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In this second enchanting extract from his memoirs, Countryfile’s Adam Henson recalls a memorable – and nerve-racking – lunch with Her Majesty
‘I thought, “Why isn’t she talking to me? What have I done wrong?”’
Early last year I received an excited phone call from Paula, my PA. Buckingham Palace had phoned her asking if I would like to have lunch with Her Majesty the Queen. I think Paula must have made the Master of the Household smile when she advised him that she would contact me and get back to him, as she didn’t feel it appropriate to accept on my behalf.
Of course, an invitation from the Queen is not something you turn down and this was a very big deal for me. I’m not a political animal at all but I’m definitely a royalist and I felt hugely proud to be invited to Buckingham Palace. This sense of pride increased when the official invitation to lunch with Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh on 19 May 2015 fell onto the doormat at Bemborough Farm, our farm in the Cotswolds. It was to be a spring luncheon for eight invited guests and a very exclusive affair.
After my taxi pulled into Buckingham Palace, the Queen’s equerry briefed the other guests and me on the etiquette of the occasion. He explained that we should call the Queen ‘Your Majesty’ the first time we spoke to her, and ‘Ma’am’ after that (said so that it rhymes with ‘jam’). I also got a sneak look at the seating plan – which was when I learned I would be sitting next to the Queen. What an honour!
As the guests milled around an anteroom nervily eating nibbles and sipping champagne, I had a stroke of luck. One of the waiting staff sidled up and introduced himself. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m a big fan of Countryfile.’ Ahha! This was good news! Thirty years earlier I’d been invited for lunch by the Duchess of Devonshire at Chatsworth House after being interviewed for a job on the estate farm, and the memory of my silver-service faux pas when I mistakenly put my salad on my plate rather than in my salad bowl still hadn’t faded. I didn’t want a repeat. ‘Look, I’m not very good at this sort of thing,’ I confided in him. ‘If I get anything wrong, just put me right, will you?’ He assured me he would. I had an ally.
The Queen and Prince Philip came through and we were all introduced to them, and then took our places at the table. I was sitting to the Queen’s left, with the curator from Kew Gardens to the other side of me. The curator was really interesting, but I couldn’t help but notice the Queen hadn’t addressed one word to me or even looked at me, and instead spent the entire first course deep in conversation with the person on the other side of her. ‘Hang on!’, I thought, ‘Why isn’t she talking to me? What have I done wrong?’
I suddenly feared I might spend the entire meal sitting next to the Queen and not say a word to her, so after about 15 minutes I took the plunge and asked her a question. I knew I was supposed to wait for her to talk to me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I learned later it was even more of a breach of etiquette. The convention at such meals is that the Queen speaks to the person on her right for the entire first course, then turns and talks to the person on her left during the next course.
Thankfully, the Queen didn’t seem to mind me blundering in. She listened attentively as I asked my question. ‘Your Majesty, with such a busy life, and having to attend so many events, what is your true love and passion in life? Is it art, or architecture, or politics?’ Her answer revealed why I had been invited to such a venerable gathering, and seated next to her. ‘Well, Adam, it is really animals, the same as you,’ she told me. ‘I love my horses and my dogs and my farm animals.’
At first I wondered if she was just saying that to put me at ease. Yet it quickly became clear she meant it. I’d previously bought a bull for Bemborough from Dochy Ormiston, her stockman at the Balmoral Estate. Countryfile had filmed me buying the Highland bull, named Archie, and taking it home, and the Queen had clearly seen it. ‘So, how is Archie?’ she asked, and seemed genuinely pleased when I said he was doing well on the farm.
For the first few minutes there was a voice in my head screaming, ‘Oh my word, I’m talking to the Queen!’ It was so loud I thought she might hear it. Yet it soon passed and our conversation flowed naturally. By the time dessert came round I was chatting to the curator from Kew again. My comradely waiter was holding out a tray with some fruit and a bowl of water on it. I noticed the Queen had a few grapes and strawberries on her plate so I reached out to take the same. ‘Ah, the finger bowl, sir!’ the waiter whispered to me. ‘You need to wash your fingers first.’ Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of this silver service lark! Adapted from Like Farmer, Like Son by Adam Henson (BBC Books, £18.99). Order a copy for £14.24 until 10 September at mailbookshop.co.uk or call 0844 571 0640, p&p free on orders over £15.