by Paul Rowson
Unfortunately, although punctuated by inspiring and unusual happenings, for a disconcertingly large number of staff, Atlantic College became the graveyard of their ambitions. Where the students stayed for two years and moved on to university, many staff remained for most of their professional careers wrapped in an extremely cosy comfort blanket. Living in beautiful surroundings and working with highly motivated young people they enjoyed good salaries, long holidays and the best professional conditions imaginable - all of which were taken for granted by too many. The result was, despite the worthiness and sincerity of all their endeavours, a kind of detachment from the world outside the gates. At worst for some, this became a middle class smugness and arrogance, all the more repulsive given the privileged situation they found themselves in. Luckily there were also plenty of interesting, hard working and grounded international staff who had a pragmatic ‘take’ on college life, together with the usual eccentrics that exclusive residential education attracts.
The domestic Bursar’s husband was ninety five and still drove the two miles into town, regularly being overtaken by students on foot. Local police tolerated this benignly even though he occasionally fell asleep at the wheel and the car ground to a sedate halt until he woke up again. As his top speed was about twelve miles an hour, apart from scuffs to the paintwork of the ancient Austin, no other damage was incurred. The head of history was a delightful man straight out of Mr Chips. He prided himself on remembering the name of every student who has passed through the college which was a prodigious feat of memory, while at the same time was unable to remember to tuck his shirt in, or where he had left his lecture notes.
The Principal in my time there was Andrew Stuart who had previously been our man in Finland which was the culmination of his diplomatic career. He had the charisma of a table top and constantly used the phrase ‘I believe in consensus management’ in an attempt to disguise his weak and ineffectual leadership. His wife was a world class snob with the intellectual capacity of a glow worm and therefore made any contact with her amusing rather that anger inducing. They were both an irrelevance, as were most of us, because the interaction of the international students went on despite rather than because of the staff.
USA – New Mexico
The freezing and naked foot of the big Canadian was pressed firmly against the flesh of my stomach as he whimpered quietly. His face was but a few inches from mine in the tiny tent we were sharing in the vastness of the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico. I had travelled to the Armand Hammer United World College of the American West to give a talk, and was now administering first aid to a fat Cannuck with frostbite. We had no radios and were stuck in the middle of nowhere with the temperature hovering at around minus twenty one degrees Celsius.
To be perfectly honest I was more concerned about my nose than his foot. We had taken ten students on an overnight survival expedition and they were nearby, breaking camp as dawn broke. We were about to walk eleven miles on snowshoes to the nearest road and a pick up rendezvous. Before we had left, and perhaps remembering previous nasal disasters in the USA, I had packed sun cream for my face. There were extreme sub zero temperatures at night and, although it was cold during the day, there was a burning sun in a cloudless sky. Having never experienced such cold before, I had not thought that the sun tan cream would freeze and, try as I may the tube remained hard as concrete and totally unusable.
As we hiked all the previous day I was aware of my nose getting hot, getting burned, getting painful and then getting blistered before the sun went down. Perhaps absorbing heat in this manner was the reason that I was not suffering from frostbite in the way Bruce, my Canadian colleague, claimed to be.
The decision was made to strike for home and get Bruce some medical treatment. That sounds as though there was some strategic discussion as to the best course for action when in truth I was sick of having Bruce’s foot in my stomach and, as it had not turned black, I could not think of anything else to do. We struck out into what was now a blizzard even though he and I had not eaten. It would be a hard hike in deep snow, but we had lost time in getting Bruce patched up and needed to be back in daylight. After a very tough slog, during which I affected nonchalance so as not to worry the students, we arrived at the agreed spot and our pick up man waiting for us. Having got everyone on the bus I climbed up beside the driver in a state of utter exhilarated exhaustion. When I turned round not more than five minutes into the return journey all ten students and Bruce were deeply asleep. I abandoned my plans to chat to the driver about the great outdoors and joined them in unconsciousness within seconds.
Miraculously, on return Bruce made a remarkably quick recovery. So much so that within hours he managed to quaff a good bottle of Merlot with the excellent roast beef dinner that his wife had prepared for the returning outdoorsmen. To my horror I realised that I had forgotten to alert my hosts, who also lived on campus, that I had been invited to dinner by Bruce. Generously, they had gone to some trouble to invite friends round to me meet me at their house for supper the same evening. I pleaded extreme tiredness at Bruce’s, emphasising his need for rest, thanked his wife for the meal, made my excuses and rushed down the path to my hosts.
They were just sitting down to eat a huge joint of roast beef with what they described as ‘a few bottles of a mellow Merlot from Northern California’. I was gently chided me for being late and then had my plate filled with so much food that even by American ‘entree’ standards it looked enormous. In a forlorn attempt to remain philosophical I reflected on the fact that I had been starving at dawn in the wilderness twelve hours before. I further contemplated the efforts my second hosts had made to feed and entertain me, albeit with the same menu. I mused on the slice of luck that meant I had never been seriously hungry for a long period of time in my life. Somehow I not only managed to finish what was in front of me but made a good fist of seemingly considering whether or not to accept the offer of seconds.
My next intake of solid food was at Albuquerque airport thirty six hours later on the first leg of my return journey to Wales.
10.
MY LIFE WITH THE ROYAL FAMILY 1990-2010
It is amazing how people, who have met even a minor royal once, not only convince themselves that they have a deep insight into the royal family but translate their handshake and twenty seconds conversation into a supposed relationship. Even senior chief executives who profess republican tendencies come over all patriotic at their first meeting with royalty.
I, it goes without saying, had no life with the royal family but did work for fourteen years in senior positions for two organisations chaired by the Prince of Wales. Prior to that, when I was the Director of the Penrhys Partnership in Wales, I was occasionally asked to go to events at Highgrove. On one occasion, I had a substantial, bizarre and at times surreal private discussion with HRH in his drawing room at Highgrove. It lasted ninety minutes was supposedly about regeneration issues but included HRH’s thoughts on Ceausescu, chickens and the upbringing of children. At the Prince’s Trust I met him perhaps a dozen times and at Business in the Community twice that amount.
The encounters varied from being the lead person showing him around on a visit, chairing round table discussions with HRH and a select group of chief executives, or being the representative face of business when he visited areas like Morpeth in response to the floods there. I was never an ‘insider’ but did have an opportunity over twenty years to observe how his office worked, how the internecine warfare ebbed and flowed among his flunkies, how diaries were sorted and visits planned. Occasionally I would receive copies of his hand written and barely legible ’black spider’ memos.
As someone who would naturally inclined towards republicanism, I freely admit that what follows then is unbalanced, subjective and not even in sequence. It is however all true, and for brevity I’ve headlined the areas that the media tend to focus on when talking about the Prince.
Sense of Humour
The Prince certainly has a great one whi
ch I first noticed in Cardiff many years ago. A prominent American business man was meeting the Prince for the first time and was in the middle of a line waiting for his introduction. As HRH moved ever closer to him, the man got visibly more nervous. On finally being introduced, and clearly in the naive hope that he may have been remembered, he said “Good morning Your Royal Highness Sir…I’m that crazy American you met six months ago at the Prince’s Trust rock concert in London.” Since that concert the Prince had probably shaken hands with at least a couple of thousand people and so, completely baffled, he paused for but a moment and then with perfect timing offered the killer putdown, “Hmmm…there are a lot of crazy Americans” before moving on to the next handshake.
The senior team at Business in the Community were locked away in the board room at Macquarie Bank in the city for a forward planning day. Our ceo, Steve Howard, left the room to take a call from the Prince. The upshot of the call was that I was dispatched to flood damaged Morpeth where the next day the Prince was visiting the town to see, among other things, what business could do to assist in the recovery process. On the train north I opted, rather arrogantly, to read the newspaper rather than study the thirty page briefing document sent by the palace, which included a minute by minute itinerary. Had I read it I would have realised that Camilla was going to be present.
The journey was interrupted by a couple of emails from HRH’s private secretary Elizabeth Buchanan, who was by far and away the best member of his office staff that I came across. The first said that HRH was delighted that I would be there and that it was important that I was’ by his side.’ Moments later my blackberry light flickered again and another email from Elizabeth said HRH wanted me ‘at his shoulder.’ I thought that as we hadn’t even passed through Retford at this point, I could well be a member of the Royal Family by the time we reached Newcastle. The truth of course is that HRH was not wasting time reflecting on which part of his anatomy I would be clinging to. Elizabeth was covering all angles not only to ensure the visit went well and portrayed her boss in the best light which was understandable and laudable, but also covering her back in terms of the internal palace ramifications if anything went badly wrong which was the pragmatic course of action for any of his staff who wanted to survive.
After meeting ’victims’ of the floods and then local dignitaries and business people I was, along with flunkies, royal protection officers and a Tyne Tees film cameraman to accompany HRH on his walkabout along the high street to the river. The street was packed and it was the usual scrum. I found out later that the Prince was supposed to pop inside the cake shop for a brief ‘chat’. He and Camilla actually went into the ‘chippie’ by mistake. I was there with the cameraman and the only other two people in the shop were two girls behind the counter. Flunkies and security were outside.
A curious cultural close encounter then began to unfold. The girls turned out to be Polish and in a state of shock. The Prince and Camilla looked puzzled. One of the girls quickly recovered and said in a strong Polish accent “vud you lek a cheep?” Simultaneously she had picked up a solitary chip, extended her arm and offered it to the Prince, thus breaking at least five rules of protocol in two seconds. Instantly Charles said in the most unconvincing of tones “I’ve always liked these thingies” but then with a twinkle in his eye passed the by now soggy chip to Camilla. She showed no inclination to take further action and held it tight as they backed out of the chip shop and resumed the walkabout. Security discreetly disposed of the chip in the doorway as they were exiting and royal dignity was preserved.
Petulance and Political Meddling
Guilty on both charges I’m afraid but quite understandable given the circumstances. How could anybody who has their bath ‘drawn’ for them in the morning, and their tooth paste squeezed ready on the brush ready for use, think that they are anything else but special. He is surrounded by flunkies from dawn to dusk, is in endless meetings where people fawn over his every utterance, and rarely receives even the mildest face to face challenge to his views. Consequently he is emotionally ill equipped to deal with any dissention. Amazingly there are still many senior captains of industry who aspire to a gong and therefore lavish outlandish praise on HRH’s every pronouncement with vomit inducing sycophancy. When somebody in the royal orbit doesn’t behave similarly, it is a bit of a shock to the royal system.
I was once at a small dinner held in the stunningly beautiful Powys Castle for fourteen members of the Prince’s organisations in Wales. I had arrived at a nearby pub with rooms, booked in and was rushing to get changed to go to the Castle when I noticed I had no belt for my trousers. Down in the bar the friendly pub owner, knowing where I was going, not only gave me his belt but offered to give me a lift. To my embarrassment when we went outside to the car park he walked towards the oldest, dirtiest Nissan I had ever seen. Given his previous generosity I was in no position to demur and we were already running late. Thus it was that I arrived at Powys Castle in his rust bucket with a top of the range Mercedes in front of us and a gleaming Lexus to our rear. The Gurkha on duty, to his credit, did not bat an eyelid as he ushered us in.
The Prince was in relaxed form and chatted with the guests at the pre dinner drinks on the lawn. A Welsh harpist provided the background music on a lovely summer’s evening and all was well with the world. Walking into the dinner, which was held in one of the smaller castle rooms, I found I was sitting directly opposite the Prince. This was a bit of a challenge in that I could only just see the top of his head over the enormous flower arrangement positioned as the centrepiece of the table decorations. Ostensibly, we were there to talk about the achievements of his charities in Wales. One guest who worked for a large accountancy firm - let’s call them KPMG - had other ideas. When he offered the most gentle and mild rebukes on one of the Prince’s recent political lobbying efforts I could see, even through the flowers, a slight tightening of the royal jaw and narrowing of the royal eyes. The rest of the meal passed off without incident but the accountant was instantly cut out of any future meeting, social invitation, or corporate event attended by the Prince from that day.
The Muslim Agenda
This is a topic that the Prince speaks on with genuine experience, knowledge and concern. His thoughts and speeches have nailed the issues and he has used his charities to good effect in turning his thoughts and suggestions into positive action. MOSAIC which runs programmes for young people championed by Muslims is just one example of the Prince’s ideas coming to valuable and positive fruition. He has read extensively on the subject and was making references to the need for understanding and integration way before many political commentators. He is arguably more popular in the wider British Asian community than many parts of the white British one.
Eco Credentials and Climate Change
This topic alone merits a book so instead it’s going to get a couple of sentences here. Firstly the Prince earned over seventeen million pounds last year. He has well over a hundred and staff including twelve gardeners. Most people with twelve gardeners and a massive income would grow organic food and convert their cars to run off chip fat. I think that says it all really. Unfortunately although he has correctly forecast the impact of climate change and campaigned for action to address matters, people in glass houses throwing stones is a phrase easily used against him and hard to rebut.
Young People, Education and Inner City Challenges
My first act as an employee of the Prince’s Trust in 1990 was to drive to Butlins holiday camp on the windswept Norfolk Coast. Four hundred challenging young people selected by the Trust from all over the UK were spending a week there. It was a laudable and concentrated effort to reignite their enthusiasm, prepare them for work and generally get them to buy back into what we are now obliged to call the big society. It was brilliant. A range of sporting and rock music heroes visited with the most consistent and meaningful contribution made by Frank Bruno. If there ever was a zenith to his boxing career it was at this time and he was generous, empa
thetic and went way beyond his remit in helping some damaged young people start to enjoy life once more.
The culmination of the week was a visit from the Prince who was duly helicoptered in. He was engaged and engaging. The Prince made a great impression with the kind of person who, in different circumstances, may well have said very negative things about him. He shook hands with hundreds of the kids and was clearly running out of things to say at the end. In one building when he came to the last young person in the group he asked to the kid’s utter bewilderment “How are the toilets round here?” This was almost as bad as the Queen’s constant use of the word ‘fascinating’ when she is palpably bored to tears and possibly has lost the will to live after a long day of meeting over excited members of the public.
The Prince does not really understand the educational agenda. There again there is mitigation in the fact that he was advised by Chris Woodhead for a while. No sooner has he made an intelligent comment on an educational issue than it is followed up by a view that is so right wing and/ or bonkers that laughter is the only way of stopping incandescent rage at the vacuity of some of his pronouncements. He has genuine empathy for the challenges facing young people in our inner cities but no clue in terms of the detail of their daily lives. It was only after huge pressure from the then ceo of the Prince’s Trust Tom Shebbeare, that the first black person was employed by his office. That person was Lizzie Norris and she ended up suing the Prince for racial discrimination.
