How a baby girl pushed politics off the front pages
SO MUCH for the convention that the British monarchy keeps a low profile when an election is under way. A single sentence from Kensington Palace at 11.08am on Saturday morning was all it took to eclipse the entire political process – and stick a genuine smile on British faces.
Britain, and 15 other countries for that matter, had a new princess.
Just hours later, she was on her way home with her euphoric parents. And with that happy, unspun, straightforward result – the politicians were duly blasted off the front pages and evening bulletins across the UK.
Economic plans? Coalition prospects? Who cared? Kensington Palace had its longed-for little girl, and Kate and William had finally become what the baby’s great, great-grandfather, King George VI, used to call ‘We Four’ – otherwise known as an average, nuclear family of Mum, Dad and two kids.
Not that there was very much about this day of giddy mayhem which could possibly be described as average.
After all, how often do you see thousands of people queuing behind police barriers for half an hour t o photograph a gynaecologist’s signature?
In fact, Kate and William had done their best to minimise the fuss. It’s just not very easy when you and your scrumptious new poppet in a bonnet are the global news story of the moment.
And it all began shortly before dawn on Saturday morning.
As with her previous pregnancy, Kate had gone a week beyond her due date, reliably reported as April 25. But anyone talking about a ‘Great Kate Wait’ was soon tearing up that script once she had gone into labour. This was more like the Cath Dash.
The 2013 arrival of Prince George had involved a month-long media circus on the steps of St Mary’s Hospital and a 36-hour stay inside. This weekend’s arrival of the new fourth-in-line to the throne was compressed
into just 12 hours from start to finish. The labour itself took less time than the average Royal Variety Show.
Events were moving at such a frantic pace that, at one point, palace officials were unable to advise international newscasters whether they had sufficient time to abandon their posts for a coffee and a call of nature. Kate had been admitted in the early stages of labour at 6am, a fact announced via email and Twitter at 6.35am. It was only at this pre-agreed moment that the vast, stainless steel cattle pens opposite the front door of the hospital’s Lindo Wing would be opened up and the external operation would begin.
A ballot had already been held to allocate camera positions. The idea was to avoid the sort of Wild West punch-ups which preceded the appearance of Prince George in July 2013. And it worked.
First out of the traps was the BBC’s Nicholas Witchell. Just two minutes after the alert, the doyen of royal occasions was in position and broadcasting the news to Britain’s early birds.
Cue much flapping on the park benches by the main hospital entrance where the handful of diehard royal-watchers had now been camping for almost a fortnight. Time to clamber out of Union Jack pyjamas and into Union Jack suits, dresses and hats.
At long last, these ultra-royalists could think about packing up. For all the supposed glamour of the Lindo Wing, it sits on a grimy, unflashy back street around the corner from Paddington Station.
Built in 1937, its first celebrity patient was not a pregnant member of the royal family
but Labour prime minister Clement Attlee, who came here for an NHS operation in 1951. With the A&E unit next door, it’s never quiet.
A consensus soon emerged among the (mostly male) media hastily convening behind the barriers. This pregnancy was just like the last one. Kate had been a week overdue with her first child. She had gone into labour at exactly the same time of day. So, presumably, the baby would come at teatime just like last time. Obvious.
Except, as every mother knows, babies are not so predictable. By 8.34am, it was already over. The royal family had its first front-ranking princess in the direct line of succession for 65 years.
After all the normal medical checks and tests, the plan was to inform the queen, the grandparents and the immediate members of the family, including Prince Harry in Australia.
The rest of the world was informed at 11.08am in a blend of ancient and modern – a digital announcement couched in centuriesold language: ‘Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Cambridge was safely delivered of a daughter at 8.34am.’
Only a royal delivery would get this kind of announcement. And only royalty could expect to receive a town crier straight afterwards. Self- styled ‘royal town crier’ Tony Appleton suddenly popped up in red robes and feathered hat clanging his bell and waving a letter of approval from the palace.
Many news crews happily assumed that this was all part of the protocol. In fact, that t r adition died out many years ago,
certainly long before another ritual of royal births – the presence of the British home secretary to testify that the baby was the real thing.
So, at least Kate was spared a visit from Theresa May, even if she still received the full ‘Oyez! Oyez!’ treatment beneath the window.
For genuine royal pageantry, we had to travel across London to Buckingham Palace where the formal announcement was due to go on display once Changing the Guard was over. News had clearly reached the Band of the Welsh Guards, who marched on playing Cliff Richard’s Congratulations.
Afterwards, two footmen, George Oates and Simon Garnett, strode out across the forecourt carrying the famous royal easel.
This spends most of the time propping up pie charts and balance sheets at conference meetings in the palace’s Chinese Drawing Room. But when there’s a royal birth, it performs a similar role to white smoke over the Vatican.
Next came the official birth statement signed by surgeon gynaecologist Guy Thorpe-Beeston, and other members of the royal medical team.
A cheering crowd, 20- deep in places, then formed an orderly queue.
Back at the hospital, thoughts turned to the possibility of visitors. Come teatime, the hospital doors swung open as Proud Dad appeared in blue cords, open shirt and blue pullover. How was he feeling? ‘Very happy, very happy,’ Prince William assured us as he climbed behind the wheel of a Range Rover. ‘ I’m just going to pick up George.’
Action stations. Prince George had not actually appeared in public in Britain since he himself left this hospital in 2013. Now he was on his way.
Half an hour later, the Range Rover was back. William opened the rear door, unstrapped his son and lowered him on to the pavement. Beautifully dressed in blue – blue shorts, socks, shoes and cardigan – the poor little fellow was not madly keen on walking towards the strange, goggle-eyed monster that was the camera grandstand across the road.
Prince William picked him up in one hand and waved with the other, and Prince George followed his example. Dad responded with an instinctive, spontaneous kiss. Enchanting stuff. You could hear the ‘aahs’ from Adelaide to Oslo. If he wasn’t careful, the third in line to the British throne might walk off with the cuteness trophy on his little sister’s big day.
WE HAVE no knowledge of that historic first meeting between heir and spare. Soon afterwards, however, Prince George was taken home, via a back door, for bath and bed. Inside the Lindo Wing, his parents were preparing to leave through the front door with little sister.
Once again, Kate and William had been keen to minimise the sort of chaos which accompanied Prince George’s departure in 2013. Back then, hospital staff had come pouring out to line the pavements while a microphone had been placed in the road to hear questions and answers.
Not so this time. With a few minutes’ notice, the couple emerged at 6.10pm, Kate confidently holding her well-swaddled angel.
Mother and father smiled and waved in every direction for two minutes; even patients way up on the upper floors over the road got a wave. However, the new princess snoozed through it all, safely insulated from the rather chilly evening with her gorgeous hand- knitted bonnet.
There were no words to the crowds, but then no one managed to yell a question above the screams and the rat-a-tat of camera shutters.
No words were needed, of course. Exhausted she might have been but Kate appeared far more radiant and far less frazzled than most of the onlookers who had been here all day. And Prince William, with a protective arm around his beautiful wife, looked like a man truly fulfilled.
The couple retreated briefly to say their goodbyes and get their little girl ready for her first journey. The modern car seat can be a challenge for the most confident father but this model presented no problems for Wills. With almost nonchalant ease he slotted it in to the back seat, alongside Kate.
And with a final wave, they were off, more than happy to relinquish both the stage and the spotlight to the politicians once more.