by David Stubbs
Devon
England
16 June 1987
Dear Mr Hughes
It has been said you write of ‘The struggle in the soil as well as the soul’. This has been well said of your verse and as a ‘soil and soul’ man myself, I fully concur. However, there is another struggle which I confess I have undergone in perusing your latest work: lines commissioned to commemorate my brother Edward’s It’s A Royal Knockout, which historians may well count as a crucial moment in the relationship between Monarch and the Common Man. It’s the struggle to work out what in blazes you’re on about!
I’ve read the whole thing and while there’s a great deal about owls and otters, the recurring misadventures of a crow entangled in a mesh of brambles, not to mention a ferret mauling a pregnant rabbit, I could find no direct reference to the television revelries – which, after all, were at the heart of the brief in the first place.
And hang it all, I know you’re modern and so forth, but would a rhyme or two here and there really hurt so much? I suspect this aversion to rhyme, like modern music’s aversion to tunes, is some sort of slacking, an avoidance of the real hard work of composition. Could you please take another look at it – once more, with rhymes? (I’d help you out, but the only thing I can think of that rhymes with ‘Edward’ is ‘dead wood’ and of course that isn’t at all suitable.)
Yours, &c
HRH The Prince of Wales
Alan Bennett
c/o The National Theatre
London
England
12 August 1994
Dear Mr Bennett
I was rather taken by your film The Madness Of King George – certainly plenty of food for one’s noggin there, especially for a future monarch. Is one on or off one’s rocker? How would one know? Would one’s staff bring to it to one’s attention if one showed marked and perturbing signs of eccentricity? It is gratifying to note thus far none of them has.
In that confidence, and also to counterbalance the King George thing, I was wondering – would you consider it worth your while to compose a companion play entitled The Sensibleness of Prince Charles? It would cover my thoughts on balancing the need to modernise with the horrors of modernity, of enjoying harmony with nature even as one is massacring its specimens and so forth. I am of course assuming you think my ideas sensible – happily, men and women generally seem to take this view. Don’t mention that I gave you the idea, should this come to fruition – it might seem immodest.
Discreetly yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
Tracey Emin
c/o Tate Modern
Bankside
London SE1
6 January 2000
Dear Miss Emin
You’ve been drawn to my attention as a ‘Young British Artist’. I’m rather an old British artist myself, but as such hope that I can pass on the benefit of my experience.
I’ve seen you on the television set more than once and both times you appeared ‘sozzled’. To me, this is symptomatic of the whole modern art movement, one that is dissipated, has rather lost its way and weaves unsteadily and uncertainly rather than moving forward. (Of course it is a maxim of mine that in order to move forward, you have to move backwards.) Everything about your work – I’m thinking of this ‘unmade bed’ exhibit, in particular – smacks of slacking and a lack of fresh air. I suggest that tomorrow morning, when you get out of your bed, don’t think of the resulting mess of duvet and crumpled sheets as ‘a work of art’ but work that needs to be done. Make that bed (remember, pillows plumped and ‘hospital corners’) and then armed with easel and watercolours, take the next coach out into the countryside, find the nearest waterfall and let your brush yomp freely, but figuratively across the canvas.
You’ll soon realise this whole ‘Modern Art’ thing is an adolescent fad, something you ‘get out of your system’ – like Donny Osmond or ‘Little Jimmy’ Osmond, or even dressing up as a Nazi. Things look the way they are because that’s how they’re supposed to look – that’s what Picasso failed to understand.
Yours, in perspective
HRH The Prince of Wales
Vidal Sassoon
60 South Molton Street
London
England
12 May 2002
Dear Mr Sassoon
I’m writing to you as Britain’s leading hair man but I’m not asking for a makeover, far from it! It’s just that, with respect, you and oneself – well, we’re on opposing sides of the spectrum. You see, you believe in fashion. And yes, fashion has been kind to you: it has made you your ‘boodle’. However, I do not believe in fashion because you see, Mr Sassoon, fashions change. They are here today, gone tomorrow. Has that ever occurred to you?
Now, take my own hairstyle. It has never been fashionable. One unkind writer once remarked that it looked as if it had been splurged on to my head using a Mr Whippy ice-cream dispenser. I can laugh off such remarks because my hair represents continuity. I have maintained it since I was twelve years old: it has outlasted several prime ministers, seen off rock’n’roll, The Beatles, the teddy boys, the punk rockers and everything else they’ve tried to throw at it.
What I was proposing was a public platform, a friendly if frank and open debate between us to touch on the issues raised in this letter. When would you be available for such an event? I’d appreciate a quick response because by this time next week, I may well have forgotten I ever wrote this letter at all – this sometimes happens, as things stack up – and it would be a pity to miss this opportunity. Hair today, gone tomorrow, you might say!
Unfashionably, yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
Stephen Fry
c/o The British Broadcasting Corporation
London
England
23 August 2003
Dear Stephen
Just a note to thank you for your excellent company last Wednesday evening – I wish I could have written down half of the clever things you said as we dined. Next time I must bring a pen and paper, or perhaps have one of my staff sit in discreetly and take notes.
One thing has rather stuck with me, however – this idea of yours that the word ‘moist’ is one of the funniest words in the English language. I must confess I don’t quite see it. I’ve said it over and over to myself in the hope of raising a chuckle but with no luck. I was even repeating it to myself in front of the bathroom mirror last night: ‘Moist’, ‘Moist’, ‘Moist’ … No joy. One of my staff caught me at it as he came in to rinse my toothbrush – he must have left with the impression that I’m a bit of an eccentric. Perhaps this is one occasion where your acclaimed sense of humour has deserted you? How about ‘knobbly knees’? Hardy perennials in the garden of comedy, those two words, I’ve always thought!
Yours, in fun
HRH The Prince of Wales
Norman Foster
Foster + Partners
London
England
12 July 2004
OK, Foster,
No formalities, no small talk, straight down to cases! We’ve not always seen eye-to-eye regarding the horrors of modern architecture but hitherto I felt there was a seabed of civility in our exchanges, a certain mutual respect. You’ll know that a few years ago I wrote to you suggesting if significant tracts of land within the centre of London were turned into allotments, specifically vegetable patches, this would release the choke-hold of modern life and its tyranny of steel, concrete and glass and afford us a much-needed reminder of the fruits of the soil amid the hurly-burly of commerce.
I did not receive a reply from you, which I considered rum. And then just this week, while being driven along Leadenhall Street, I glanced up at St Mary’s Axe only to be confronted with what I can only describe as a giant gherkin staring down at me.
I see now there was never any seabed of civility between us and I see what has happened: you noted my stress on vegetables and this is your snide retort! It’s not architecture – this is a vertical act of sarcas
m at my expense. Well, it has not gone unnoticed. I shall be keeping a keen eye on the architectural landscape and I warn you, if I spot any similarly vegetable-shaped erections – a turnip-shaped HQ for a Japanese Bank, or a mushroom-resembling conference centre – then I shall not spare you the caustic end of my tongue, either in correspondence or on the television set.
Yours, more in sorrow than anger (well, actually quite angry)
HRH The Prince of Wales
Stephen Fry
c/o BBC Television Centre
London
England
24 August 2004
Dear Stephen
I’m sending this to the BBC as I assume you have your own pigeonhole there. I wanted to ‘touch base’ with you as I rather hoped to get you down to Highgrove at your earliest convenience to help me look over some ideas I’ve had for a ‘Plants Chatroom’ on the Web. If you were to lend the considerable weight of your celebrity to endorse the project, I’m sure it would be of mutual benefit, enhancing your own prestige into the bargain.
Yours, &c
HRH The Prince of Wales
Stephen Fry
c/o BBC Television Centre
London
England
25 August 2004
Dear Stephen
I have still to hear back from you regarding the ‘Plants Chatroom’ project. One of my staff contacted your agency and they said you were currently flat-out on a new series of QI, three voiceovers (including a commercial for windscreen wiper fluid), a children’s cartoon series about a feisty guinea pig, two video games, a documentary on penguins and parts in five feature films currently ‘in development’; also a twelve-part radio series looking back on the history of the word ‘Arse’.
You are a busy man! I thought you made your pile writing a musical. Is all this work altogether healthy? Balanced? Surely your soul cries out for the respite of Highgrove? I have two slide shows you have yet to see.
Yours, &c
HRH The Prince of Wales
Stephen Fry
c/o BBC Television Centre
London
England
2 February 2005
Dear Stephen
More than five months now and still no word back on my ‘Plants Chatroom’ idea. According to your agency, you are working on a new series of QI, a pilot for a situation comedy for American television based on The Importance of Being Earnest, a sixteen-part travel documentary in which you criss-cross South America by taxi, recording a jazz-funk fusion album with your friends Hugh Laurie and Jo Brand, plus rehearsals for a pantomime season in Kettering. Oh, and a book entitled A Complete and Utter History of Every Last Lovely Little Bit of the World, in which you document absolutely everything ever done by anybody in your own inimitable style. A thought briefly crossed my mind that you only take on so much work to avoid coming down to Highgrove, but I fear one is becoming far too “cynical” in one’s old age – you’re not, are you?
Yours, &c
HRH The Prince of Wales
Richard Dawkins
c/o New College
Oxford
England
19 February 2008
Dear Mr Dawkins
On Stephen Fry’s recommendation, I’ve been reading one or two of your books. I trust you’ll permit me the liberty of doing what we Royals generally aren’t supposed to do and that’s ‘answer back’ – as the Defender of many faiths, white, black, brown, yellow, green. And here is my devastating rejoinder to your entire book. I trust you are sitting down because what I have to say may come as a shock. It is this:
In arguing your case so fervently, you yourself are as fundamentalist as the very fundamentalists you attack.
I’m sorry if that’s ‘wrecked’ your argument. Perhaps you’d care to join us for one of our inter-faith tea and samosas evenings at Highgrove to discuss your theories with the Imams? You’ll find them essentially peaceful people. They have ancient wisdom on their side, so don’t be surprised if you come unstuck – and hang it all, when you do, don’t start jumping up and down! You may believe we are descended from monkeys but that’s no reason to act like one (you have a reputation for getting extremely truculent, you know). I can sense you getting hot under the collar as you read this, right now. Well, don’t! For Heaven’s sake man, calm down and pull yourself together.
Yours, &c
HRH The Prince of Wales
Business, Technology and Other Necessary Carbuncles
Attn Tim Berners-Lee
Internet HQ
London
England
6 February 1999
Dear Mr Berners-Lee
I’m informed you are the person who invented the ‘Internet’ and are therefore, as it were, in overall charge of the operation.
Quite honestly, I’m unaccustomed to what’s involved in handling this sort of technology. In particular, I find the directions on the ‘Internet’ rather brusque. ‘Enter’, ‘Search’, ‘Log In’ – it’s like being addressed by a surly robot. Would it be a stretch to ask if you could devise a programme for my own personal use in which commands read: ‘Enter, Your Highness’, or ‘Log In, Your Highness’? If that’s too much, a simple ‘Sir’ would do. Am I being stuffy? I asked my staff and they really didn’t think so.
Your humble servant
HRH The Prince of Wales
Steve and Julie Pankhurst
Friends Reunited
Barnet
Hertfordshire
England
13 September 2002
Dear Mr and Mrs Pankhurst
I do hope you won’t consider this too awful a stretch, but it’s a matter of some delicacy and concerns this ‘Friends Reunited’ website. You see, I was rather thinking of, well, looking in.
What did happen to some of the fellows at Gordonstoun – ‘Tubby’ Mosthorpe, for instance? He and a chum of his once nailed me, in full uniform, to the inside of one of the lavatory doors during my ablutions. Or ‘Todger’ Ffiennes? He once punctured my hot water bottle with a tin-tac so that it leaked ever so slowly during the night. I remember waking, damp and crimson with shame, convinced I’d had a personal accident and cutting down to the boiler room to burn my pyjamas in the furnace rather than shove them in the laundry basket and risk cross-examination from Matron. Unfortunately, the janitor caught me in there and I had to explain my actions, which in fairness must have come across as a bit bizarre, in front of the entire school at assembly.
Anyway, I’d like to find out what happened to these friends. Perhaps they went on to great things – perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they got embroiled in scandals or nasty accidents – I should like to know. Perhaps they died, brutally and violently, deservedly even – who knows? I would be curious to find out.
The question is, do I have to ‘log on’ as HRH The Prince of Wales, or could I go about the site under the guise of a pseudonym, like Henry V the night before Agincourt? ‘Charlie Leroy’, perhaps? The African-Caribbean air of that name would probably put most people ‘off the scent’.
Discreetly, yours
‘Charlie Leroy’ (aka HRH The Prince of Wales)
The Chief Executive
Colgate
Guildford Business Park
Middleton Road
Guildford
Surrey
England
May 2003
Dear Sir
I don’t know where it came from – none of my staff, I’m sure, whose loyalty is a byword – but it has somehow reached the public domain that I do not place my own toothpaste on the brush myself, but have my man do it for me. It’s beneath my dignity to comment on this frivolous matter and I shan’t do so here. More seriously, it does concern me greatly, as I’m sure it does yourself (albeit for commercial reasons), that people of all ages are simply not cleaning their teeth as often as they should. As a country, we’re lagging behind.
What I propose is that with your sponsorship, I take part in a public information film demonstrati
ng the virtues and correct method of teeth cleaning. I think a short film of the future King taking care of his dental hygiene at the washbasin, perhaps in a pair of stripy pyjamas for verisimilitude, would prove not uninteresting to people up and down the country. My friend Mrs Parker Bowles certainly seems to think so. ‘Oh, they’d watch, all right!’ she eventually declared, having swallowed her muesli the wrong way when I put the idea to her.
Perhaps if you could come back with some mutually convenient dates my man and I could drive down to your studios for the afternoon and we could do the demonstration to camera. I would provide my own pyjamas.
Hygienically, yours
HRH The Prince of Wales
Professor Colin Pillinger
Planetary Science Department
The Open University
Milton Keynes
England
18 February 2004
Dear Professor Pillinger
I must say, Professor Pillinger, that with your muttonchops and optimism, one cannot help but take a shine to you. I understand you had a pop at launching some sort of device to land on Mars but the thing went rather skew-wiff, ending up somewhere in the silly mid-off of the solar system rather than bang on the stumps. Still, we are English (and of course, Scottish, Irish and, last but not least, Welsh) and we persevere, moving forward together.
