A stalwart who dedicated his life to public service

As far as can be judged, the Duke would have liked to have made it to his century, just weeks away, so that he could have received his very own congratulatory telegram from HM the Queen, or “sausage”, as he liked to call her.

He would also, so to speak, have disliked the fuss people are making of him now. A ceremonial funeral that he would have had a large say in planning he would have accepted, like so much else, as inevitable, given his position. But he would be bemused at the piles of flowers left by people who had never met him.

Had he not fallen into the unusual life he did, and had somehow carried on as a successful officer pursuing a career in the Royal Navy, he would not have been one of those people who dress up in a Union Jack suit waiting outside the Lindo Wing for news of a royal baby, or hang about in the cold outside the church at Sandringham at Christmas for a glimpse of the royals.

It is quite a tribute to him that he put up with some of the stuffy, snooty and ludicrous ways of the royal court for as long as he did: retirement at the age of 96 was a relief, and well deserved.

His was a life lived largely in public, not always comfortably. As a moderniser in the 1960s he was the first royal consort to give a television interview, and the 1969 film The Royal Family was also his idea. At a time when the institution was being mocked for being out of touch and out of date, he hoped that offering its subjects a glimpse of this happy family organising a barbecue and going to the shops would help broaden its appeal. The family apparently later regretted that, and regretted even more the subsequent media intrusion into their often troubled private lives.

As the man who played such a central figure during the role of the reign of Elizabeth II, her support and guide since this handsome naval officer caught her eye, he can take his share of the credit for its continuing popularity, and surviving its many moments of doubt and crisis.

His was a long life of public service, mostly as a sort of chairman of the board of “The Firm”, as he styled the family he had married into so young. It was not his fault, by any means, that some of the younger members of the enterprise let the side down so badly. The transition from the idealised young family of the 1950s to a soap opera was a source of irritation, disappointment and anger in his later years, indeed perhaps even during his very last weeks. It is not clear, though, what he or anyone could have done to stop all that.

Supporting the Queen and the institution, then, was his role, but he wanted to do more, to use his position for some good. This role was one he fashioned for himself, because there is no automatic constitutional position of “prince consort”, and he never formally held such a title in any case. In a way, as he might say, he made it up as he went along, and did his very best, because he had to.

He could aspire to be a modern-day Prince Albert, the closest role model, and be a patron of industry and technology. Although he had no Great Exhibition to organise (and wasn’t even allowed to do much for the Coronation), Philip did indeed take an intense interest in the progress of British companies, particularly exporters. Long before the current infatuation with high-tech projects with global horizons, he supported those industrialists and scientists who were trying to make what we once called “the New Elizabethan Era”, one of equivalent discovery and prosperity.

Characteristically, though his cheerleading could come with a bit of an edge, especially when he became, as so many did, frustrated with the performance of British industry – “get your finger out” was his blunt advice to a generation of complacent managers.

He certainly enjoyed his country sports, but saw no conflict between slaughtering pheasants on one of the family’s many estates and, in his earlier years, the odd tiger in India, and his heading up the World Wildlife Fund. The Duke of Edinburgh’s award scheme for young people also occupied his time, the embodiment of his rugged, almost austere outdoorsy approach to life. The usual ceremonials, royal tours, patronages of venerable institutions, regiments and universities across the Commonwealth, and recreational carriagedriving soaked up much the rest of his energies.

He was hardly flawless, though. The famous gaffes might be excused as attempts by a surprisingly shy man to “break the ice” with people nervous at meeting such a famous face, and not meant unkindly, but they left a certain uncomfortable residue. His private life, according to the rumours, might not have been entirely blameless and he, like his own children and grandchildren, had his own struggles to adjust to a different way of life.

For all his mistakes and faults, he saw it through, and did it, as far as he could, his way.