My fondest memory of that day was seeing the Queen, her feet tap-tap-tapping to the music…just another member of the public enjoying a great night out.
Having gone down so well, we decided that the ‘away-day’ should become a permanent fixture on the calendar for both the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. The first such day had been a tremendous success, and so we quickly planned another, this time to Liverpool. The day was themed around the ‘built environment’, focusing mainly on inner-city regeneration and ending with a visit to the newly-refurbished Empire Theatre, to see The Phantom of the Opera.
Having seen how well the public responded when Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh arrived unannounced for the performance of Oklahoma!, we had really got the bit between our teeth. The Empire’s theatre management asked if the Queen would unveil a commemorative plaque following the performance. Given that there would be an audience present, I suggested that we do things slightly differently in order that they, too, be allowed to share in the occasion.
Usually, when the Queen undertakes unveilings of this kind she draws a curtain in front of a plaque set into the foyer wall of whichever building or place is involved. On this occasion, however, I thought that with us being in a theatre, it might be more fun to do the unveiling on stage. I also thought that we should keep it as a surprise for the audience. Private Secretary, Mary Francis, was slightly hesitant at first, but I assured her that Her Majesty would be more than happy to go along with the plan.
According to the protocol set for when royalty is present, the audience was asked to stay in its seats while the Queen and Prince Philip went backstage to meet the cast. Minutes later, as opposed to hearing an announcement that they were free to leave the theatre, the curtain rose to reveal Her Majesty unveiling the plaque on stage.
The audience’s response was extremely gratifying. It is perhaps easy to underestimate the thrill of heading off to the theatre only to find oneself unexpectedly in the company of royalty. The applause and cheering was thunderous; it was as if the Queen was having her very own curtain call.
Meanwhile, there was another couple waiting in the wings for its moment in the spotlight – Prince Charles and Mrs Camilla Parker Bowles.
It had been over a year since Diana had died, and more than six years had passed since her formal separation from Charles. In turn, Camilla and her ex-husband, Andrew, had finalized their divorce in 1995. But if the tabloids were to be believed, there were still pockets of resistance to the idea of the Prince being seen in public with Camilla. The idea had been the topic of much discussion in Prince Charles’s office at St James’s Palace. It was decided that the least obtrusive way of going about it would be with a carefully orchestrated publicity stunt.
The Prince of Wales and Camilla Parker Bowles made their first combined public appearance at the Ritz Hotel in London on Friday, 29th January, 1999 at a 50th birthday party for Camilla’s sister, Annabel Elliott. As it was not an official engagement, the press were not briefed in advance. And yet how did so many photographers and reporters just so happen to be in the right place at the right time that night?
They had been given an old-fashioned tip-off in the form of a phone call from the St James’s Palace Communications Secretary. In giving a tip-off, the hope was that the subsequent TV and print coverage would do the job of making the couple official, without the need for a formal announcement.
As stunts go it turned out to be a roaring success. The Prince emerged from the hotel first, closely followed by Camilla, which was the cue to get the cameras whirring and flashes popping. There had not been a commotion like it since the days of Diana. An estimated 200 photographers descended on the entrance to the hotel just off London’s Piccadilly, with 60 ladders lined up three rows deep, television satellite vans parked in several side streets and bright television lights illuminating the whole scene.
Alongside the media, several hundred members of the public waited to catch a glimpse as well. Such was the ferocity of the flashguns that evening that newscasters were prompted to warn onlookers who suffered from photosensitive seizures to move away.
As Charles and Camilla walked down the steps of the Ritz towards their a waiting car, there was a cacophony of shouts and whoops, the mood of the evening being summed up by a woman in the crowd whom, to our delight – and surely to that of the Prince – waved and shouted, ‘Good on you, Charlie!’
It was indeed good to see Prince Charles in a happy place at last, but the dawning of a new era for him on a personal level also served as a reminder that my spell at the Palace was winding down all too quickly. When I joined Buckingham Palace on 1st July, 1988, I knew from the outset that come midnight on 24th September, 2000, I would be required to retire. Suddenly the day I had dreaded was looming just over the horizon.
CHAPTER 20
Come back, Dickie – we need you!
March 2001
I left my job at the Palace in September 2000, and our cosy apartment at Kensington Palace a few weeks later. It was an emotional time but, having been acutely aware of my rapidly approaching retirement date, I had readied myself for the change and was excited for my next chapter.
Upon retiring, I promptly secured a year-long contract with the BBC to act as a freelance royal commentator, which meant being on call and available whenever a royal story broke. Having brushed up on my rusty ice dancing skills, I had also signed up to do an ice skating teaching course, something which, as it turns out, had not gone unnoticed. Just before I left the Palace, The Times’s Picture Desk presented me with an appropriate keepsake – a composite picture of Olympic ice dancing gold medalists, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, but with my and Her Majesty’s heads superimposed.
When I had my farewell audience with the Queen in the 1855 Room a couple of weeks after leaving the press office, I took the photo with me.
‘What have you got there?’ asked the Equerry, Squadron Leader Simon Brailsford, eyeing my envelope suspiciously. I was waiting in the adjoining Bow Room to be ushered in when I opened my envelope and slipped out the picture for him to see. He gasped.
‘You can’t show Her Majesty that!’
I grinned. ‘Oh, trust me I can,’ I said. ‘And I fully intend to.’
And I had the perfect opportunity to do so.
After thanking me for my service and presenting me with my leaving gift, the Queen asked, ‘what are you going to do next?’
I told her I was returning to the other side of the fence to work as a freelance royal commentator. ‘But I’m also going to do some skating, and as patron of the National Ice Skating Association, which you are, I thought you might like to have a look at this, Ma’am.’
While the Queen fetched her reading glasses, I pulled out the picture. Upon seeing it she responded exactly as I had expected. She smiled broadly. The Queen is bestowed with many traits, but what people often don’t know is that she has an excellent sense of humor.
Though my tenure in the press office was formally over, I received a call from my former colleague, Penny Russell-Smith, the following March, asking if I would consider returning to the Palace for a couple of weeks, as they were apparently short of an experienced pair of hands.
I arrived a few days later, expecting nothing more taxing than a couple of weeks reacquainting myself with some former colleagues and perhaps a chance for a nostalgic swim in the Buckingham Palace pool, but that didn’t prove to be the case.
I had barely returned when we were pressed into urgent action. A news story was about to break, one that would need prompt and decisive action to contain it. It involved a royal couple with whom I had previously not had a great deal to do with, namely Prince Edward and his wife Sophie, Countess of Wessex.
When Prince Edward married Sophie Rhys-Jones in June 1999, he was still producing documentaries for his television company Ardent Productions, and Sophie continued to work in the PR industry. She was still doing so at this time, and it was while engaged in a project that she fell victim to a fake she
ikh sting set up by the now defunct News of the World.
News of the World stories tended to rear their ugly heads on a Friday afternoon at 5pm on the dot. This was so common one really could set one’s watch by them. But this was the era of the new communications secretary, who managed things differently. The journalist involved was offered an exclusive interview along with a picture of Sophie Wessex in exchange for the paper dropping the story.
In my view the correct course of action would have been to put out a spoiler to all the other newspapers, essentially giving the competition information relating to the story, which would mean the paper with the ‘exclusive’ no longer had an exclusive. By countering in this way, salacious stories were promptly diffused, and the whole debacle would be over within a relatively painless 24 hours.
Sadly, that wasn’t what happened. Following the Communication Secretary’s promise, the News of the World got its interview and pictures of Sophie, both conducted in the Belgian Suite at Buckingham Palace – quite a coup – to which it then added in bold three-inch print the arresting headline MY EDWARD’S NOT GAY.
The embarrassment and the mess didn’t end there. Another tabloid had apparently been offered the story first but had turned it down, presumably not attaching any credibility to it. Feeling they had missed out on something newsworthy, editors became rather piqued.
Newspaper editors are apt to react robustly when nettled, and this one conformed to type, going into overdrive and running the Sophie sting story for a further week on both its front and inside pages. Meanwhile, the News of the World, no longer content with its exclusive interview, called the Palace the following Friday afternoon to report that because the tabloid in question had ‘got it wrong’ editors wanted the opportunity to ‘set the record straight’. Which meant it was going to run the original story after all.
It became a big story. I could only look on from the wings and hope that everyone learned from it. But there was nothing we could do. The damage was done, and both Prince Edward and Sophie Wessex had to live with it.
My brief additional fortnight wasn’t all about managing a firestorm of tabloid drama, however. Towards the end of my second week, there was room for some light relief.
One of Her Majesty’s regular ceremonial commitments is the granting of audiences to overseas ambassadors. The average term for an ambassador based at his or her country’s embassy in London is around three years, meaning that there is a pretty regular turnover.
To be accepted as an ambassador to the UK, the new incumbent has an audience with the Queen, at which he or she presents their credentials at a formal ceremony. In turn, the newly-appointed foreign ambassador or high commissioner presents his or her Letters of Credence or Letters of High Commission to Her Majesty. It is a regular commitment, so that particular week was just like any other, with an ambassador waiting in the Bow Room to be ushered into the 1855 Room for his audience with Her Majesty.
All ambassadors presenting credentials to the Queen also have a photograph taken with her. I was in the Marble Hall with a Press Association photographer waiting for the Queen to arrive and for us to be allowed in to the room ahead of the incoming ambassador.
As Her Majesty approached, her eyes landed on me. She did a double take while still on the move, somewhat surprised at seeing me.
She smiled. ‘Dickie, what are you doing here?’
‘Ah, well Your Majesty…I missed you so much, I just had to come back and see you.’
She didn’t reply, but there was a definite twinkle in her eye.
What I had said in jest had been true in part. It had been good to catch up with former colleagues, and it was particularly good to bump into the Queen. Forget that she was the Sovereign, I had been blessed with astonishingly good fortune to have had such a great boss for a full dozen years.
But all good things must come to an end. A couple of days later I left the Palace for a second time, at the end of what turned out to be an unexpectedly eventful and rather amusing two-week tenure. I handed over my pass, said farewell and walked out of the Privy Purse door. It had been fun, but I felt no terrible pang of yearning. I had enjoyed 12 glorious years in what had turned out to be quite a showbizzy career choice, after all.
But now the show could go on without me.
CHAPTER 21
Retirement
September 2000
When I joined the Palace in 1988, I knew that come my birthday on 25th September, 2000, I would have to retire. While those of us employed by the Palace were not classed as Civil Servants, we did nevertheless fall under Civil Servant guidelines, which clearly mandated a retirement age of 60. Today, employees can continue on until they are 70, but sadly that was not the case in my day.
Once I reached my mid-50s, I began thinking about what I was going to do next, and fortunately it didn’t take long for an answer to present itself. Over the course of my time at the Palace, I had learned and witnessed so much, gaining an insider’s perspective of the inner workings of the Royal Family, which would lend significant credibility to my next venture.
My hope was that I would be able to return to the other side of the fence as a royal commentator. The beauty of commentary is that it is usually reliant upon common sense and fact, so I knew that I would not be breaking confidentiality in sharing my expertise.
I also thought lecturing on different aspects of the Monarchy was a possibility, as was leading media training courses and seminars. For many, retirement is met with a sense of finality and resignation. That was not the case with me.
After leaving the Palace on the eve of my 60th birthday, and allowing myself a day off on my actual birthday, I began a new job as a freelance royal commentator for the BBC the very next day.
The career switch also required an immediate personal transition. Leaving my position at Buckingham Palace meant that my wife and I had to move out of our apartment at Kensington Palace. We didn’t move far, settling quickly and happily into a modest apartment south of Kensington High Street.
While professionally I was back in familiar territory, my new position did require a period of adjustment. Now freelance, I no longer had an office, nor did I have a community of work colleagues with whom to chew the fat as we drank our tea and coffee from bone china cups delivered to us by footmen. I was left to do my networking over countless breakfast and lunch meetings, and even the occasional dinner. It made for a busy schedule, and my working life continued to be, quite often, an around-the-clock affair.
It felt strange to have hopped the fence yet again, although strictly speaking, I was commentating now, rather than reporting.
There was a touch of irony in working for the BBC. I had tried to get my foot in the door there 26 years earlier, immediately following my return from Rhodesia. After they heard that my only prior experience had been with the Rhodesia Broadcasting Corporation, I was summarily shown the door. It was amazing to see the weight 12 years’ experience at Buckingham Palace carried when it came time to seek new employment.
Working at the BBC offered a number of memorable experiences. Given my interest in ice-skating, the newsroom called me in to comment on Great Britain’s chances for the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. I had already delivered one segment, and was in the green room waiting to do another when I noticed a sudden commotion. As people hurriedly shuffled in and out of the studio, the editor rushed towards me to say that Princess Margaret had died, and that I was to go back on-air immediately.
Due to the casual nature of the Olympics piece, I was dressed in a plain blue shirt and jeans. I hurried into the newsroom and borrowed a black jacket from one unsuspecting soul and a dark tie from another. I was on the air again within five minutes.
When the broadcast concluded I phoned my wife to have her run a suit down to the BBC studio. Since that day, I have always carried a suit in the back of my car with the appropriate ties.
My loud, colourful ties have become something of a talking point over the years. I have them specially han
d painted by a lady named Jane Ireland, who has a stall in Covent Garden Market. Each one is unique, and I suppose they have become something of a trademark. I have often been asked if I wore them in front of the Queen. The answer is an unequivocal yes.
Did the Queen like them? Let me put it this way: Sometimes she would look at them as if to say you can’t be serious. Other times, she would ignore them all together. Either way, no one ever told me not to wear them. Diana’s opinion was expressed in action rather than words. She gave me a posh, albeit more conservative, Hermès tie for my birthday.
In addition to my continual work for the BBC, I also serve as a royal commentator for Sky News, ITV and Channel 5, as well as international news outlets in Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Russia, the Middle East, Japan, South Korea, Australia and New Zealand.
I am also a regular contributor to a number of high-profile cable and network news programs in the US, and have repeatedly worked with Larry King, Piers Morgan, Katie Couric and Elizabeth Vargas.
Once a royal commentator, always a royal commentator, I suppose, as my commitment to (and enthusiasm for) the work continues to this day.
Since finishing my time at the Palace, I have also had the privilege of doing a great deal of public speaking on all matters royal. This has not only provided me with regular work, but regular travel as well. My speaking agenda has led me to a wide and varied range of cities across the UK, USA, South Africa and beyond. Speaking on a number of cruise liners in particular has afforded me the opportunity to see places I might otherwise have never visited.
On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary Page 18
