Royalty's PRO
THE PRESS DONALD McLACHLAN
Any day now we shall be told the name of the new assistant for press relations at Bucking- ham Palace who, I am assured, has some news- paper background. Then Sir Richard Colville will leave after twenty years' service and Bill Heseltine, the thirty-seven year old Australian at present his assistant, takes over. If anyone is tempted to call this the end of an era, I would suggest that the era ended several years ago when the press _realised that the Queen was now middle-aged, that Princess Margaret was settling down, that Charles and Anne must be educated in reasonable privacy and that Colville had been appealing successfully to the Press Council on an average once a year against various kinds of offensiveness. These ranged from the Mirror's public poll on whether Princess Margaret should marry Group-Captain Townsend to the Sketch's story of how a woman reporter had bluffed her way into the Duke of Kent's twenty-first birth- day party at Coppins and the successful brush a year ago with John Gordon. Colville can now look back with an indulgent smile on those hectic days, pointing out how much of the non- sense was due to the struggle between Hickey and Tanfield to take a lead in the gossip busi-- ness; but it was hard going at the time, even if the ordeal did help to blow away a certain stuffiness at court.
When Paymaster Commander Colville was appointed in 1947 by King George Vito create the press job, Time magazine commented to the effect that someone seemed to have mixed up Fleet Street and the Fleet. The pun was wretched but the observation was true : the choice was made because it was under Colville's
father, Admiral Sir Stanley Colville, that the King had served in the Navy. The sailor had to learn about journalists the hard way and made himself, at times, unpopular. He did, how- ever, represent the Royal Family's point of view, which was that they should enjoy 'as much privacy as was compatible with their public duties.' This seems to me better than offering an appeasing smile and a smattering of technical knowledge—which is too often the Whitehall image of a press officer.
Heseltine, his successor, has spent three months with the Melbourne Age learning the ropes in most departments--but has no trace of the appeasing manner. Having been private secretary to Sir Robert Menzies he is probably as wise in the world's ways as most able civil servants of his age. He has ideas about the monarchy's duties in the Commonwealth and regards the journey of Prince Charles to the funeral of Mr Harold Holt in Australia as a notable step in his public and personal develop- ment. Heseltine sees Colville as leaving Palace press relations on a plateau. Critics of the monarchy are less. radical, its defenders are less mystical; newspaper curiosity is less trivial and editors trust each other to observe certain restraints, for example over Prince Charles's life at Gordonstoun and Cambridge. And the Con- sort keeps the Palace in the news by being deliberately provocative on topics which he thinks important.
The Queen, fortunately for her advisers, is an avid and conscientious reader of the national— and when she is travelling of the local—news- papers. Like editors themselves, she undertakes each morning the dreary chore of reading 'the lot,' or ninety per cent of them. One may reasonably guess that the effect over the years is a certain thickening of the skin so far as Fleet Street's darts are concerned. Ten years ago the Mirror headlines on the front page 'Come on, Margaret! Please make up your mind!' and 'For Pete's sake put him out of his misery' gave offence. Whether they would now is matter for speculation, but there appears to be no royal engagement in the offing. Doubtless there are awkward times coming: Princess Anne has to leave school and decide on her next move— a stay abroad, university, a training course, a London season; Prince Charles will have girl friends and whether they attract attention will depend not so much on their discretion as on the modesty of mothers, theatre managers and club and restaurant proprietors.
I sometimes wonder whether the newspaper reporter of today realises how much he is looked after, even spoiled, compared with his predecessors of the 'thirties and 'forties. Access, seating, telephones, summaries of information, even refreshment, are provided so regularly that they are commented on only if there is some fault. This is particularly true of royal functions, of which there are scores each year of varying importance. Colville claims, and I think he is entitled to, that the 'facilities' organ- ised by his office are good and rarely attract complaint. There is sometimes trouble with photographers but not, as I had always under- stood, with the zealots of the Latin American and European glossies, which never lose interest in the Royal Family.
One'famous incident comes back to mind. It occurred at the Chelsea Flower Show in May 1959, when press photographers, standing around a new lawn sprinkler which the Queen and her consort were examining, were suddenly drenched as it went into action. Prince Philip was at the time accused of pressing the sprinkler button but has denied it stoutly ever since. I have written to the person who is suspected of having done the deed in the hope of his owning up after all these years. If he does . . . see this space next week.
Finally, a question for readers anxious to test their awareness of style in Fleet Street. Which journal published the article from _which these representative excerpts are taken :
'The Schiffli Girl! Was it to be known as the star of an embroidery commercial that she had. eaten beans upstate in summer stock? . . . she knew then that she wanted out—or coarser words to that effect . . . Also on hand was the poodle Josephine (who last year met the Duchess of Windso(s pugs) . . . Irving was crazy about the book. It was so funny. But how to hustle it? . . . Nobel was perhaps flying high—ask around some more . . . The yes came from publishing jobber Bernard Geis, a charmer with nine commercial lives . . . and "the guts of a burglar" . . . Irving and Jacqui play the publicity circuit like pin-table addicts watching the flashing lights of each fresh score.'
Those who guessed Playboy, Nova, Woman's Own or Honey were wrong. The correct answer is The Times of 20 January 1968, and those who got it right qualify for the Sir William Haley Memorial Award for Trend-spotters.
Previous page
