When Prince Charles survived the attack of the angry anoraks
ONe of the abiding mysteries of royal life surrounds the fate of gifts to the Queen. Not the big-ticket items — we all see what happens to diamonds and Old Masters presented by potentates — but the lesser tributes, given with heartfelt loyalty by ordinary subjects.
What, for instance, became of the oak Welsh dresser bought with funds subscribed by the ladies of Meirionnydd in Snowdonia and sent to Her Majesty as a wedding present in 1947? You might suppose this lovely, hand- carved piece of furniture ended up in a stockroom at Windsor Palace, or in the front room of a retired footman’s cottage in Sandringham grounds.
In fact, as we discovered in Charles: 50 Years A Prince (ITV), that dresser enjoys a rather grander setting — with pride of place at the farmhouse retreat of the monarch’s eldest son, in the foothills of the Brecon Beacons.
Any Meirionnydd ladies watching (and I suspect there were quite a few) must have been thrilled.
The chance to peek inside Llwynywermod, the haven Charles and Camilla have quietly created for themselves, was genuinely unexpected. Like many viewers, I’ve explored the gardens of the Prince’s official residence at
Highgrove in Gloucestershire with great interest, but I’d no idea the couple had this place tucked away in Carmarthenshire.
The meadows and gardens around the house, which was nearly derelict when Charles bought it more than a decade ago, are a blaze of wildflowers — planted, the Prince said, especially to attract insects. We were not told whether there are beehives, but if there are I bet the honey is good.
Surveying his orchard of saplings, he mused: ‘It’s beginning suddenly to look more as it should. I hope I’ve done a bit for this tiny corner of Wales to enhance it.’
The first half of the programme contrasted grimly. It outlined the Welsh nationalist resistance to the royals at Charles’s investiture as Prince of Wales at Caernarfon Castle in 1969, and the demonstrations that accompanied the ceremony.
At one moment, cameras caught the reaction of the royal Family during the pageant, when a bomb detonated beyond the castle walls. The explosion sounded like cannon-fire. Princess Margaret threw an urgent look of alarm at her husband beside her, while the Queen Mum stiffened and adopted a serene pose, as though she was sitting for her portrait.
Two people died in the blast, killed by their own bomb. The rest of the protesters were rounded up, and a plot to kill the 21-year-old Prince with a sniper’s bullet was foiled. One exdetective explained it was easy to spot a nationalist, by the drabness of his anorak.
There was nothing drab about Inside The Supermarket (BBC1), the first of six protracted adverts for Sainsbury’s in primetime. Most of the hour focused on sales of a rose dipped in ink and a birthday cake being massproduced for in-store cafes.
So much for the Beeb’s policy of never promoting brand-names. Once, Blue Peter presenters were hauled over coals if they said ‘Sellotape’ instead of sticky tape, but now entire series are devoted to High Street giants. references to rival stores made them sound like enemy forces.
Still, it made the show fractionally more interesting, to imagine that President Kim Jong 10p of the People’s republic of Asdaprice was planning a brutal takeover, to subjugate the happy folk of Sainsburyworld.
Otherwise, we were left looking at a junior manager fussing over the cellophane around bunches of carnations. And that, believe me, was less appealing than an anarchist’s anorak.