ENGLISHNESS AND THE PRINCESS
Brian Masters denies that Diana's death has brought the kind of paroxysms he has seen in the United States
I AM still haunted by one abiding memory of the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales. It is the palpable, pregnant sound of silence. For the whole of the two-hour pro- cession from Kensington Palace to West- minster Abbey, one heard the slow turning of the gun-carriage wheels on the London road, the soft tread of the eight soldiers escorting it, and the astonishingly sad tolling of the Abbey's one bell on the stroke of each minute, the only sound, it seemed, beneath the heavens. Nothing else. Thousands of people lined the route, yet they were as quiet as a shelf-load of books.
Then again, on the last journey through north London and up the motorway to the Spencer family home at Althorp, thou- sands of people watched the coffin pass. They threw mountains of flowers on the bonnet of the hearse and strewed them in its path, yet they did not wail, shriek or shout Diana's name. There was applause, but it was eerily subdued. It began as soon as the hearse left Westminster Abbey and turned into Parliament Square, and it con- tinued along all the many miles which fol- lowed. The last time I heard applause like this was at a cricket match 40 years ago, before enthusiasm spoilt the sport. It was quiet, respectful applause, the hands held low, not raised in celebration, and simply said, 'Well done, Diana. Thank you. You were appreciated. You will be missed.' So tense and hard to bear was this untested grief that policemen in uniform wiped tears from their eyes as the signifi- cance of it struck home. I mention all this less than one year after the event, because I am still shocked by the suggestion that the response to the princess's death was 'hysterical', or some- how 'not English'. The Archbishop of York, David Hope, has been quoted in the Sunday Times as expressing concern at the t growing up around her memory', and adding, 'We should be careful that she is not worshipped . . . there is some element of wallowing in her death.' This idea is generally traceable to those newspapers which failed to predict the level of anguish and, when faced with it, failed to under- stand it. The hysterical reaction is one which is commonplace in the United States of America and which is thought to be seep- ing its way into English life, as most things American eventually do. In America you are not really suffering until you have 'con- fessed' your hurt and paraded it gladly and proudly before the rest of the population. Grief is not grief until it is displayed before a camera. I have myself seen this in operation, at a murder trial when the sis- ters of the killer's victim were talking quite happily and sensibly to me, but then exploded on cue into paroxysms of pain when the television cameras asked them how they felt. They knew that hysteria was expected, and so they delivered it. It was fraudulent.
There was nothing hysterical about the laying of oceans of flowers and messages outside Diana's London home. People coming from all over London, in many cases from far corners of England, with their little cheap bouquets, had not been told to do so by cameramen. They were spontaneous and they were dignified. Still less hysterical was the queue outside St James's Palace to sign the Book of Condo- lence. People waited for up to ten hours, day and night, to write something. Hysteria is over in minutes, if not seconds — it does not linger in quiet contemplation for sever- al hours. In that queue one night I saw businessmen in their suits carrying lap-top computers, women with their shopping, teenage boys who should have been playing football or making a nuisance of them- selves instead of waiting in line to say goodbye to somebody whom they did not know. It was extraordinarily impressive.
Was it also excessive? Yes, of course, because the event itself — the grisly death of a beautiful and decent young woman was itself excessive. The English way is not, as is commonly believed, to show restraint to the point of paralysis, any more than it is to tear one's emotional flesh like an Amer- ican. It is (and I can only hope this does not sound self-satisfied) to be honest. It was honesty which prompted the flowers and the queue and the friendly applause, an honesty which the English have always held as a precious identity which reveals itself in times of crisis and demand. And it was because the tabloid newspapers and their ignorant editors had no conception of this honesty that its expression took them by surprise. Later, they turned upon it and called it hysterical.
What shook them was that it happened despite their right to dictate. These news- papers are used to deciding what is `public opinion'. Now and again, the public tells them they are wrong. For years the papers had been churning out rubbish about the Princess of Wales's holidays, her flirtations, her expensive habits, her clothes, her exer- cising and eating in restaurants, trying hard to bring her down to the level of a second- rate film star, ignoring the decency of the woman and her attempt to use her position to do something worthwhile. Because peo- ple bought the newspapers, their editors thought they had got it right, as they always had. This time, the public told them they had always got it wrong about Diana. The editors thought she was an empty-headed clothes horse; the public saw beyond what they were told and recognised her to be a good and cherishable human being. Their response to the funeral told the editors that they had never been taken seriously, and that the latent honesty of the English way will always win through. The editors were left panting and following, learning from the public. They were, in short, humiliated.
It has happened before, and doubtless will happen again. The English way is sub- tly subterranean, not furtive or deceitful, but trumpetless. Solid and secure, it does not ache to manifest itself. When the occa- sion calls, however, the English public will show the newspapers where truth is. The funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, was one such occasion.
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