VIEWPOINT

Long to rein over us . . .

GEORGE GALE

Over the past years, and more especially the past weeks, I have been reading of the pro- gress of Prince Charles with more than academic interest and increasing disillusion. It seems no time at all that I regarded the princeling's progress with decided hope but I now see, and reluctantly concede, that all the optimism he caused me to feel was en- tirely misplaced. My hope, my illusion, was this: that the House of Hanover become Windsor become or to become Mountbatten out of Battenberg. could in the natural course of events be expected to engender a sprig so unsightly and unsavoury as to produce, first, that healthy but minority republicanism which was one of the few graces of the second half of Victoria's reign, and there- after, second, sometime in our lifetime, the abolition of monarchy and the eradication of honours.

In short, as a realistic republican consider- ing the crass servility of the great British public I pinned my hopes upon the prospect of Prince Charles turning out to be so in- tolerable a future king in the eyes of church- men, cabinet ministers, and the RSPCA, the NSPCC, the Lord's Day Observance Society, the Band of Hope, the majority of Masonic lodges, and so forth, that with one accord they would all suddenly require that the pre- servation of British respectability—the quaintly-named `British way of life'—must take precedence over even royalty, and that the king must go. To Australia, perhaps.

It is now evident even to me that Prince Charles is turning out to be far better at being Prince Charles than I had hoped. Re- publicanism looks like being a lost cause for any future that I can foresee. When recently I mentioned to a friend how dis- appointed I felt at the excellent way Prince Charles was turning out, adding that I reckoned that I had legitimate cause to hope from the Hanoverian-Battenberg-Saxe- Coburgs something altogether worse than we were getting, he remarked with mild sur- prise that he had not realised that I was a fan of the Stuart legitimacy. When I hastily explained that I was no such crank, but was instead a perfectly respectable republican, he said `Why?' and I found myself momentarily at a loss. After quick thought I replied, truthfully, 'I hate horses'.

Horses pulling ploughs make a fine but time-past sight. A few days ago I saw in Victoria Street a man and a fat-faced boy with horse and cart on an any-old-iron round, much like Steptoe's son anti grandson, and looking at them pleased me also, as does the light of gas-lamps. In these parts of the world horses, however, have to all intents and purposes ceased to be useful servants of men. Instead, it's the other way round, man having becoming undoubtedly the noblest friend any horse could hope to have. Having outgrown a childish predilection for pets, I petulantly tolerate two cats because they keep the mice down, and an Alsatian because she is supposed to frighten burglars. I became briefly attached to some goldfish we had in a pond, beautiful silent things, demanding nothing whatever, not even food; but then a heron came and gobbled them all up—and the heron, what's more—a bird ugly in its predatory greed—flew in from a protected bird sanctuary near by, where it and its kind are molly-coddled by grown men.

Horses are much more demanding pets and playthings. Men called boys look after them in places like Newmarket where, as is rightfully the case, the horses are far more regarded than the men called boys who feed them and clothe and anoint them. After all, are not such horses worth far more than such men called boys? Myself, I have no time for horses, foul-toothed at the front and forever farting at the back, and frequently pissing in between. In justice I concede : that their jockeyed antics afford millions the oppor- tunity to lose their money harmlessly and thousands the chance to gain money profit- ably; that the horse has been the subject of some tolerable although overrated paintings, drawings and statutory; that in its role of lover-king to countless girls the horse has presented the parents of those who can afford to mount their daughters upon horses with a little extra time before those daughters are themselves the mounts of boys and men; and

that some of my best friends like horses. Nevertheless and by and large I regard people who like horses as guilty unless proved innocent, and the horsey crowd in particular as the nastiest crowd this country produces with the possible exception of packs of skin- heads hunting Paks, a crowd incidentally with whom, in their fondness for ritualistic clothes and the uttering of shouts and grunts instead of words and the use of the boot or spur, they have much in common. That the Queen manifestly likes horses, and the com-

pany of horses and of horsey people, was proof to me if proof be needed (and I don't suppose I needed much) of her unfitness to rule or preside over a country endeavouring to be civilised.

I dare say my republicanism, originating in a dislike of horses, and maintained more for conversational purposes than any other

(which purposes, incidentally, are by no means to be despised), requires, to be affirmed

in print, more weighty and less personally

offensive justification. I don't see why, but let's pretend. The great defence of the mon-

archy traditionally resides in the proposi- tions, all held to be self-evidently political goods, that the head of state and fount of honour is hereditary rather than elective; that

after the passing of a number of years on the throne its incumbent acquires a depth of

political knowledge and expertise and experi- ience which none of his or her successive prime ministers can hope to possess; and that in time of national political crisis the nation possesses someone above party who can ask whomsoever he or she believes capable of commanding a majority in the House of Commons to form an Administration.

Other propositions in favour of hereditary monarchy have of course been trotted out, but I think most apologists would use some form of the defence outlined above. A few, more sophisticated but less fashionable, might declare : "No defence, no apology is

required. The mona-rchy exists, the Queen is on the throne, Prince Charles is the heir-

apparent, and that is that. If you want to change the status quo, then it is up to you to set about doing so if you can, either by argu- ment or by intrigue. The fact that the Queen likes horses and you don't is neither here nor there. If Caligula had succeeded in making his favourite horse into a consul and had the Romans accepted the situation, that too would have been that.' Quite so, as Mr Maurice Cowling might have observed, and frequently does.

The fact is that so feeble is the life of my republicanism now become that I would not mind even if Prince Charles showed himself to be inordinately fond of horses. Of course no defence of the existing monarchy is re- quired. I have no intention of doing anything whatever to change the status quo. All I will do, and can do, is to declare likes and dislikes, agreements and disagreements. Thus, to elect a head of state would, first, be fun, and, serond, might produce a political counter- weight to the excessively heavyweight power of the Prime Minister. A clever man can learn a lot faster than a foolish one and it seems to me to be an undesirable risk to rely upon ..jhe accumulated knowledge of someone who may be an utter fool upon the throne. An elected head of state would possess, I'd have thought, more useful or usable power to deal with a constitutional crisis than an hereditary one. The traditional defences of monarchy do not impress. But there it is. There she is. There the young master is. Long will they reign, and doubtless rein.