One of my most memorable cruises presented me with an extraordinary, if unexpected, two-day stop. The ship had originally been scheduled to port in Egypt, but due to political unrest at the time, the country was given a wide berth and it was decided that we would instead port in Haifa, Israel. We had ex-Royal Marines on board, as well as a Royal Navy liaison officer. A ship of that size normally cruises at 12 knots, but we sailed through pirate-infested waters at a speed of 20 knots. As darkness fell, all of the ship’s deck lights were blacked out.
Israel was a country I had longed to visit. My mother had always rammed home to me, ‘you were born a Jew, and you will die a Jew…what you do in between is your business.’ As I had suddenly found myself with a couple of spare days in Haifa, I decided to join the ship’s tour to Jerusalem.
The visit to the Western Wailing Wall was an awe-inspiring experience. I cannot describe how I felt facing the wall from just a few inches away. I had never practiced religion of any kind, and yet suddenly I felt completely at peace with the faith into which I had been born.
My second day in Haifa would prove equally emotional. Upon my mother and her brother Harry’s arrival in the UK from Germany in 1939, Harry was quickly interned as a foreign alien and sent to Canada. Two years later, he was brought back to the UK and joined the airborne division of the Royal Army Service Corps. Having gone through the war unscathed, he was sent to British-mandated Palestine. I know nothing about his life from that point on, other than the fact that one day my mother received a telegram stating that Corporal Harry Stock had been murdered in hospital by an unknown assailant on Christmas Day. He was 24.
Harry was buried in the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery in Haifa. My mother had visited his grave in the 1970s, and was saddened to find that his headstone bore the Christian Cross. She put in a request to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission to have it replaced with the Star of David.
That second day in Haifa, in early 2014, I visited Harry’s headstone, which did indeed now bear the Star of David. I hadn’t seen my uncle since 1947, and immediately found myself giving him an oral family history of the past 67 years. I spoke of my mother (his sister), of my daughter, Victoria, and of my grandson, Raff, before telling him a bit about myself. I think I did him proud, and came away completely drained.
I had been forced to give up skating at 17, when my mother and I moved to Rhodesia – a country decidedly lacking in ice rinks. I picked it up again at the age of 55, following a 38-year absence. I immediately rediscovered a passion for it. My skating life has literally come full circle, as once again I spend an inordinate amount of time at Queens… only this time around to the detriment of nothing.
Most days, when I’m not on a speaking tour or meeting television commitments, I can usually be found at the rink. Although I still enjoy skating as much as ever, it continues to get more difficult with age. As president of the dance club, my specialty is still dance. I do it as much as possible in spite of the fact that the ice time and music it requires has been severely curtailed over the years. I also teach group lessons for children of all ages, and have an organizational role in setting up class schedules for both students and my fellow instructors.
Another great pleasure I derive from Queens is producing the annual end-of-year charity show, which features a large number of our young students and adult staff members. One year we had 107 children participate in the show…and I’m pleased to report that not one of them fell over.
I will continue to skate for as long as I am fit and able to do so. It beats jogging or going to the gym. In 2005 I co-produced a semi-professional show to celebrate Queens’s 75th anniversary. I vowed then and there that I would produce the show for its 100th anniversary. It is a vow I fully intend to keep, although I’ll be aged 90 when the time comes.
The past 30 years of my life would not have been so thrilling had I not been able to share them with my wife, Rosemary.
After my divorce I did not actively seek marriage again, although I did experience times in which it would have been nice to have someone permanent in my life. After being a single father for seven years, I was also aware of the importance in Victoria’s having a woman around to whom she could relate.
I was sitting in the LBC newsroom one day, passing the time between reading half-hour news bulletins, when my gaze fell onto a strewn copy of Time Out. While not my idea of a scintillating read, I began to thumb through it. Somehow I wound up in the ‘lonely hearts’ small ads. Put it up to fate, but my scanning eyes suddenly fell on the words: Attractive blonde PR lady seeks…
I must admit, something about the ‘attractive blonde’ part hooked me. With no more ado, I replied, enclosing one of my publicity pictures for good measure. I then thought nothing more of it.
Turns out the attractive blonde had recently come to the end of a relationship and placed the advertisement in Time Out at the instigation of friends during a merry dinner party. She, too, had then given it no more thought…at least until some weeks later when a bulky brown envelope arrived through her letter box, brimming with photographs of would-be suitors.
She had recognized my name, but initially put off responding because she was afraid I was doing a news story on lonely hearts. Fortunately, she changed her mind. Our initial drinks meeting went so well that I called her the next day to invite her to accompany Victoria and me to the ballet that weekend.
Silence.
It seems I had failed to mention the previous evening that I had a daughter.
She went on to accept the invitation.
Two days later, Rosemary called me regarding a professional matter. She had arranged a media event, but as so often happens, journalists who had confirmed invitations with her had cried off at the last minute. She needed me to help make up the numbers. The assignment did not exactly pertain to my royal beat, but I was more than happy to help the ‘attractive blond PR lady’ out of a jam.
It would be our third ‘date’ in less than a week, but I was already smitten. Taking the bull by the horns, I sent her flowers with a note that read: Say it with flowers – William Penn, 1910. Will you marry me – Dickie Arbiter, 1984.
Later that afternoon, as Rosemary busied herself arranging for roses to be sent to the journalists who had come through for her at the event (I wasn’t the only one), her secretary called her and, somewhat timidly, informed her of the flowers I had sent…and of the note I had attached. Astounded, and more than a little panicked, Rosemary told her secretary to cancel the roses to me and send chrysanthemums instead.
I called Rosemary to thank her, and we arranged to meet again. Now face-to-face, I proposed once more. It would not be the last time.
My persistence eventually paid off. I met her in May 1984, and we married four months later. After an inevitable – and understandable – period of adjustment for both of them, Victoria and Rosemary forged a close relationship that still thrives to this day.
There is a school of thought that our honours system in the UK is unfair. For example, why is it that two sports stars of equal merit might be awarded honors at different levels? Why does one receive a Knighthood or Damehood while the other gets a CBE, OBE or MBE?
Honours come via the Government’s Cabinet Office, and can be awarded at any time. In 1995 I was given an LVO (Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order). The Royal Victorian Order was founded in April 1896 by Queen Victoria as a way of rewarding personal service to the Sovereign. It is the one Order given solely at the discretion of the reigning Monarch, and does not have to pass through the government.
At the time, I was working with the Royal Collection, managing media relations for the Buckingham Palace summer opening and the restoration of Windsor Castle. I was delighted with the news that I would receive the Order, particularly when I learned that it would be listed in the Queen’s Birthday Honours, published in June of that year.
It was given to me during a five-minute private audience with Her Majesty. At 12:55pm on Thursday, 18th July, as the Equerry anno
unced me, I stood in the doorway to the 1855 Room, named for the Emperor Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie, who stayed in the room when they visited London that year.
I bowed my head before moving forward to be greeted the Queen. In her hand was a scarlet box with LVO stamped in gold on the front. She handed it to me with her left hand and shook my right as she said matter-of-factly, ‘You’ve earned this.’
In response, I said only, ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
We spoke briefly about the Palace summer opening and about the restoration at Windsor Castle before it was time for me to go.
Five minutes waiting for a bus feels like an age. Five minutes with the Queen flashes by in an instant.
With the exception of a second place trophy for go-cart racing with Diana in 1991 and certificates awarded by the Royal Drawing Society in 1954 and 1956, I have never won anything of substance.
In March 2014 my agent, Sylvia Tidy-Harris, called to say I had been invited to present an IRN/Sky News award to the most promising up-and-coming radio reporter. I accepted the invitation, and on the night presented the award at the appointed time before sitting down to watch the rest of the ceremony. As the evening drew to a close, IRN’s former Managing Editor, John Perkins, took to the microphone and began to speak about a reporter who had made a name for himself in the days since joining LBC/IRN in 1974. As he continued it dawned on me that I was the reporter to whom he was referring. I glanced at Sylvia, who had been in on the ruse from the beginning. She looked back at me, the picture of innocence. The climax to John’s tribute was the announcement of my first and only broadcasting award – The IRN/Sky News Gold Award, given for lifetime achievement in broadcasting.
I was flabbergasted. Though never short for words, I was rendered speechless. For all my bluster about awards, I really was tickled pink to have been recognized by my peers.
Penning this memoir has been something of a journey of discovery. Originally envisaged as a professional overview of an intense and turbulent time in the Royal Family’s modern history, it soon developed into a memoir with a more personal flavour. Once I sat down and started thinking about my years of involvement with the Royal Family, it became impossible to leave my personal life, thoughts and feelings out of the material.
Prior to this writing, I don’t think I had ever given much thought to the twists and turns that led me to my career path. Nor had I considered just how much of an influence strong, independent women had been in my life, a truism that continues to this day.
Take for example my mother. In reflecting on her abandonment of me in early childhood, I have found myself looking further back, to her own childhood in Germany, and to the abandonment by her mother. While there is no doubt that my mother was tough on me, I can see now that she was only teaching me how to be strong, even as she faced her own difficult challenges, of which there were many.
A young refugee when she arrived in the UK, not knowing a word of English, she soon found herself bringing a child into a war-torn world, though she was barely 19. It is difficult for one to accept her running away from my father at a time when he was so gravely ill, but one can only admire how hard she worked to make amends – doing her best to establish her independence, providing us with a good life in spite of the odds, even if doing so meant travelling half way round the world. No matter how many difficulties my peripatetic childhood presented, my mother never stopped expecting high standards from me. She worked tirelessly at her job until her retirement in her mid-60s, and was never prepared to accept second best.
I have spent much of my own personal life and career in the company of similarly tough, uncompromising and independent women. Perhaps my experience with my mother has helped me understand them better than I might have otherwise. I have worked and thrived with countless female broadcasters and journalists who have successfully staked their claim in a predominantly male world.
Then there is the young princess who had to mature from an intensely shy young debutante into a confident, level-headed public figure.
I can now see the parallels between Diana and my mother during her formative years. Both came from divorced backgrounds only to divorce at a young age themselves. Both learned to become reliant on a reserve of inner strength to get them through whatever life threw at them.
I have also begun to view my own personal trials against those of the royals around whom my career centered. As was the case with some of the royal marriages, the disintegration of my own first marriage was a source of great sadness. No child of divorce and separation wants the same for his or her children. I do not blame my ex-wife for anything. I had a job that often kept me away for long hours and long periods of time. Our union may well have been doomed from the start, as it is difficult to maintain a connection when so much time is spent apart.
That it was I who took on the lion’s share of raising our daughter is perhaps surprising. But I felt I was well equipped to bring up Victoria alone precisely because of my own fractured childhood. I certainly wasn’t daunted by the prospect of becoming a single parent. In my early life, it was all I ever knew.
No doubt I got some things wrong, but today I delight in the fact that my daughter has avoided many of my parental pitfalls in the raising of her own beautiful son. Victoria has developed many of her Grandmother’s strengths, and to my joy has become an extremely capable and independent wife, mother and journalist.
The apple did not fall far from the tree. Still based in New York, Victoria is a respected writer and royal commentator for CNN. What a thrill it was to have her in London in the months leading up to Prince William’s marriage to Catherine Middleton in 2011. There on assignment for CBS News, our paths crossed often during those harried months, and on the day of the royal wedding we even appeared on-air together for a segment for the Canadian network, CTV. It was a moment I will cherish always.
It is strange for me to think that in three successive generations of my family, the maternal figure left the home. My mother and her brother were left with their father in Aachen in 1932. My mother left me with my father at the age of four in 1944. My ex-wife, though still present in our daughter’s life, left Victoria in my care at the age of three-and-a-half in 1977. They say things run in threes. I certainly hope our pattern stops there.
Of all the strong women who have influenced me, there are none quite like my boss of 12 years – Her Majesty the Queen. My memory of washing up with her (or drying up, as was the case) is just as delightful to recall today as it was when it actually happened.
By any measure Her Majesty is a remarkable woman. Faithfully supported by her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, for more than 66 years, she is the first to admit that she could not carry out her role without his loyalty and love. It is true that by anyone’s standards she lives a life of privilege and comfort – a primary source of contention for many of her detractors.
What cannot be argued, however, is Her Majesty’s sheer commitment to duties that she wasn’t even been born to do. Though well beyond retirement age, she maintains a seven-day working week, performing a job for which she has racked up more than six decades of experience, and one for which – unlike some of her European counterparts – she personally receives no pay.
She is also capable of the most exceptional acts of kindness. The Windsor Castle restoration was completed (under budget and ahead of schedule) on the fifth anniversary of the fire, also the day of her 50th wedding anniversary. The anniversary ball, to which I was invited, was to be the first function held in the newly restored castle. However, I felt that it would be appropriate to first host a thank-you reception for the workers who had so admirably completed the restoration.
The idea was accepted, and on Friday, 14th November, 1997, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh hosted a reception for 1500 members of the workforce in order to thank them personally for their service. This was no jolly for CEOs and executives, rather an evening in honour of the men and women who had rolled up their sleeves and literally delivered the nuts a
nd bolts of such an ambitious undertaking.
At a reception of this kind, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh would normally stay no more than 90 minutes. So pleased was the Queen with the finished work, however, that they stayed for two hours, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by those being honoured.
Our Queen is also reliable to a fault. She never gives less than a 100 percent, and never fails to fully engage with those fortunate enough to meet her. But she also has a deep awareness of the needs of her family, which is rarely witnessed by members of the public. I experienced this for myself when I spent a day at Windsor before an upcoming State Visit.
At lunch I was seated next to an ailing Princess Margaret who, following various bouts of ill health, had suffered an unfortunate scalding accident that had left her in a wheelchair. She was a shadow of her former garrulous self. The Princess wore wraparound sunglasses throughout the meal and was doggedly monosyllabic, deflecting every polite conversational opener I tried to send her way.
I felt sorry for her. While I’m sure it was good for her to be among company, I’m not sure the Princess felt quite up to it. Ever observant, the Queen seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. Later at dinner, I was seated next to Her Majesty and she brought up the subject almost immediately, we exchanged a few words and sympathetic smiles, and the conversation moved on. Needless to say she always seemed to have a strong yet subtle connection with every member of her family.
Having feared at 55 that retirement would prove to be something of a challenge to one as active and driven as myself, I am pleased to report at 74 that my years since leaving the Palace have been some of the most fulfilling of my life. While it is gratifying to reflect on my unique and varied career, I also eagerly anticipate the years ahead, which will no doubt include an opportunity to commentate on the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee in 2022.
On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary Page 19
