by Penny Junor
At Shawbury, they shared a tiny cottage off the base, living together properly for the first time since childhood.
“The first time and the last time, I can assure you of that,” said Harry in a joint interview in June 2009 that was peppered with jokey banter. Both were studying hard and putting in dozens of flying hours, but they clearly had very good fun together. William claimed he did all the cooking and clearing up after his messy brother (who snored a lot), and said, tongue-in-cheek, that living together had been “an emotional experience. Harry does do the washing up,” said William, “but then he leaves it in the sink and then it comes back in the morning and I have to wash it up.” “Oh the lies, the lies,” said Harry. Harry said William definitely had more brains than he did, but pointed out that William was losing his hair. “That’s pretty rich coming from a ginger.” William said he had been helping his brother out quite a bit. “It’s the RAF way,” he said, “you have to help the Army out.”
William was three months ahead of Harry at Shawbury and, just having gone through the same module, he was very helpful to his little brother when they were doing their prep in the evenings. There was a lot of prep. The first four to five weeks were spent on the ground taking exams, which had never been Harry’s forte, as he was the first to admit. “It was very funny,” says one of their team, “because he’s a really bright boy in an instinctive way, he gets it before other people, he has a brilliant turn of phrase, thinks completely outside the box, comes at things from a very, very innovative and novel way, but he ain’t an academic by any stretch of the imagination. When he started his helicopter training, a lot of the early days, learning about charts and oil pressures and this sort of stuff, a massive technical tsunami hits you and people were thinking, hang on, are we seriously going to risk the reputation if he completely nosedives in the first two weeks of this thing? It was a real credit to him. He didn’t find that sort of stuff at all easy, but he ploughed through it, and his brother was really helpful to him as well; they kind of did it together and they shared that cottage at Shawbury. It was really great. That was the time when they were doing the really technical stuff. In the air, suddenly there was this revelation where the guy flies… God, everyone I’ve ever spoken to says, he’s very, very rare, he’s an absolutely fantastic instinctive flyer.”
An aide jokes that “if Harry isn’t dyslexic, he bloody well ought to be, because he’s got this instinctive wisdom and is charismatic and delightful with it.” And curiously, dyslexics often make the best pilots. “It’s an interesting fact,” says David Meyer, “but there are a lot of dyslexics flying and it’s to do with spatial awareness and ability to visualize things in 3D which is a strength of dyslexics apparently. Couple that with good strong hand–eye coordination. I, for one, was rubbish at school but I was quite a good sportsman—as is Harry—and so when people said to me, he’s not very bright, ‘No, but he’s a bloody good polo player, he’s a good shot, he makes a decision pretty quickly; actually he’s a really good pilot.’ That’s good enough for me. Lots of people have said, ‘Oh you got him through, didn’t you?’ Absolutely not. He got himself through and I think a lot of it is that innate quick-wittedness and basic skills. I think he thought he struggled more than he did over the textbook stuff, but my belief is yes, it’s important to know your aircraft and know the ins-and-outs of it, but that really doesn’t impact your ability to deliver the effect that the Army wants from you. I know he found some of the academics challenging and I know he was concerned about some of it, but to my mind that was absolutely not as important as, could he do the job at the other end?
“I don’t think doing the job comes easily to anybody, but he had all the skill sets there that he just needed to tap into. He was a good soldier, a good officer in the Household Cavalry; he could talk on a radio, he could control fast jets in Afghanistan; and all you’ve done is lifted him up and put him in a cockpit and said, ‘Right, talk on a radio, control fast jets in Afghanistan and at the same time understand what’s going on in this new dimension that we’ve given you.’ He could do that, and he got better and better and better as the course went on because he was getting more and more into ground that was familiar to him.”
At the end of the course, the Chief Flying Officer calls everyone in one by one, congratulates them on passing the final exercise, and recommends which type of helicopter they should go on to fly. The decision is based on three things: their ability, their aspirations and what the Army needs at the time. The assumption from the beginning had been that Harry would fly the Lynx which, although less glamorous, requires more piloting than the Apache, but fewer operating skills.
“I sat Harry down,” says David. “ ‘Congratulations, you’ve done amazingly well [he was number two on the course in quality]. As you know, you’re going to go Lynx, but under any other circumstances you would have got an Apache recommendation, but that’s the way it is.’ And there was a big, big broad smile and he said, ‘That’s all I wanted to hear, that I was capable of doing Apache, but I’ve got to go Lynx.’ And I said, ‘Sorry to give you that news but that’s what I would have recommended,’ and he said, ‘That’s fine.’ He then left the room and his Squadron Commander came up to me and said, ‘You know, I think you need to go and have a chat with him again, you need to reinforce that message that he was good enough to go Apache.’ After I’d interviewed everyone else I went to Harry and said, ‘Listen, I wasn’t just blowing smoke, you really were absolutely good enough to go Apache,’ and we had this little conversation that went along the lines of: do you think it’s completely impossible? Can we persuade the Household that this would be a good idea? We agreed he would go back to his Household and ask the question and I would ask the question up the military chain of command. I think it was a Bank Holiday and we were coming back from this exercise and a decision had to be made because the following week they were going to get their wings, so there was only a week before the end of the course. I rang up the Army Air Corps chain of command and said, ‘Prince Harry has passed the course and I think he ought to go Apache,’ and there was lots of, ‘Really? Are you sure?’ I said, ‘Absolutely, I’d stand by that, definitely he should go Apache, and I rang up Jamie and said this is what I think and he said, ‘Right, let’s see what we can do about that.’”
“I’d got this great, marvelous plan stretching out,” says Jamie, “where he’d be a Lynx pilot and bounce onto aircraft carriers and fly with the Navy… It would be wonderful; tri-service and ticking all sorts of boxes. But the best-laid plans… I got a call from the boss [David Meyer], who was a very cool guy, who I’d shared my plans with, and he said, ‘If this was anybody else we’d be sending him straight to Apache.’ Half an hour later Harry rang. They were all having their end of that bit of the course night and there was jollity in the background, and he said, ‘Listen, I’m in a real pickle here. What do you reckon?’ We’d talked about the Lynx and it was just one of those moments when you think, okay, there are going to be massive potential issues with you flying the most lethal machine on the battlefield. Imagine some of the commentary; but at the same time, my view is, if you find, if there’s one moment in your life when you’re really first-class at something and can be right in the top tier by your own efforts, absolutely top of the pile, then you’ve got to go for it.”
“Harry came back to me a couple of hours later,” says David, “and said, ‘Listen, I need to speak to my father, I need to speak to the Queen, I really want to speak to my brother.’ I said, ‘Okay, fine. Tuesday morning, please come and see me in my office, we need to make a decision and I’ll let you know what the Army chain of command thinks. He came into my office on the Tuesday and he said, ‘I’ve been thinking about it.’ I thought: what now? He said, ‘I want to go and sit in a cockpit.’ You’re trained on a single-engine Squirrel helicopter, then you covert to type. So I sent him off to the Apache squadron [at Middle Wallop] and spoke to the Squadron Commander and said ‘Prince Harry is on his way down to see you. By the
way, he just wants to know he’s capable of passing the course; tell him he’s capable.’ Harry came back a couple of hours later and he’d sat in an Apache, and he was up for it. Great, that’s what we’ll do then, the Army’s content, the Household appears to be content, let’s go for this.”
“And sure enough,” says Jamie, “he is a seriously brilliant pilot and co-pilot gunner. Ever since that point he’s been right at the top of the class, he just suddenly realized, I’m brilliant at this. I can’t take exams, I can’t do this, can’t do that. But the people that know, they know he’s always been exceptional. He went out to Afghanistan, and by all accounts out there he was absolutely superb. His commanding officer came back and said, ‘He was really, really, really twenty-four carat out there.’ Without going into operational details, that’s pretty cool and this is the guy who never greatly enjoyed exams and he’s flying a £45 million helicopter better than almost everybody else.”
The Prince of Wales, as Army Air Corps Colonel in Chief, presented a grinning Lieutenant Harry Wales, and eight of his fellow trainees, with their provisional wings and their distinctive pale blue berets. There was a short ceremony at Middle Wallop in May 2010 and, sitting in the audience, cheering heartily, was a delighted Chelsy Davy—giving fuel to the rumor that their on-off relationship was back on course. Lady Jane Fellowes and Lady Sarah McCorquodale, his mother’s two sisters, as well as Camilla were also there to see his great moment.
“It is a huge honor to have the chance to train on the Apache, which is an awesome helicopter,” he said. “There is still a huge mountain for me to climb if I am to pass the Apache training course. To be honest, I think it will be one of the biggest challenges in my life so far. I am very determined, though, as I do not want to let down people who have shown faith in my ability to fly this aircraft on operations. It is a seriously daunting prospect, but I can’t wait.”
FIRM FOUNDATIONS
About seven years ago, William and Harry were both with the van Straubenzees. The family was thinking of starting a charity in memory of Harry’s friend, Henry, who had been killed so tragically that night at Ludgrove. William asked Henry’s brother Thomas whether he could be patron. Harry, who happened to be in earshot, said, “Oi, I want to be patron too. Henry was my friend!” So it was that, in January 2009, the Henry van Straubenzee Memorial Fund was launched at the Troubadour in Old Brompton Road, with, uniquely, not one but two royal patrons.
The collection at Henry’s memorial service at Harrow School in 2003 had raised an astonishing £6,000, which Henry’s parents, Alex and Claire, had decided should go to the school in Uganda, Bupadhengo Primary, where Henry had been due to work during his gap year. Peter Gate, the boy who had taken Henry’s place that year, had maintained an interest, and set up the Ugandan Rural Schools Initiative; via him, the money went directly to the headmaster, who built a classroom block for sixty children. But that was not the end of it. Henry’s young friends kept ringing Mrs. Van, wanting to do something in his memory—they ran marathons, went on bike rides and canoe races and the money kept rolling in. So the van Straubenzees decided to join forces with Peter Gate. The money the fund raised went directly to the schools he identified. The charity is currently helping over 25,000 children in thirty-five schools in Uganda and making a very real difference. Out of tragedy has come good.
William spoke first at the launch: he said he was “delighted” to be involved, and to be so was one of the “easiest decisions” he had ever made. “Having lost someone so close in similar circumstances, Harry and I understand how important it is to keep their memory alive. There’s no finer way than that Alex and Claire have chosen. This is the first charity of which we have both become patron and it couldn’t have been a better one, as Henry was such a very close friend of ours and because we believe so strongly in the need to alleviate poverty and assist development in African countries.”
Harry, like his brother, reading falteringly from prompt cards, said, “As some of you know, Henry was one of my greatest friends, and his death was truly shocking, to many people. Henry would be so proud of his family for what they are doing in his name. Everything that’s going on in Uganda and the way they are carrying his memory on is remarkable.”
Their confidence at public speaking has developed in leaps and bounds since then, and at the charity’s annual Christmas carol service at St. Luke’s Church in Sydney Street in 2011, which is always a sell-out, Harry delivered a touching, charming and very funny tribute to Henry. He wasn’t mentioned in the program, he slipped in quietly, sat halfway down the aisle next to Henry’s brothers, Thomas and Charlie, and took the congregation by surprise when he spoke. The combination of him and Pippa Middleton, Kate’s younger sister, handing round the sausage rolls and collection box afterwards, did no harm to the funds at all.
In January 2009, just a few months after Miguel Head had settled into the press office at Clarence House, it was announced that the Queen had “graciously agreed to the creation of a joint Household for Prince William and Prince Harry.” It was to be funded, as before, by the Prince of Wales, and have offices in St. James’s Palace, but would remain close to their father’s Household in Clarence House (the two buildings are in the same complex), and although they had Miguel as their own dedicated Press Secretary, they still came under the umbrella of their father’s press office—and continued to share other back-room offices like personnel, IT and finance.
Today, as then, the Prince of Wales, with his income from the Duchy of Cornwall, funds his sons in their royal lives and takes a keen interest in how they are spending his money. They have to seek his approval for all their initiatives—their Private Secretaries are in constant touch and, according to a friend, “Their father gives them stick about every penny. There are constant arguments about money.” He had been in no rush to set them up on their own. It was his view that the process should evolve, slowly and naturally, and he had allowed their office to grow up within his Household until it reached the stage where their team were doing most things autonomously. At that point the Queen—in whose gift the creation of a Royal Household is—agreed they should have their own.
With it came the announcement that, “Sir David Manning, the former British Ambassador to the United States of America, has been appointed by the Queen to a part-time, advisory role with The Princes and The Household.”
It was felt that William, as he moved into the next phase of his life in early 2009, would benefit from the guidance of the sort of wise old man that she had had as a young Princess. Hers had been Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Browning, known as “Boy” Browning, who had given her advice on how to survive in the world that she would one day rule over. For William, she had identified Sir David, then in his late fifties; the Queen had met him on her last state visit to America in 2007. He was just back from Washington and was invited to see the Queen; she personally gave him the job.
As he says, “The idea was to have the old, gray-haired guy who had a bit of experience of government and international relations as William moves on to the national and international stage.”
The small team were at first a little taken aback; things had seemed to be going rather well. Was this some form of criticism; were they failing to give the Princes the right advice? They were assured it was not. They were also nervous, as the Princes were too, about the idea of a British Ambassador coming into their little Household of three. They were afraid things would change.
Now, as Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton says, “We don’t know how we survived before David came into our office. He knows everybody, he’s politically very astute, he has been there and done everything and been through some of the most controversial political decisions of the twentieth century—Iraq and all the rest of it. His advice is incredibly wise and he knows how to advise, and the questions to ask. He’s a phenomenal guy, very understated as well and very modest. He’s there as a sounding board.
“Things were hotting up and the Princes were beginning to step on to
the national stage and do foreign trips, and it hasn’t changed things. It’s just added a whole new skill to the support we can give them.”
Sir David immediately became an important part of serious deliberations about the future. Jamie had worked hard to help William and Harry hit their own personal goals in life, for them to get their hearts and minds in the right place during their twenties before knuckling down to royal duties. “It’s ticking that operational bit which gives self-confidence and self-belief and means that you can go, twenty years down the line, and say, ‘I’ve been there; I did it.’ ” For many years that was his mantra—and he succeeded. By the end of 2009, William was on his way to becoming a search and rescue pilot with the RAF—flying out into the middle of the Atlantic in gale-force winds, rescuing people—and Harry was flying Apaches and would be going back to Afghanistan. It was time to look ahead.
They had been prompted by a question from the Duke of Edinburgh’s office three or four years before. His ninetieth birthday was looming and there was an assumption—erroneous as it turned out—that he might want to slow down. Were any other members of the Family interested in taking on some of his patronages?
There followed much soul-searching and lengthy discussions about how the royal landscape might look in twenty or thirty years’ time, which led to two conclusions. One was that it wasn’t necessary to become patron of a charity in order to help it—as their support for Help for Heroes had convincingly demonstrated. They could dip in and out, lend support for specific projects perhaps, and move on to the next cause, thereby sprinkling the stardust more widely.
