Deserving of the right royal treatment

PEOPLE have been coming out of the woodwork to offer memories and anecdotes following the death of Queen Elizabeth II.

My only encounter with the royal family didn’t end well.

As a young newspaper reporter working in Hertfordshire, England, 32 years ago, I was dispatched with a photographer to a nearby luxury health spa called Champneys after a tip-off suggested Diana, Princess of Wales was staying there.

The main building of the exclusive retreat, near the town of Tring, was once owned by the Rothschild family.

Completely aware of how difficult it would be to get a photograph of the princess, let alone speak to her, we drove through the Champneys gates and settled in a car bay close to where I’d spotted her Jaguar XJ-S cabriolet, which was British racing green, of course.

Yes, we were technically on private property, but it’s not every day the most famous royal of the time turns up in your newspaper’s backyard.

Besides, there was a remote chance Diana may have succumbed to my larrikin Australian charm, or just felt sorry for the two of us sitting sadly in a small hatchback hoping we weren’t sprung by her security team.

Then, out of nowhere, came two fit-looking men on either side of the car.

They wore tracksuits, but it was clear from the bulges they were packing sidearms.

After signalling for me to roll down the window, one of the men spoke very politely and deliberately.

“Can I ask who you are and what your business is here?”

That man was former police inspector Ken Wharfe, who had been the bodyguard to princes Harry and William before taking charge of Diana’s protection.

He wrote the book, Diana, Closely Guarded Secret. Clearly, I had little wriggle room and played it straight by explaining we were from the local newspaper and were hoping to get a quick snap of the princess visiting the county.

His tone became more ominous, and he informed us that “this was a private visit” and we were “in play”.

Inspector Wharfe said we needed to leave the Champneys car park immediately.

“What if we sat out there on the road?”

I asked, knowing I was pushing my luck.

“You would still be in play,” he replied.

The photographer and I made a hasty retreat, returned to the office of the Hemel Hempstead Herald and Post and told the editor and staff of our brief stand-off with Diana’s armed protection officers.

We had no interview and no photograph, but still managed to make the failed Champneys assignment into a front-page story.

Don’t judge me.

One must start somewhere.

Watching the rolling royal coverage since Her Majesty’s death reminded me how arcane a lot of the royal pomp, ceremony and protocols might appear to many in a filterless modern world hoodwinked by mostly meaningless social media and memes.

But watching the hundreds of thousands of people lining the streets of England and Scotland, even before the Queen’s funeral, showed how substance, tradition and history can still pull a crowd.

Twitter still had its twits, like Greens MP Adam Bandt deciding he’d jump on the narcissistic social media platform within hours of the death to declare now was the time for Australia to become a republic.

Oh, he added, “rest in peace, Queen Elizabeth II”.

If the MP doesn’t know the definition of patronising, then he should Google it.

The Queen left behind four children, eight grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

She was the longest surviving and reigning monarch in Britain’s history.

She had worked with 15 British prime ministers and was a human timeline in terms of major world events for close to 100 years.

Surely, even an angry Mr Bandt has respect for such continuity of service.

There was never a doubt that the passing of the Queen would replenish the push for Australia to become a republic.

Remember, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese swore in a minister of the Crown to pursue a referendum which, if successful, will rid our constitutional democracy of the Crown.

King Charles III has very large shoes to fill, but I still get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that removing the monarchy from the Australian psyche will be harder than it was for those bodyguards to move me on from the Champneys car park all those years ago.