Prince Philip, my dad and the passing of a selfless generation

As Prince PhiliP took his final salute from the royal Marines on his last official public engagement, they were lauding him on our behalf, too.

But i’d like to think that more than anything, they were paying tribute to the stoic generation the Prince represents, whose resilience and reticence were moulded by living though a century that witnessed the Great Depression and two world wars.

in today’s touchy-feely universe, obsessed with emotions and emoting, those belonging to this generation are a dying breed.

When the 96- year- old Duke performed his 22,219th solo engagement in the pouring rain, there was not a hint of emotion at the passing of a lifetime’s work. no umbrella for this old soldier caught in a downpour.

no tears as he left the stage. he simply raised his signature bowler hat and waved farewell.

The sight of Philip drenched yet steadfast took me back to an occasion a month ago, also in heavy rain, i shared with my father.

At 91, Francis Platell is not famous; he’s just an ordinary dad like so many others of his generation. he worked as a journalist until he was 80 to provide for his family.

We were in Perth, at my brother’s graveside. it was Michael’s birthday. he would have been 63, but he died of cancer two decades ago.

The heavens had opened as we went to visit his final resting place. But Dad was undeterred and determined, travelling slowly on his walker like an old soldier.

he himself had signed up for the rAAF as a young man and almost completed his training when Australian forces were withdrawn towards the end of World War ii. i know he regrets he never got the chance to serve his country as his father had.

We stood side by side as he read the inscription on his first child’s grave. ‘We love you, son,’ was all he said. i asked him how he’d coped when Michael died. Without looking up, he said: ‘i don’t know.’

And that’s the most i will ever extract from my father about the loss of Michael. his role as patriarch of the family was to hold us together, even after such unimaginable sorrow.

it was Mum who sobbed uncontrollably in the night as he held her. his job was to be, as Philip has been to the Queen, our ‘strength and stay’.

no doubt modern therapists will say it’s a bad thing that Dad can’t bring himself to talk about Michael and has never given in to grief.

Maybe they’re right, but the silent strength of a generation of men like Philip and Frank has served their nations and their families well.

We owe a great debt to these old boys. it may be a cliche, but i doubt we’ll see their like again.