DIARY
ALEXANDER CHANCELLOR Acouple of weeks ago,' practically every national newspaper reported as fact that the Princess of Wales would continue to be called Her Royal Highness after her divorce from Prince Charles. Every news- paper, it turned out, was wrong. I was just as wrong as everybody else. I was persuad- ed of the accuracy of these reports when I was told by someone close to the royal fam- ily that there was no question of her losing her HRH because without it she would have to curtsey to Princess Michael of Kent. That, obviously, was inconceivable. I required no further convincing. Then, last weekend, when the divorce settlement was announced, it was revealed that the Princess would be de-highnessed after all. This raised a number of perplexing ques- tions. First, why did the press get it wrong? I don't know the answer to that, but I sus- pect that they had good reason at the time to believe that what they wrote was true. At the beginning of the divorce battle, it was reported that the Princess was quite willing to give up her highnesship. So nobody had been expecting her to keep it. The newspa- pers would not have suddenly sprung the opposite news upon their readers if they hadn't got it on what they believed to be good authority. So why, if I am right about that, did the Queen change her mind possibly twice? We learn from Jonathan Dimbleby, who ought to know, that Prince Charles didn't care whether his ex-wife remained a highness or not. It seemed that the Princess didn't care much, either. If the Queen cared, as she surely must have, the reasons remain obscure to me. Indeed, the more one contemplates the problem, the more confusing it becomes. According to the Times, to which one traditionally looks for enlightenment on this kind of thing: 'The Princess's loss of the style "Her Royal Highness" means that, strictly speaking, she Is no longer a member of the royal family.' But the Buckingham Palace statement on the divorce announced in its first sentence that she would be regarded by the Queen and the Prince of Wales as a member of the royal family. And, anyway, as mother of two royal princes, she obviously is. The curtseying problem, which I had foolishly thought so important, is — according to the Times — regarded by the Palace as 'border- ing on the irrelevant'. Anybody, it was explained, can curtsey to anybody — or not, as the case may be. I had begun to tire of the whole subject, because it didn't seem to make any difference what the Princess of Wales was called, when I saw an article in last Monday's Times by William Rees- Mogg condemning the decision to remove her title as 'mean and ill-judged'. The great Rees-Mogg would have all the answers, I felt sure. And yes, he did. The title Royal Highness, he concluded, has no consistent
definition and nothing depends upon it. It does not affect precedence, define mem- bership of the royal family or the Blood Royal, or determine any courtesies which ought to be accorded.' So there you have it. It's just a piece of complete nonsense, not worth having or not having. It has as much meaning as Ian Botham's description of himself in court this week as 'working mid- dle-class'. It exists, presumably, just to daz- zle and confuse the populace and to make journalists look fools. These may well be worthwhile objectives, but it's a tricky game to play. The tabloid newspapers have little respect for mumbo-jumbo of this sort. Both the Sun and the Daily Mirror have been running campaigns for the princess to have her HRH restored. The Mirror has even written to 'the Queen's Proctor', whoever that may be, asking him to postpone the divorce until she gets it back. Its editor, Piers Morgan (the man who declared war on Germany during Eirro 96) described the removal of her title as 'damaging to the public interest' and said it was 'imperative' that the full implications should be consid- ered by a court before a decree absolute was granted. The Mirror also quoted Rosa Lawson, wife of the editor of the Sunday Telegraph and friend of the princess, as say- ing that Diana.was 'determined' to become an HRH again. One can hardly blame these people for failing to understand the splen- did meaninglessness of it all.
The Ulster Unionists want to march in the opening ceremony at Atlanta.' Apiece by Lord Deedes in the Daily Telegraph last week about the village of Goodnestone in Kent, where Lin and Megan Russell were brutally hacked to death, was a masterpiece of the genre, but I hope there won't be any more 'how could it happen here?' articles for a while. The idea that demented acts of evil are more surpris- ing in an idyllic rural context than in a city slum is a silly and irrational one. It is also distasteful. It suggests that people in, say, Tower Hamlets should expect something vile to happen to them from time to time whereas people in quiet country towns or villages should not. The kind of crime asso- ciated with Dunblaike or.Goodnestone is so aberrant that it could occur anywhere, any time. It would be salutary for everyone to remember that.
Ilast wrote this diary several months ago when I had just become a freelance jour- nalist after more than 30 years in salaried employment. I find this a much better way of life in nearly all respects, and I seem for the moment to have plenty of work. But there is one boring aspect to it, which is getting newspapers to pay for what they have published. This complaint doesn't apply to The Spectator, which is unbeliev- ably prompt (if modest) in its payments; nor to the two newspapers with which I have regular arrangements. But there are a couple of newspapers with which I have had to remonstrate because no money has arrived after several weeks. The interesting thing is that they are never at all apologetic. They politely explain that I should not be surprised because their 'system' is not to pay you for a long time. They appear to think that once I have understood their 'system', I will be content. But I point out that I have my own 'system', which is to be paid immediately. They find this very hard to grasp.
The annual Spectator summer party took place in Doughty Street last week, and I am sorry to have to report that for the first time in living memory the drink ran out. I don't blame the editor, who would obviously have taken remedial action if he had been around, but he had already disappeared to dinner when the disaster occurred. The editor of the Guardian, Alan Rusbridger, somehow got possession of the last bottle of white wine and foolishly broadcast the fact, risking a lynching. He was kind enough to fill my glass for me, but somebody dumped a burning cigarette end in it when my back was turned. This must rank as one of the most unspeakable acts ever committed at a social occasion.
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