On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary (15 page)

‘Why don’t we take the Princess back to Kensington Palace and begin from there?’ he suggested. ‘We could take Her Royal Highness home for one last night on the eve of the funeral. By starting from there, we would extend the route by more than two miles.’

The police commissioner agreed at once, as did we. If workable, Michael’s idea would spread the influx of people coming into London enormously, both easing the pressure on resources and giving many more people the opportunity to see the procession pass by. All we needed to do now was recce it.

That afternoon, four of us set off under the warm September sunshine to walk the route. Joining me were Lt. Col. Anthony Mather, the Assistant Comptroller in the Lord Chamberlain’s office, the London District Garrison Sergeant Major, Alan ‘Perry’ Mason and the King’s Troop CO.

The key point we needed to establish was whether the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery’s gun carriage, which would be carrying the casket, could negotiate the 90 degree turns along the way. The first hurdle was the turning circle outside the Princess’s apartment, and we were all relieved to find that it was manageable. After that it was simply a matter of ticking boxes at the pillared entrance to Kensington Palace, the turning into Kensington Road, and finally the turning circle into Kensington Gardens at Queens Gate, just down the road from the Royal Albert Hall.

Having confirmed them all as untroublesome, we walked the rest of the route back to the Palace in open road. Upon our return to the office, we reported our findings to the Lord Chamberlain and the Comptroller, Lt. Colonel Malcolm Ross. All that remained now was for Lord Airlie to present the proposal to the Queen. A suggestion of this nature would normally take the form
of a written note, but given the urgency, a telephone call had to suffice. Within half an hour, we had royal approval.

Given the strain already placed on their resources, I knew the latest developments would not go down brilliantly with the television networks (the BBC, ITV and SKY), but I called a priority briefing for seven o’clock that evening to break the news. The extended route was going to present a challenge, but one to which they would all have to rise.

Crammed into the office was a mixed bunch of outside broadcasters and producers, heads of events, and resources organisers – all of whom, I knew, were going to have their abilities tested to the full.

‘I have good news and bad news,’ I began. ‘The good news is that the route I gave you on Monday is fixed. The bad news is that we have now doubled the length of it.’

Their reaction was reassuringly calm and impassive, but I knew that they were all mentally calculating whether they had the means to cover the extension. They had already stretched themselves by deciding to cover the entire route from Westminster Abbey in London to Althorp in Northamptonshire – a massive undertaking in itself. Now I had placed an added burden upon their already overextended resources.

The beginning of September, and therefore the end of the school summer holidays, is not an ideal period for an unplanned outside broadcast at the best of times. In this extraordinary situation, it was a challenge indeed, and the networks knew that they would have to pool their resources, a measure which had never been done before.

Knowing that they probably loathed the very idea of it, I left the briefing trusting that they would co-operate with each other. Camera placement was their remaining headache, now that the route had been extended. They had three days left to get everything set. I could only hope the pool would work

At the office, time was of the essence. In personal terms, it seemed non-existent. But as I worked flat out, I was ever conscious of the little voice niggling in my ear, reminding me of the person for whom I was doing all of this.

On Wednesday afternoon, I managed to find a moment to step off the treadmill and spend a brief respite reflecting on the previous few days. It had been four days since my pager had awoken me with the initial news – four of the longest and most intense days of my working life. Through it all, with the exception of the brief few hours at RAF Northholt, I had pushed all personal thoughts of Diana to the back of my mind. There really was no other way to proceed. But now that I had a little window of personal time available, I decided that I wanted to spend it with my former principal. It was 3pm when I left the office and made the short walk down the Mall to the Chapel Royal.

Located in St James’s Palace, the Chapel Royal was commissioned by Henry VIII in 1531. While it might look insignificant from the outside, inside it is positively breathtaking. The Chapel contains several magnificent stained glass windows, and its ceiling was decorated in 1540 by the artist Hans Holbein, in honour of the King’s short-lived fourth marriage to Anne of Cleves.

Kings and queens have been associated with the Chapel ever since. Mary Tudor’s heart was buried beneath chancel step in 1558; Elizabeth I prayed there for the defense of the realm against the threat of the Spanish Armada in 1588; Charles I received Holy Communion in the Gatehouse adjoining the Chapel Royal before his execution in Whitehall in 1649 and Queen Victoria married Prince Albert there in 1840. More recently, the former Catherine Middleton was confirmed there prior to her wedding in 2011, and Prince George of Cambridge was christened amidst its hallowed walls.

In addition to the beautiful decoration and a wealth of royal history, music has long been a feature of the Chapel. Several famous composers have served as organists, including Thomas Tallis (from 1543) and Henry Purcell (from 1682). Perhaps its most famous organist was George Frideric Handel (from 1723), composer of
Zadok the Priest,
which has been sung at every coronation since the reign of George II in 1727.

The Chapel Royal is only open to the public during worship services, so on that afternoon, as with every day leading up to the funeral, it provided a place of and peace and solitude away from the public eye. It had been a trying few days, but once inside the Chapel my every emotion came to the forefront. While I had hoped for a sense of peace, it was anger that I felt most prominently upon seeing the casket resting before the altar, draped in the Royal Standard. I was angry that I should be there at all.

We all knew about the chase by the paparazzi that had led to Diana’s untimely death, about how fast the car
had reportedly been travelling, how Dodi Fayed had been killed on impact and how Diana had later passed away, not long after her arrival at the hospital. By extension, I also knew how different things might have been – almost certainly
would
have been – if she had just done the one thing she had always advocated – fastened her seatbelt.

I felt angry because I remembered how meticulous the Princess had always been about getting in her car and belting up. She had also always been unfailingly vocal about making sure those of us who worked for her did the same.

‘Why, Ma’am?’ I asked her aloud. ‘Why didn’t you put on your seatbelt? How could you have been so stupid?’

I was angry with the driver and her bodyguard. Why had neither of them insisted she put on her seatbelt? I knew that the events in Paris had escalated very quickly, but I still couldn’t understand why no-one had pressed the point; it was such an automatic thing to do.

I must have vented my anger for at least half an hour. ‘Why, Ma’am?’ I kept asking over and over, feeling the rush of sorrow building inside me for such a terrible waste of a young life…and at a time when it was just becoming whole again. In hindsight I suppose my anger was just a way of bringing my own grief to the surface; I had been so wrapped up in media arrangements that I had been like an automaton since the news broke. Now, sitting in the Chapel with her, I felt all too human.

I got up and turned to leave, knowing that I would be back. There was still more I wanted to say to her, and I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

I
left my apartment at 5am to walk in Kensington Gardens and get my mind set for the long day ahead. It was the first time I had returned to the park since Sunday, four days prior, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. While at home, I couldn’t help but hear the constant buzz of people and smell the scent of flowers drifting over the wall.

I got my first look at the scene as dawn broke on another warm and windless late summer morning. There were signs that tents had been set up overnight. People continued to mill around, placing flowers on the ever-growing floral carpet. Others knelt to read the messages that were tied to bouquets or pinned onto cuddly toys. As had been the case since the day of the accident, an air of calm and peace prevailed.

No-one felt the need to hide their grief. As un-British as it seemed, men, women and children alike exhibited a comfort in sharing their emotions. I came away feeling drained and the day had only just begun.

The weather broke that day, though the scattered rain showers did little to reduce the numbers in the streets. The flowers and other tributes continued to pile up outside Kensington and Buckingham Palaces, forming drifts that would soon become outright hills.

Behind closed doors, there were more prosaic questions to be answered. With Diana’s press secretary Geoff Crawford about to return from his holiday in Australia, it was time to run through the arrangements already put into place, and troubleshoot those that were not.

Aside from my having to intervene between press and police in the matter of a cherry picker, the media arrangements were all going to plan. The PR situation, however, was not.

We were under siege, and everyone knew it. Flak from the media was coming thick and fast with demands as to why no member of the Royal Family had so much as gone to pay their respects to the Princess at the Chapel Royal. Moreover, reporters were demanding to know why no-one had gone to sign the books of condolence.

The books had taken on a life all their own. We had already had to provide far more than we had initially accounted for. By Wednesday, the queues to sign them had become outlandish – the average waiting time exceeding eight hours.

This wasn’t due to poor planning, but rather the fact that people seemingly weren’t satisfied with merely signing the books. Having made the trip, from hundreds of miles away in many cases, and having queued for so long, they wanted to linger and take the time to write their feelings
about the Princess. Had they met her personally, they often wrote about the circumstance. If not, they simply wanted to share with other mourners how Diana had impacted their lives. This was also a chance to become part of an important moment in history, so the numbers were not surprising.

In response, we produced yet more books of condolence, and soon managed to reduce wait times to a more reasonable three hours or so. Voluntary service was also drafted in to provide refreshments for those waiting.

As indeed no-one from the Royal Family had yet gone to sign the books, we were skating on thin ice from a PR standpoint. I decided to take initiative. Knowing that Prince Edward was currently staying at the Palace, and would probably be going to his office at some point, I decided to give him an early call.

‘Good morning, Sir. Are you going to work today? Because if you are, I suggest that you stop off and look at the books of condolence in St James’ Palace.’

‘Er…I’m not sure,’ he replied, doubtfully. ‘I’ve got various things I have to do…’

This was no time for umming and ahhing. I held firm.

‘I’m sorry, Sir, but we are getting a lot of flak from the media. We’re fed up of being beaten up by them, frankly, and we need someone to be seen going in there.’

‘Ah…but
will
anyone see me?’ he asked.

At that point there were more cameras in place around the royal palaces than ever before. ‘No need to worry about that,’ I said. ‘You will
definitely
be seen.’

I arranged to take him down there personally, after which time he could immediately return to work.

I assumed that the matter was settled, but 20 minutes later the Prince was back on the phone.

‘Just to let you know, I’m not going down now, okay? I’m going with the Duke of York later on this afternoon instead.’

I mentally counted to ten, then replied, ‘can we have a chat?’

Or a big chat, if it proved necessary. It would be such a small gesture to correct such a huge negative groundswell. How difficult could it be to understand that? I quickly primed my colleague, Penny, to be at my side when I confronted Prince Edward. I didn’t need her to say anything; I just wanted her to be there.

The Prince appeared five minutes later.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said to him. ‘What exactly is the problem?’

‘There’s not a problem. I’m just going with the Duke of York this afternoon, that’s all.’

As I couldn’t very well drag him by the hand, I suggested again that he should go that morning.

He blinked, taken aback, but thankfully didn’t argue the point. I accompanied him to St James’s Palace 30 minutes later.

By day’s end, Prince Edward had been to look at the books twice, once accompanied by me, and again later that afternoon alongside the Duke of York. My guess was that his reluctance had been based on fear. No-one with
access to the media that week could have failed to be aware of the hostility that was brewing, and I’m sure that Prince Edward was anxious about the reaction he might receive.

I could understand this, but we simply could not afford any reticence. No doubt Prince Andrew felt the same way as his brother. In the end, they needn’t have worried. Both the waiting crowd and the press were unfailingly polite toward each of the Princes.

In readiness for the transfer of the Princess’s casket to Kensington Palace from the Chapel Royal, we set a cut-off time of 6pm, on Friday 5
^th
September, for those wishing to sign the books.

The Church House media briefing that I had set up on the Monday took place at lunchtime that Thursday, with over 600 in attendance. By now I knew that press secretary Geoff Crawford had been given the go-ahead to make a statement explaining the Queen’s decision to remain at Balmoral with the rest of the family, including Princes William and Harry. While the text was being prepared, I went over to the media park at Canada Gate to ready the broadcasters for Geoff’s address to camera.

Everyone was keen for the statement to go out in time for the lunchtime news bulletins. As it was still being written during ITV’s 12:30 lunchtime news, it was the BBC and SKY News – whose lunchtime bulletins didn’t go out until 1pm – that got the jump. ITN pressed Geoff for more information, tossing out a few questions, but Geoff stuck diligently to the text. The broadcast was a first, as no member of the Royal Household had ever
made a live statement on behalf of the Palace to the press in this manner before. To my knowledge, it has not happened since.

A decision on the flag issue, with the Queen’s approval, had been reached at long last. We informed the press that when Her Majesty left the Palace for the funeral service at Westminster Abbey, the Royal Standard would be replaced by the Union Flag at half-mast – a landmark occurrence.

We were also now able confirm that the Queen would return to London from Balmoral the following day, Friday, the eve of the funeral. Given the negative press coverage of late, we could only guess at the sort of welcome Her Majesty could expect upon her arrival.

It was the young Princes, then 15 and 12, who first had to face the scrutiny of the watching world. They arrived back in London that afternoon. Along with their father, they paid a visit to Kensington Palace, seeing in person for the first time the blanket of flowers covering the area, and speaking with a number of the gathered mourners.

There is a royal adage of unknown origin that reads:
You don’t wear private grief on a public sleeve
. In my many years of working for ‘the firm’, I had seen it put into practice on many occasions, but perhaps never so poignantly as on that afternoon. Watching the spontaneous walkabout on the television in the Buckingham Palace press office, I could only marvel at the composure displayed by William and Harry, even as all around them the public wept and wailed.

While such a demonstration of integrity indicated that they would be strong enough to make the long
walk expected of them come Saturday, it also served as a sobering reminder that in the midst of this global event, there were two bereft and broken-hearted boys.

The day began with what would be the last Lord Chamberlain’s meeting. With little more than 24 hours left before the funeral, there was still a great deal to be done logistically, and the imminent arrival of Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh meant a whole new set of additional concerns.

Initial considerations involved the short walkabout they would be undertaking (to St James’s Palace to look at the books of condolence), as well as their return by royal car to Buckingham Palace, where they would view the mountain of flowers that had collected outside the gates and meet a few of those who had come to pay their respects.

It was a trying time for the broadcasters. Having commandeered additional equipment and personnel from all regions, they were now struggling for position along the extended route, all the while fearful of missing their deadline. For me, this meant a great deal of troubleshooting and responding to an endless stream of queries, requests and snags. I sent countless faxes; my mobile phone scarcely left my ear and my pager was like a small jittery animal in my pocket.

Understandably, it was a day of quibbles. As the cameramen jockeyed for position, owners and tenants of private apartments along the route wanted confirmation
from the press office that the arriving broadcasters were authorized.

We had already scaled back the number of cameras that would be allowed inside the Abbey, conscious that every family had a right to attend a loved one’s funeral without the intrusion of long lenses capturing its grief. But the privacy issue extended outside the Abbey as well. The Royal Parks, which was against allowing broadcast vehicles into Hyde Park, maintained that the post-Abbey drive should be private. I argued that an open drive through the streets of London could hardly be deemed private in any sense.

With some reluctance, DCMS and Royal Parks stood down, agreeing to allow broadcast vehicles into Hyde Park to ensure uninterrupted television coverage.

The Queen was scheduled to go on television at 6pm to deliver her personal tribute to the Princess. The BBC was selected as the pool broadcaster for the address and immediately narrowed the possible locations down to two – the Belgian Suite or the Centre Room.

To my mind, both suggestions were non-starters. Geoff and I had already decided the broadcast should go out from the Chinese Dining Room, with the French doors open and the public activity beyond serving as a backdrop.

The BBC’s Philip Gilbert initially resisted our recommendation, citing concerns of the ambient noise, but he eventually came around and accepted that it was the perfect setting.

Her Majesty’s televised tribute would be another royal first, as she had never addressed the nation in this manner
before. None of us doubted for a moment that she would perform flawlessly.

Neither the Queen nor the Duke of Edinburgh blamed one party over the other for the collapse of the Waleses marriage. They believed both Charles and Diana were equally at fault.

They were especially saddened by the demise as, contrary to popular belief, they were both very fond of Diana. In her public address on the eve of the funeral, the Queen expressed her depth of feeling when she spoke from the heart saying:

‘She was an exceptional and gifted human being. In good times and in bad, she never lost her capacity to smile and laugh, nor inspire others with her warmth and kindness. I admired and respected her for her energy and commitment to others, and especially for her devotion to her two boys. I share in your determination to cherish her memory.’

Amidst all of the day’s madness, I made sure to find time to attend to some unfinished business from earlier in the week.

Professionally, the Princess had obviously been on my mind throughout, but I had risen that morning thinking of her on a personal level as well.

I walked over to the Chapel Royal and found to my good fortune that there wasn’t anyone around.

The anger I had felt on my previous visit had left me. As I stood beside the casket for the second time, my fingertips lightly resting on the fabric of the Royal Standard, I felt nothing but warmth and affection for the
woman I had known. I talked to her about the good times we’d had over the years – my wonderful 50
^th
Birthday lunch, all the Royal tours, the jokes and silly games.

I thought about the times she wouldn’t speak to me for a couple of weeks because I’d negated one of her suggestions, how she would later phone me for a favor only to hear me say, ‘Are we talking again, then?’

She would giggle, and just like that I would be back at her bidding.

In the quiet of the Chapel Royal, I thanked her for being so incredibly kind to my daughter, both in person and once she had left to begin her studies in the USA. I thanked her for the notes she’d written to Victoria from time to time, asking how she was getting on.

I admitted that I’d given Victoria my ticket to the funeral, stating that, as ever, I’d be tied up in the press office, mobile phone in hand, troubleshooting.

‘Would that be alright, Ma’am?’ I asked her. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

Something told me she would probably approve.

I don’t know how long I spent with her, certainly not more than 40 minutes. What I do know is that when I was done, I had talked myself out. I placed a hand fully atop the casket and rested it there a moment in a final farewell.