Penny Junor: Prince William

He would be superhuman if he didn’t have demons. But he keeps them to himself; he is one of the most intensely private people you could meet. There are subjects he doesn’t talk about. If asked, the shutters come down and those that know him well know better than to ask. It’s a survival mechanism in a world where everyone wants a piece of him. On the outside he shows no sign of being anything other than a cheerful, grounded, well-adjusted human being, happy in his own skin, open, confident and content. At the very least he could be excused for turning his back on the people he blames for killing his mother. He never has. He has come through the experiences of his childhood and adolescence a strong and resolute character, but with vulnerabilities like everyone, and a wariness of strangers, but a great capacity to love. His close friends are a small and tightly knit group; they go back a long way. They are loyal and protective; they like him for who he is and don’t care that he’s an HRH. As one of them puts it, ‘He’s someone you’d like to have alongside you in the trenches.’

‘I think it’s a complete misconception,’ the Duke of Edinburgh once said, ‘to imagine that the monarchy exists in the interests of the monarch. It doesn’t. It exists in the interests of the people.’ William would like nothing more than to be an ordinary man. As a teenager, he wanted to be a gamekeeper. Now, between Royal duties, he’s flying search and rescue helicopters, which he loves, and living with Kate in a small farmhouse in Wales. They have no staff, and in his ideal world there would be no palaces or motorcades. But he was born to do this job, and sooner or later, in the interests of the people, he will give up his personal preferences and do it full time.

He has strong views about the way he will do it. Monarchy must constantly evolve to remain relevant and his ideas imply no criticism of his grandmother, they are merely a reflection of today’s world. He does nothing unless he is convinced it is worthwhile; he is not a celebrity putting in appearances for the sake of publicity, and one of his greatest concerns is that he will be confused with one. Many years ago, emotionally drained by a visit to a premature baby unit at the hospital where he was born, he turned to his Private Secretary and said, ‘I have no idea why people want to talk to me but as long as they do, and it seems to make them happier, then let’s please do more.’

A recent survey said Prince William was the most influential man in the world after President Obama. His stock could not be higher, but people in Britain have a short shelf-life; prime ministers don’t last more than a few years before the public wants a change. We have a culture that values youth over age. His challenge will be to find a way of changing that, of bypassing celebrity and maintaining a clear focus on his objectives, and of sustaining public interest for the rest of his life – without forfeiting his soul.

There had been months of speculation in the press about where Diana’s first baby would be born. According to the tabloids, she and the Queen were locked in argument; the Princess of Wales wanted to have her baby in hospital but the Queen insisted the heir to the throne should be born at Buckingham Palace, where her own four children had been delivered.

Like so many royal stories over the years it was not quite true. Diana was under the care of Mr George Pinker, the Queen’s Surgeon-Gynaecologist – better known to the young mothers of west London as one of the senior consultants at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. A delightful man, he’d been delivering babies there for twenty-four years, including those of the Duchess of Gloucester, Princess Michael of Kent and Princess Anne. There was never any doubt – or disagreement – about where this baby would be born. It would be delivered in the safety of a private room on the fourth floor of the Lindo Wing, with everything on hand in case of emergency.

So Prince William, who came into the world at three minutes past nine on the evening of Monday 21 June 1982, was the first direct heir to the throne to be born in a hospital. It was the first of many firsts for the healthy, 7 lb 1½ oz little boy, who genealogists declared would be the most British monarch since James I and the most English since Elizabeth I. He was 39 per cent English, 16 per cent Scottish, 6.25 per cent Irish and 6.25 per cent American. The remaining 32.5 per cent was German. To his parents he was quite simply the best thing that had ever happened to them.

When news reached the wider world that Diana had been taken to St Mary’s at five o’clock that morning, people flocked to the hospital, clutching Union Jacks and picnics, and set up camp in the street outside, just as they had for the wedding almost exactly a year before. Undaunted by the pouring rain they waited excitedly, transistor radios on, bottles of bubbly at the ready, and when news of the birth finally came, the cry went up: ‘It’s a boy! It’s a boy!’ Corks popped, to cheers and roars of delight and stirring rounds of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’ and ‘Rule Britannia’.

Heading home to Kensington Palace a couple of hours later, Charles was greeted by about five hundred well-wishers and a host of journalists. He looked exhausted but flushed with excitement and pride. He had been with Diana throughout and would later tell friends about the thrill of seeing his son born, and what a life-changing experience it had been. ‘I’m obviously relieved and delighted,’ he said as the cameras flashed. ‘Sixteen hours is a long time to wait.’ And then, in typically philosophical mode, he added, ‘It’s rather a grown-up thing, I find – rather a shock to the system.’ ‘How was the baby?’ someone asked. ‘He looks marvellous; fair, sort of blondish. He’s not bad.’ When asked if he looked like his father, he added, ‘It has the good fortune not to.’ As for names, he said, ‘We’ve thought of one or two but there’s a bit of an argument about it. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

There were no crowd barriers outside the Lindo Wing and as people pushed in on Charles, the better to hear his answers, a woman suddenly lunged forward, flung her arms around the new father and kissed him firmly on the cheek, leaving a smudge of bright red lipstick. ‘Bloody hell,’ said the Prince with a wry smile, ‘Give us a chance!’ The crowd loved it and burst into song, like football supporters: ‘Nice one Charlie. Give us another one!’

As he slipped into a waiting car he appealed for quiet so that mother and baby could get some well-deserved rest. They had not been disturbed at all; their room on the fourth floor faced the opposite way. It was the other new mothers in the wing whose rooms overlooked the road he was concerned about.

Crowds had also gathered outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, where a self-appointed town crier was hoping to be heard above the noise of car horns and general merriment. At 10.25 p.m., in traditional style, the official announcement was posted on the gates. ‘Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales was today safely delivered of a son at 9.03 p.m. Her Royal Highness and her child are both doing well.’ It was signed by Dr John Batten, head of the Queen’s Medical Household, Dr Clive Roberts, the anaesthetist, Dr David Harvey, the royal paediatrician, and Mr George Pinker.

The proud father was back the next morning at 8.45 a.m., by which time the police had brought in barriers to keep the enthusiasm less physical. Frances Shand Kydd, Diana’s mother, and her elder sister Lady Jane Fellowes, arrived about half an hour later. They left full of excitement. ‘My grandson is everything his father said last night,’ said Mrs Shand Kydd. ‘He’s a lovely baby. The Princess looked radiant, absolutely radiant. There’s a lot of happiness up there.’ The Queen was the next visitor. She arrived clutching a small present shortly before eleven o’clock and left twenty minutes later looking jubilant. The last familiar face to arrive was that of Earl Spencer, Diana’s father, who had survived a massive brain haemorrhage three years earlier and was universally admired for having valiantly walked his youngest daughter up the long aisle of St Paul’s Cathedral the previous July. He left the hospital repeating over and over, ‘He’s a lovely baby.’