble and stone. Everything was rich, ornate and royal. They saw the red-and-gold Throne Room, converted into a spare butler’s pantry for the night. An orchestra struck up a gentle repertoire of waltz and foxtrot. The ballroom soon filled with twinkling tiaras and swirling silk. Mary almost bumped into Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, standing alone at the edge of the dance-floor, surveying the scene and looking as if she felt a little out of place among the cream of Europe’s aristocracy.

  A smaller music room had a disco playing pop. Nearby the Queen stood talking. Having failed to pluck up the courage to talk to Mrs Thatcher, a woman she admired greatly, Mary considered an even braver step.

  I was longing to walk over to Her Majesty, the Queen, and tell her, mother to mother, ‘Your Majesty, we’ve known Lady Diana quite well for the past year and a half. We’d like you to know what a truly lovely young woman your son is about to marry.’

  But protocol forbade it, and Mary was afraid of embarrassing Diana.

  Midnight came and went and, despite her persistent Cinderella fantasy, Mary’s gown had still not turned into rags. Now the music was hotting up and Princess Margaret was one of many bopping enthusiastically with a balloon tied to her tiara. Outside, through the happily waving arms and bobbing balloons, Mary could see moonlight playing on the Palace garden.

  But she could not see Diana, although she searched every room. It seemed odd for her to disappear like that, especially after her vivacious mood on the receiving line.

  Earlier that day Charles had given the bracelet to Camilla and Diana had confessed her fears to her sisters, said she was not sure whether her fiancé truly loved her and announced that she wanted to pull out of the wedding. According to Diana, Sarah remarked, ‘Well, bad luck, Duch, your face is on the tea towels so you’re too late to chicken out.’

  * * *

  The next morning, 28 July, the dress was delivered to Clarence House in a hired van. Everything had been carefully packed in pink boxes monogrammed ‘D’
.

  In the evening the Robertsons walked over to Hyde Park, where in perfect balmy summer weather a firework display was held. It was modelled on the Royal Fireworks of 1749, for which Handel had written the music. The fireworks were set off against a mock palace façade. There were massed bands and choirs, huge rockets and a giant Catherine-wheel. The Prince of Wales began the evening by lighting the first in a chain of 101 beacons that marked out a line of celebratory fire on hilltops between Land’s End and the Shetland Islands.

  Diana had decided to get to bed early, so she missed the show. Charles watched the fireworks and then, unable to sleep, talked with Lady Susan Hussey late into the night.

  5

  The Queen’s Ship

  * * *

  This was Kevin Shanley’s biggest day too. When he arrived at Clarence House, Diana was watching the live coverage of the crowd outside on television. She took one look at his suit and T-shirt and suggested that today was a day when her hairdresser might wear a tie. With only three hours to go, she was on top form.

  Shanley washed her hair and put it in rollers so that Barbara Daly could do her make-up. David and Liz Emanuel were hovering around anxiously as the bridesmaids’ dresses came off their hangers. Soon, Diana had her ivory silk dress on. She looked stunning. Shanley set the Spencer tiara in its place. The Queen Mother tiptoed in and said, ‘My dear you look simply enchanting.’ Then she left for Buckingham Palace. It was time. The Emanuels packed Diana and her train into the Glass Coach. The last few feet of it had to be piled on Earl Spencer’s lap. Diana gave them a chorus of ‘Just One Cornetto!’ Doubt was banished as she took the stage. She was really enjoying herself.

  Charles was woken by the buzz of the crowd outside Buckingham Palace. The sky was bright blue flecked with cloud. The Palace balcony was draped in crimson. From the windows he could see the Mall decorated with 150 union flags hanging from flagstaffs crowned and tasselled in gold. Lampposts were hung with flowers. Red, white and blue banners and bunting could be glimpsed hanging from every distant building. The people in the crowds outside were wearing silly paper pork-pie hats in red, white and blue and cheering every twitch of the Palace curtain.

  Friends, staff and foreign dignitaries drifted towards St Paul’s. Just after ten, minor royalty left Buckingham Palace by car. Ten minutes later a procession of black limousines carried away members of the world’s reigning royal families in strict order of seniority. The bridesmaids left Clarence House. Shortly after 10.20 the Queen’s carriage set out, followed by the Queen Mother and the two princesses, Anne and Margaret. Royalty, politicians, Guardsmen on their horses, even stray balloons: all were cheered by a million enthusiastic voices.

  Diana shared the famous Glass Coach with her father. They waved continuously as they passed through the crowds. In Trafalgar Square there were so many people, and the cheering grew so loud, that Earl Spencer confused St Martin’s-in-the-Fields with St Paul’s and prepared to get out. Diana held him back protectively with a huge smile on her face. The general feeling of optimism and pleasure was washing over her. ‘Everyone hurraying, everybody happy.’ She could hear voices from the crowd: ‘Good luck, Diana’, ‘You look fabulous’, ‘Congratulations’. Some threw flowers at her coach as it passed them by. She was wearing a signet ring that Charles had sent over to Clarence House the night before, along with a note which read: ‘I’m so proud of you and when you come up I’ll be there at the altar for you tomorrow. Just look ’em in the eye and knock ’em dead.’

  Jayne Fincher had got herself into the perfect position for the dress shot, the one all the papers wanted most. As Diana stepped out of the carriage, Fincher could barely hear the crowd’s cheers for the staccato rattle of motor drives all around.

  I looked at her dress and I thought, Oh no, it’s awful. Because it was all scrunched up, it looked terrible. I just remember thinking, It doesn’t look like it’s been ironed.

  The Emanuels reacted the same way and dashed to the rescue. Once the train was properly spread out on the carpeted steps, it looked as dazzling as the young woman who was wearing it. India Hicks, a ten-year-old bridesmaid, couldn’t take her eyes off Diana.

  She was extremely gentle, very shy, and she was someone that as a young girl you thought was everything a princess should be. Very beautiful, very young, very calm – and yet there was a kind of nervousness about her. But the feeling inside the cathedral was just enormous. It’s a very hollow place but it was filled with so much warmth and excitement. . .

  Perched on a piece of precarious scaffolding opposite the cathedral, Anthony Holden, by now features editor for The Times, was covering the wedding for ABC television.

  For the American networks this was the biggest coast-to-coast, live, open-ended broadcast there’d ever been. There were huge briefing books about every detail, down to the history of the paving stones around St Paul’s.

  Holden was only one of 180 staff backing up Barbara Walters, who fronted the ABC network’s coverage. ABC deployed hundreds of cameras, mobile studios, 750 miles of cable, satellites and a balloon floating a thousand feet overhead for the USA’s biggest ever pre-breakfast audience. Like ABC, the BBC employed a woman to anchor their coverage of a royal occasion, rare in 1981. Angela Rippon was backed up by sixty outside broadcast cameras, twelve mobile control rooms and three hundred staff. The UK audience was the biggest ever – thirty-nine million, six and a half million more than had watched the 1970 World Cup match between England and Brazil. The CBS network chose Lady Antonia Fraser to join Dan Rather and David Frost for their five-hour commentary. NBC advertised The Wedding of the Century – ‘When England’s future King says “I do” a shy 20-year-old girl turns into a royal princess. Watch the fairy tale come true!’

  * * *

  Diana walked gracefully down the aisle, her snowy twenty-five-foot train billowing behind her, held in place by her heirloom diamond tiara. Forty-five feet of ivory silk taffeta had gone into her dress, made by a single seamstress working secretly in a locked room. Ten thousand pearls and mother-of-pearl sequins had been hand-sewn into her white bodice. In her hand she held a waterfall bouquet with orchids and odontoglossum, pale Earl Mountbatten roses, stephanotis, gardenia, freesia and myrtle.

  Six hundred and fifty feet of carpet, with the notes of Jeremiah Clarke’s trumpet voluntary from the resounding organ. She was ready to support her father, still shaky after his stroke, but Earl Spencer was walking with pride. This was his family’s moment of greatest glory. As Diana walked towards her prince, she was scanning the congregation for family and old friends. ‘I remember being so in love with my husband. I absolutely thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. He was going to look after me.’

  To her right, Margaret Thatcher; to her left, some rows back:

  Camilla, pale grey pill-box hat. Saw it all, her son Tom standing on a chair. To this day, you know. Vivid memory. ‘Well, there you are, let’s hope that’s all over with.’

  Nearer the front now. To her left and right the massed royalty of the world. Three steps and at the top the Archbishop of Canterbury. This was it. On her right the Queen, Prince Philip, the Queen Mother. On her left her mother, Frances Shand-Kydd, and her grandmother, Ruth, Lady Fermoy. She reached Prince Charles. The Archbishop, Robert Runcie, had taken his cue from NBC: ‘This is the stuff of which fairytales are made; the Prince and Princess on their wedding day.’

  * * *

  Runcie and his chaplain had met Charles and Diana a week before the wedding and had both felt uneasy about the couple they were due to marry. The chaplain, Richard Chartres, noted that Charles appeared to be ‘seriously depressed’. Runcie thought that Diana was in awe of her husband-to-be. And the Archbishop was one of many in the cathedral who knew all about the woman wearing the pill-box hat in the third pew back. ‘Oh yes,’ he said years later, ‘I knew about that already.’ The union, Runcie privately concluded, was not a fairytale at all, but an ‘arranged marriage’.

  Christopher Hitchens agreed and, unlike th
e Archbishop, he had published his opinion. Hitchens suggested that Charles had just spurned an opportunity to connect the monarchy with the modern world. The Prince could have chosen a career woman, but instead had allowed himself to be fixed up with what Hitchens called an under-educated ‘brood mare’, a product of ‘that warm bath of snobbery in which the English upper classes marinade their young’.

  * * *

  Untroubled by such thoughts, an even larger crowd cheered the couple all the way back to the Palace in an open carriage. Andrew Parker Bowles rode guard behind them. The barriers were lifted, and hundreds of thousands of people streamed down the Mall, spilled around the Victoria Memorial and washed down both sides of Buckingham Palace. The Royal Family came out on to the balcony to face an ocean of chanting, singing, waving delight. The loudest chants of all called for a kiss. On the balcony Prince Andrew goaded Charles, and a rather chaste clinch followed. The Sun’s Harry Arnold had a good contact inside the Palace who was standing just behind the balcony.

  He telephoned me from inside Buckingham Palace and said that Andrew had said, ‘Go on, give her a kiss,’ and Charles replied, ‘I’m not getting into that caper.’ And Andrew said, ‘Oh yes, go on, give her a kiss.’ And Charles said to his mother, ‘May I?’ And the Queen said, ‘Yes.’.

  A rival tabloid had hired a professional lip-reader to check the words uttered on the balcony and they confirmed Harry Arnold’s source word for word. Such scrutiny would continue.

  The couple enjoyed the wedding breakfast and left in high spirits, taking the train from Waterloo to Romsey and then travelling by car to Broadlands. It had all gone fantastically well. Martin Charteris, the Queen’s former private secretary, said: ‘I looked at the marriage as one of the greatest things I’ve seen. I saw no clouds on the horizon. I saw nothing but sunshine and happiness.’ At the Sun all the journalists celebrated with wedding cake and lots of champagne.