‘Royal salute’
Philip Astor pays tribute to his godfather, the Duke of Edinburgh, a man whose lively wit, warm company and endless quest for knowledge he will greatly miss
Like millions of the Queen’s subjects, I was deeply saddened by the recent death of the Duke of Edinburgh, Her Majesty’s ‘strength and stay’ for more than 70 years. I was at least heartened to see that the fulsome tributes and obituaries captured something of the breadth and depth of a man that the media had all too often portrayed as a two-dimensional caricature.
I was fortunate indeed to have known Prince Philip all my life. He and the Queen were friends of my parents, and I have always been proud that he accepted their invitation to be one of my godfathers. So, while honouring His Royal Highness’ lifetime of unprecedented and unwavering service to the Sovereign, the nation and the Commonwealth, I also have much to be grateful for personally. I wouldn’t have told him to his face, but besides admiring him, I was very fond of him. In fact I would go further. For when my father died – far too young – in 1984, I was a mere 25 years of age, and I am sure that, consciously or subconsciously, I used to look around for father figures. Rather presumptuously, I acknowledge, I would certainly have put the Duke of Edinburgh in that select category.
Prince Philip was an unfailingly generous godfather when I was a child. I still have the Bible and prayer book that he gave me as a christening present, albeit a trifle stained following a flood in 1968 that devastated our family home, Hever Castle. His Christmas cards always used to contain a crisp new five-pound note. And to mark my confirmation, he gave me a handsome pair of gold and enamel cufflinks with his distinctive personal cypher of crossed Ps and crown.
But inevitably it was later in my life that I fully came to appreciate this extraordinary man’s personal qualities: his phenomenal energy and enthusiasm, his remarkably inquiring mind, and his readiness, nay eagerness, to engage in a bout of spirited conversation. He was unquestionably one of the best-read people I have ever known. (His library at Buckingham Palace was on two floors, and at the last count contained around 14,500 books.) Goodness knows how many speeches and lectures he delivered during the Queen’s reign, all of which, needless to say, he wrote himself. They bear rereading, for in their perceptiveness and wisdom, many of them have stood the test of time. Certainly, they are notable for the degree of thought that went into their preparation, and the fact that in each case the audience comprised experts in the respective field – be it science, technology or design, to name but a few. By the same token, he participated during the 1980s in a lively and thoughtful exchange of correspondence with a former Dean of Windsor, Michael Mann. In a spirit of friendly dialectic, they explored the relationship between evolution and creationism, and the role and nature of a Christian God. The result, published as A Windsor Correspondence, provides a peculiarly special insight into a side of the Duke of Edinburgh that was rarely seen, namely his profound but ever-questioning sense of spirituality. I don’t think Prince Philip would ever have claimed to be an intellectual or an academic. He never went to university himself, proudly declaring that he owed his ‘allegiance to another of the world’s great fraternities, the fraternity of the sea’. But he had been Chancellor of Cambridge and Edinburgh Universities, among others, and I know for a fact how warmly regarded he was by dons at Cambridge. I have also heard how academics at other institutions quickly learnt not to approach one of his visits too lightly, but rather to be ready for an unexpectedly pertinent
question whizzing out of left field. After all, the combination of his voracious appetite for knowledge and the experiences he derived from his travels to the farthest corners of the Commonwealth made him a fearsome interlocutor. That said, if you were on top of your brief, he seemed not just to accept a challenge, but to relish it.
Thus for all his bluff reputation, he could be very entertaining company; and I have seen women and girls veritably swoon when sitting beside him. Some years ago, I stayed for a shooting weekend with some friends, and my girlfriend at the time – let’s call her Jo – came with me. It was no ordinary weekend, as the Queen and Prince Philip happened to be staying too. Jo, who is an accomplished garden designer and equestrienne, was apprehensive, having never met a member of the Royal Family before. Our visit got off to a slightly shaky start, as Prince Philip was in the entrance hall as we arrived: I naturally bowed, and so Jo bowed too. The Duke, of course, didn’t bat an eyelid. Indeed, he went and got her a Martini, ‘and possibly another’. And when they sat next to each other at dinner, they planned together the layout of a garden that was being proposed at Windsor, using knives and forks and pepper pots. Jo’s abiding memory is that he made her feel relaxed. ‘He was fun; really fun.’
Since 1989 I have been involved in a research and education charity called the Game & Wildlife Conservation Trust, of which His Royal Highness was President or Patron for nigh on 60 years. It is just one of the many, many organisations with which he was associated, but his contribution was incalculable. One of our principal fundraising events used to be a regular reception hosted by our Patron at the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace, where, despite invariably having had a full day of engagements, and with the prospect of a formal dinner to follow, he would circulate among the hundreds of mostly complete strangers, generally chatting and charming. At one of these events, our former chairman, Ian Coghill, remembers bumping into the Patron’s driver, drinking orange juice. As it was now past 10pm and Prince Philip was effectively at home, Ian suggested that he might like a glass of wine. He declined, as he was driving the Duke to Doncaster when the evening finished. ‘Good God,’ said Ian, ‘you won’t be there before one o’clock. He’s over 90. Is the car arranged so he can have a comfortable sleep in the back seat?’ His driver said there was no chance of that. ‘He’ll be sitting in the front seat, chatting all the way. He says he likes to keep me awake.’
The Duke displayed similar vigour on his regular visits to some of the Trust’s research and demonstration projects, when our scientists would be struck by his enlightened curiosity and genuine interest in their work. He would also keep them on their toes, always asking the key questions. As Ian put it: ‘He was adept at the essential skill of spotting any practical weaknesses, which is what the very best critical friends do to help an organisation succeed.’
After all, His Royal Highness knew whereof he spoke in the world of conservation. Quite apart from the global initiatives he led through his long-standing involvement with the World Wildlife Fund, he achieved significant successes
EXPERIENCES HE DERIVED FROM HIS TRAVELS TO THE FARTHEST CORNERS OF THE COMMONWEALTH MADE HIM A FEARSOME INTERLOCUTOR
closer to home. At Sandringham, for example, thanks to the practical management and establishment of suitable habitats that he oversaw, the estate witnessed a truly stunning recovery of wild grey partridges, one of our most endangered farmland species. Pairs increased from 99 pairs in 2001 to over 2,500 pairs in 2011, with densities comparable to those seen in the 1950s, but achieved within a modern agricultural environment.
It is against this background of commitment and endeavour that I have always been irked by the emphasis that was so often placed on Prince Philip’s occasional gaffes. If one thinks of the sheer number of people he must have met in countless presentation lines over the years (remember, he undertook more than 22,000 engagements on his own between 1952 and his retirement from Royal duties in
August 2017), it is remarkable that it was always the same handful of indiscretions that would get trotted out. In fact, of course, these will have arisen from his wellintentioned desire to put people at their ease with a light-hearted quip or bit of banter. I also prefer to see such exchanges in the context of his ceaseless spirit of inquiry. As one of his former private secretaries, the late Sir Miles Hunt-davis, tellingly put it: ‘He’s always the one looking behind the door. A closed door is always an invitation to be opened – mentally and physically. Make a statement about something and he will come back with: “Why? When? Really? How do you do it?”’
It is not a big step from such a mindset to the principles espoused by the legendary award scheme that will forever carry his name: self-discovery, involvement in the community and a developing understanding of the world around us. I never took part in the Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme myself, but I do hope that some of my godfather’s values have rubbed off simply by association. Certainly, he was always interested in how my own career was progressing, although I did once have to ask him to stop addressing me on envelopes as a QC – a status I was never going to attain when I was practising as a barrister.
But I like to think that it indicated a degree of respect on his part, to match my own admiration for him. That, I should say, never quite extended as far as the islanders of Tanna, the Commonwealth island in the South Pacific, who famously worshipped His Royal Highness as a god. I did agree, though, with a generous charity supporter who was so impressed by the opinions that Prince Philip expressed at a small lunch I’d organised that he whispered in my ear that our Patron jolly well ought to have been Prime Minister. Unfortunately, of course, his career had taken a different course, but I would wager that his imaginative and steadfast contribution to our national life will long outlast the ephemeral achievements of even the most astute politician. So while other members of the Royal Family are addressed as plain Sir, in my own mind, and in my memory, the Duke of Edinburgh will always be Supersir.