Philip: The Final Portrait

by Gyles Brandreth

  As he grew older, he drove less fast – and became more environmentally aware. A generation before the birth of Greta Thunberg, Prince Philip was travelling around London in his own electric taxi cab.

  He always liked to be behind the wheel. He liked to be in command. One of the police officers detailed to look after him told me that, regularly, he would hear the Prince, in his nineties, calling out to the Queen (and anyone else within earshot), ‘Where are the fucking car keys?’ Memorably, when the Obamas visited the Queen at Windsor in 2016, the Duke, then 95, to the consternation of the presidential security team, drove the US President around the royal estate, with their two wives tucked up in the back.

  Inevitably, with age, and without his car, his life became more circumscribed. He ceased to be actively involved in the plans for the restoration of Buckingham Palace. He handed over the management of the Sandringham Estate to Prince Charles (‘You can bugger about with it now,’ he told him), though he enjoyed a late-life horticultural success when, well into his 98th year, he became the first person in Britain to cultivate a successful crop of black truffles.120 He went on with his carriage driving for as long as he could. He continued with his exercise routine as best he was able. He watched television, ‘without much pleasure’, he told me. He went on painting; ‘They’re not up to much,’ he insisted. He always had a book or two on the go: military history and biography in the main (‘Napoleon wasn’t very nice, was he?’). He read the obituaries in the Daily Telegraph: every week someone died whom he had known. ‘Some weeks,’ he said, ‘it’s every day.’

  The Queen carried on with her royal duties at Buckingham Palace or at Windsor Castle while he lived out his days at Wood Farm on the Sandringham Estate. She left him to it. They would speak regularly on the phone, but weeks could go by without them seeing one another. That shocked some people, though not those who knew them and who understood how well the Queen understood her husband – understood his wish to be left to his own devices, ‘not to be fussed over’, to be allowed, after more than seventy years of duty, to see out his days in his own way. For example, on the Friday before Christmas 2019, the prince was being airlifted and driven from Sandringham in Norfolk to the King Edward VII Hospital in London ‘as a precautionary measure, for observation and treatment’ at exactly the time the Queen was travelling by train from London to Sandringham. He did as the doctor ordered. She did as she had been planning, setting off, as scheduled, for her Christmas break on the Sandringham Estate.

  The Duke’s world was getting smaller, but the royal story was carrying on. The Queen was doing her duty, as assiduously as ever. 2019 proved a busy year: she said goodbye to her thirteenth prime minister (Theresa May) and hello to her fourteenth (Boris Johnson); she opened parliament and read the Queen’s Speech, twice; she did all the things she had been doing since 1952, year in, year out, opening this, unveiling that, hosting receptions for ambassadors and diplomats – and the rest. On Remembrance Sunday she was seen with a tear in her eye. Was that the biting wind? Or was she thinking of her absent husband who was undeniably growing frailer by the day? I recall seeing her with a tear in her eye on another occasion, in September 2001, emerging from St Paul’s cathedral following a special service held in the immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks over New York and Washington DC in which 2,977 people were killed. As it happened, ‘9/11’ coincided with the death of the Queen’s friend, the Earl of Carnarvon. In her message of condolence to the American people, she wrote: ‘These are dark and harrowing times for families and friends of those who are missing or who suffered in the attack.’ She ended her message in a quite personal way: ‘Nothing that can be said can begin to take away the anguish and the pain of these moments. Grief is the price we pay for love.’

  As the end drew nearer, Prince Philip, always his own man, even in crowds always something of a loner, was retreating from the world. He still saw friends and he still turned up for family occasions. At the wedding of his grandson Prince Harry with Meghan Markle in May 2018, he appeared, aged 96, still upright, still without a stick, despite having had a hip operation only a few weeks before and having cracked a rib in a fall in the shower a few days before. At the wedding of his granddaughter, Princess Eugenie in October 2018, he appeared, now aged 97, still upright, still without a stick, impeccably dressed but looking gaunt and cadaverous. In the official wedding photograph – the last official photograph in which he appeared – he was seated immediately in front of his former daughter-in-law, Sarah, Duchess of York. In May 2019, at Windsor Castle, the Duke joined the Queen for a rare official appearance together when they hosted a lunch for members of the Order of Merit. It was the week of the arrival of Harry and Meghan’s firstborn and Philip was photographed admiring his eighth great-grandchild, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, alongside the Queen and Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland. In the same month he was on parade again for another family wedding at St George’s Chapel, Windsor, when Lady Gabriela Windsor, daughter of the Queen’s first cousin, Prince Michael of Kent, married her long-time boyfriend, Thomas Kingston. ‘I don’t know who half these people are,’ said the Duke of Edinburgh, laughing.

  There was no laughter later in the year when the Queen, having consulted both her husband and the Prince of Wales, decided that the time had come for her second son, Prince Andrew, to give up all his royal duties and step back from public life. The Duke of York had given a disastrous television interview about his friendship with the convicted paedophile, Jeffrey Epstein, and the accusation that he, Andrew, had slept with an American girl, ‘trafficked’ by Epstein, when she was just seventeen. In the interview, Andrew protested his innocence, but appeared to show no empathy for Epstein’s victims nor to regret his friendship with the man. The backlash that followed forced the Queen’s hand. On 20 November 2019, HRH The Duke of York KG issued a statement:

  It has become clear to me over the last few days that the circumstances relating to my former association with Jeffrey Epstein has become a major disruption to my family’s work and the valuable work going on in the many organisations and charities that I am proud to support.

  Therefore, I have asked Her Majesty if I may step back from public duties for the foreseeable future, and she has given her permission.

  The Queen essentially fired her own son, but the following day showed us how much she loved him by taking him riding with her through Winsdor Great Park in the rain and ensuring that there were photographers on hand to capture the shot. A senior courtier said to me, ‘There was a lot of nonsense talked about noone being at the helm, but the Queen took a firm grip of things. To use the military jargon, there was only a few days between flash and bang. Action was called for and the Queen took it.’

  The Queen took further firm action in January 2020, when Harry and Meghan, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, announced their desire to ‘step back’ from their lives as ‘senior Royals’. They planned to divide their time between the United Kingdom and North America; they wanted financial independence; they hoped to be able to continue to serve Queen and Commonwealth, but on their own terms. It was a naïve hope and not to be. The Queen convened a family meeting at Sandringham – attended by her immediate heirs, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, as well as the Duke of Sussex – and a way forward was agreed. Harry and Meghan could do as they pleased, but they could not represent the Queen while doing so. Their HRH titles would be put in abeyance and Harry, to his dismay, was required to give up his royal patronages and military appointments. Harry was distressed, as he put it, ‘that it should come to this’. So was his grandmother. In a personal statement, she made it clear that Harry and Meghan would always be close members of her family, and she went out of her way to praise her American granddaughter-in-law, but, so far as the Crown was concerned, she was equally clear: she wasn’t going to have a couple of freelance royals roaming the world doing their own thing in any sense in her name.

  The Duke of Edinburgh was equally sorry ‘that it should come to this’
. Harry had only succeeded his grandfather as Captain General of the Royal Marines in 2017. Philip had done the job for sixty-four years. Harry had barely managed thirty months. The Duke of Edinburgh was not pleased, nor did he believe that Harry and Meghan were doing the right thing, either for the country or for themselves. I am reminded of something wise he told me more than once, something worth repeating here. ‘It’s a big mistake to think about yourself. No one is interested in you in the long run. Don’t court popularity. It doesn’t last. Remember that the attention comes because of the position you are privileged to hold, not because of who you are. If you think it’s all about you you’ll never be happy.’

  Prince Philip regretted Harry’s decision, but did not get involved in its aftermath. On the day the Queen held her Sandringham ‘summit’ with Charles, William and Harry, he made himself scarce, deliberately leaving the main house and retreating to Wood Farm. ‘I’ll soon be out of it,’ he said, ‘and not before time.’

  Prince Philip of Greece was born in the aftermath of the influenza pandemic that swept the world between 1918 and 1920, infecting around 500 million people – about a third of the world’s population at the time – in four successive waves. As Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, he was still alive a century later, as the Covid 19 pandemic swept the world in 2020. He spent ‘lockdown’ with the Queen, and a small retinue of staff, at Windsor Castle. In what turned out to be his final public statement in April 2020, he issued a message that reminded us that he had always been the pragmatic prince, properly interested in science, engineering and technology, and committed to the people who, as he liked to put it, ‘get their hands dirty and get things done’. ‘As we approach World Immunisation Week,’ he said, ‘I wanted to recognise the vital and urgent work being done by so many to tackle the pandemic; by those in the medical and scientific professions, at universities and research institutions, all united in working to protect us from Covid-19. On behalf of those of us who remain safe and at home, I also wanted to thank all key workers who ensure the infrastructure of our life continues; the staff and volunteers working in food production and distribution, those keeping postal and delivery services going, and those ensuring the rubbish continues to be collected.’ He saw the headline ‘Philip praises bin men’ and, for once, didn’t complain about the press.

  He made his last parade-ground appearance aged 99, in July 2020, handing over his role as Colonel-in-Chief of The Rifles to his daughter-in-law, the Duchess of Cornwall. He was in the quadrangle at Windsor Castle. She was ‘socially distanced’ at Highgrove House, a hundred miles away. The hand-over happened on-line. The world had changed in so many ways in the one hundred years of Philip’s extraordinary lifetime. The Queen was taking part in Zoom conference calls. Her father had only become king because her uncle had married a divorced American. Now three of her children had been divorced and her grandson, Harry, had not only married a divorced American, but gone to live in America as well. The Duke of Edinburgh accepted all this with a shrug – and the occasional exasperated sigh. His cousin, Ivar Mountbatten – the son of Philip’s friend and contemporary, his first choice as best man, David Milford Haven – became the first member of the royal family to marry someone of the same sex. ‘Whatever makes them happy,’ said Prince Philip.

  Because he lived so long, Philip saw so much. He knew the royal road had always been a rocky one. ‘My grandfather was assassinated,’ he reminded me, ‘my father was sent into exile, my parents separated, my sister was killed in that aeroplane crash, my uncle was murdered by the IRA … things happen, but life goes on.’ Life went on into 2021 with Princess Eugenie and her husband, Jack Brooksbank, having their first baby: the Queen and Prince Philip’s ninth great-grandchild. The Duke wouldn’t be drawn on the future of the Royal Family. ‘There’ll be ups and there’ll be downs, but beyond that I’ve no idea what the future holds. There’s no point in speculating about it. All I’ll say is that I’ve tried to help keep it going while I’ve been here.’

  When lockdown was lifted, Philip and Elizabeth, having spent more time close together than they had done in years, decided it rather suited them. They left Windsor together and travelled up to Balmoral for their traditional summer break. When it was over, they went back to Sandringham – but not the big house. Instead, together they went to live at Wood Farm, Philip’s favourite bolt-hole, the ungrand, unpretentious place he regarded as his home on the Sandringham estate.

  Then, for the last time, they returned together to Windsor Castle, where Philip’s mother had been born way back in 1885 and where, on the morning of Friday 9 April 2021, Philip ended his days.

  In mid-February, he had felt unwell and was taken to the King Edward VII Hospital in London. On 1 March he was transferred to St Bartholomew’s Hospital for a heart procedure. On 16 March, after four weeks, his longest ever confinement in hospital, he was driven home.

  Twenty years before, he had told me he had no desire to live to be 100. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse,’ he said then. As his centenary approached, he changed his tune, acknowledging that it would be ‘a bit of a milestone, I suppose’, though he was ‘dreading all the fuss’. When he became ill in February, he said ‘I’m on the way out,’ – but he had been saying that for years. His final month in hospital was ‘pretty ghastly’, principally because he no longer had the energy and concentration to read – and reading was one of the sustaining pleasures of his retirement. ‘Staring at the ceiling is bloody boring.’ He took phone calls from his family, but because of the lockdown restrictions his only visitor was the Prince of Wales.

  The news of his death came in an announcement posted, according to custom, on the gates of Buckingham Palace: ‘It is with deep sorrow that Her Majesty The Queen announces the death of her beloved husband, His Royal Highness, The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh.’ Within hours fulsome tributes to the Duke and heartfelt condolences to the Queen were pouring in from across the world. Even Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin sent messages. ‘My dear Papa was a very special person,’ said Prince Charles, ‘who I think above all else would have been amazed by the reaction and the touching things that have been said about him.’ The outpouring was much greater than most commentators had expected. People, young and old, acknowledged the Duke’s remarkable character and recognized his extraordinary contribution – and they felt for the Queen.

  Prince Philip had never wanted a state funeral. He was all for a quiet send-off and by royal standards, thanks to the pandemic, he got one, at the St George’s Chapel, Windsor, on Saturday 17 April. Given his frustration two years before at having to give up driving his cherished Land Rover, as if to get the last laugh, he designed his own hearse to carry his own body to his own funeral – a Land Rover modified to His Royal Highness’s personal specification. He was a pragmatist with a sense of humour to the last. And at the last, because of the Covid restrictions, the funeral itself was attended by just thirty mourners – members of his immediate family who followed his coffin into the Chapel to bid their final farewell.

  The only mourner who did not walk with the others was the Queen, a few days short of her ninety-fifth birthday, still there, still driven by duty and sustained by faith, but now, for the first time in more than seventy-three years, alone. Philip gave Elizabeth a lifetime of unstinting support. He made her laugh. He understood her. She understood him. It was a unique marriage – the longest in all royal history – and it worked.

  APPENDICES

  Prince Philip’s Achievements and Appointments

  I think this final section of my book is the only one of which Prince Philip would have approved wholeheartedly. It deals in facts and nothing else. I showed him the material and he said, ‘It seems to cover the ground, more or less.’

  From the time of his marriage to Princess Elizabeth, the Duke of Edinburgh began to acquire honours, awards, and decorations – and plenty of them: Knight of the Garter, 1947; Privy Counsellor, 1951; Knight of the Thistle, 1952; Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the British Emp
ire, 1953 (he also served as Grand Master of the OBE); the Order of Merit, 1968; plus at least fifty-two foreign orders and decorations, from the Danish Order of the Elephant to the Moroccan Order of Muhammed (First Class). Under the circumstances, these distinctions were relatively easily come by. As he said to me, ‘The foreign decorations came as a result of visits abroad. They came with the territory – literally.’ The real challenge for him, of course, was not to acquire honours, awards, and decorations, but to carve out for himself some sort of worthwhile role.

  The first charity in which the Duke became involved, in 1947, was the London Federation of Boys’ Clubs; the next, in 1948, was the National Playing Fields Association; both reflected what would become a lifelong commitment to the healthy, active, challenging development of young people and to the value of competitive sport and team games. He was President of the Central Council for Physical Recreation from 1951; President of the Commonwealth Games Federation from 1955 to 1990; President of the British Sports Trust from 1989.

  In 1953 he became Patron of the Outward Bound Trust (between 1995 and 2000 he was also Chairman of the Trustees), another organisation that reflected his core concerns. Here is his account of the origins of Outward Bound and the philosophy behind it: ‘“Outward Bound” is the meaning of the “Blue Peter” signal flag hoisted by merchant ships as they leave harbour for foreign ports. The combined experience and skills of the navigator, the seaman and the engineer are needed to ensure that a ship makes a safe journey. Outward Bound was therefore an apt choice as the name for an organisation designed to help young men about to start their careers in the British Merchant Navy at the height of the Second World War. It is easy enough to teach technical skills; it is quite another matter to exercise those skills in the stress of Atlantic gales and in the face of submarine attacks. Outward Bound had been the brainchild of Laurence Holt, of the Blue Funnel Line, and Kurt Hahn, the Headmaster of Gordonstoun … It all began in a small way in Aberdovey in North Wales in 1941. The idea has since spread through eighteen countries in five continents, and there is plenty of scope for further expansion. From the very beginning, Outward Bound was intended to develop self-confidence and self-awareness through self-discovery. Every individual needs the inner capacity to cope with the vicissitudes of life; this could be said to involve using the art of a navigator to avoid hazards, the craft of a seaman to avoid storms, and the skill of an engineer to maintain the will to go on.’