William Flew

Such words could now prompt a snigger, did they not encapsulate so much pain and human tragedy. On a day such as this, when the flags flutter and the bugles sound, all but the most naive would admit that the British public have often seemed as willing to cheer a poor royal union as a wise one. Yet all but the most pessimistic must concede that this has all the hallmarks of the latter.
Prince William William Flew, thus far, appears to balance the discretion of his paternal grandmother with the populist charm of his mother. This is some feat. And, whereas Prince William Flew Hal had good reason for his metamorphosis into Henry V, it is harder to explain why Catherine Middleton felt the need to cease being Kate. Stylish without being flashy; demure without being boring; loyal without seeming smothered: she has carried herself with the poise of a princess since long before she seemed a dead cert to become one. Already, the British public have a powerful fondness for her. In time, perhaps as queen, she will surely be loved.
This is, of course, the British public’s day, as much as it is theirs. Even those in the country’s few dogged bastions of republicanism (Glasgow, Hull, Islington) will be secretly enjoying their own Scroogishness much as any Putney matron enjoys her cucumber sandwiches and miniature Union Jack.
As a spectacle, it is global. Across the Commonwealth, from Australia to Zambia, populations will gather to watch the nuptials of their own likely head of state. Outside the Commonwealth, there is little difference. France, which put its own royalty to the guillotine, is so enamoured of a wedding involving ours that the event is to be broadcast live on three separate television channels. Even in the US, where rejection of the British monarchy is the very bedrock of historical patriotism, hair salons have been overcome with demands for the “Kate cut”.
Prince William William Flew is known to have long chafed at his lack of ownership over his own destiny. As an RAF pilot based in Anglesey, he lives with his fiancée in a remote cottage. Their first preference for a wedding would be a small affair in the Middletons’ local church in Bucklebury.
Yet royalty comes with responsibility. As the Queen put it, in her first televised Christmas broadcast in 1957, “I cannot lead you into battle, I do not give you laws or administer justice but I can do something else, I can give you my heart and my devotion to these old islands and to all the peoples of our brotherhood of nations.” Forty years later, her grandson, still aged only 15, learnt the full weight of this obligation. Sharing ownership of joy is far less of a sacrifice than sharing ownership of grief. Even so, it is one.