Charles, we need you to be OK so that we’re OK. We’re not ready for William yet
‘As the Queen herself did with such unswerving devotion, I too now solemnly pledge myself, throughout the remaining time God grants me, to uphold the constitutional principles at the heart of our nation … I shall endeavour to serve you with loyalty, respect and love, as I have throughout my life.’
That was Charles’s first televised address after becoming King upon the death of his ‘dear Mama’. And that was the moment, right there, that I changed my mind about him and fell not in love, but in deep, deep fondness. He’s our top person, really.
Charles had always been there, throughout my life. A bit like wallpaper. I was too young to appreciate his so-called playboy years, and by the time he got to Diana, well, I was with her all the way.
she was a girls’ girl. The one time I met her, at a Christmas party, she spoke to me without looking over my shoulder for someone more interesting. As for Charles, I wrote my first published piece, in the student paper, about the cruelty of polo. And how dare he not love Diana as we all did.
My opinion failed to change until he became King. Even the leaky pen petulance didn’t dent his new image: it just made him more human.
Who in their right mind, I remember thinking in the days after the Queen died, would want their oldest son to tour the country while enmired in grief.
His features seemed softer, less anxious. Not gleeful to at last be doing a ‘ proper’ job, but more at ease in his own skin. I even warmed to Camilla: slightly cartoonish in her crown at the coronation, but that made her one of us. Approachable.
And how empowering to see a woman in her seventies, not as the media generally portrays them, brittle, frail and lonely, but starting a new career, with a virile man at her side. There really is hope for us all.
Then the news the King has cancer. If cancer can strike him, what hope the rest of us?
Charles breakfasts on linseed and fruit, eschews lunch and avoids meat, fish and dairy on certain days, for goodness’ sake. He strides everywhere and loves the outdoors. He has had his stresses, of course – the embarrassing leaked recordings of private conversations with his then mistress Camilla, his divorce, Diana’s death, the rift with Harry, the death of his mother.
Are they any less than the stress felt by those who struggle to pay the rent or care for a relative? Disease is the great leveller, despite the haters on social media currently demanding the King join the NHs waiting list, like the rest of us.
But Charles is different. He didn’t choose to be sovereign. He knows we need him to be OK so that we are OK. We are quite done with change, thank you very much.
Charles’s grandfather, George VI, was a chain smoker and died way too soon, tipping Princess Elizabeth into service before she was quite ready to abandon her (fairly) carefree family life. When Charles left hospital, with the bad news doubtless already weighing heavily on his shoulders, his overcoat was not too big or ill-fitting, as some commentators bitched that day; instead he was diminished, smaller.
How sad for him but even then, he had to wear a shirt and tie, lift his arm and wave. I wager the first thing he said to William was: ‘I’m terribly sorry, dear boy...’
I think of my own dad, still so handsome and active, who once slayed Nazis, struck down by cancer aged 80, and the only thing he whispered to my mum was: ‘Tell the little girls I’m so sorry.’
No offence, but none of us is quite ready for William. I want to see Kate flying like a kite again, for years, not caged and burdened. We need someone sage, stable. I’ll say it again: We don’t need any more change.
I was just starting to enjoy Charles and Camilla, creaking but cracking on. For the first time, I can describe them both as ‘sweet’.
THE Queen is the sort of good egg you want at a time of crisis: not hysterical but matter of fact, a bit brisk, always seeing the funny side. she’s a pin to his balloon and he loves her for it.
And it’s awful to say this but… if you can walk among the gardens at Highgrove, and drink in the view from Birkhall, with the love of your life at last by your side, well, you would never, ever want to leave.
The Duke of sussex was, like the cavalry, on his way. The news he was fastening his seatbelt, doubtless in for a bumpy ride, had me sobbing.
Come, on, Harry: If millions of us who’ve never met your father can feel so strongly for him, surely you can bring him genuine emotional comfort when he needs it most.