Christmas Day when I was twelve was made hideous by my younger sister’s tantrums all day because she thought I had one more walnut than she had had in our Christmas stockings. I had four, and she had three. The next day the fourth walnut was found under her bed where it had rolled.
I was reminded of this when I read Harry, ‘Prince of England’, as he calls himself, sharing his angst with the world over the time William had three sausages and he had only two, while his older brother had a bigger bedroom than he.
Like my poor sister, he has drunk deep of the poisoned chalice of jealousy and envy.
Five years after the Walnut Debacle, my headmaster at boarding school was writing to my father that my sister was obsessed with jealousy of me, as a reason for some of the mayhem she was creating.
Disturbed children with painful backgrounds rarely do well at school, and Harry is a classic example.
But unlike my sister who had lost our mother at age five, and with a father fighting in North Africa and then Italy, and no family, Harry was surrounded by love, with not just a very concerned father, but devoted grandparents, aunts, loving cousins, a friend and companion in lieu of a nanny appointed to always be there for him, and various dedicated military men who made it their business to mentor him.
With all this love and support Harry is still stuck in self pity and victimhood, and is still possessed of a burning sense of injustice that he didn’t get the same goodies as his brother.
He says he’s done lots of therapy (with that same brother’s support, he tells us) to move on from the grief of losing his mother – though he doesn’t acknowledge that his attitude towards his brother is jealousy.
But therapy is designed to help people cope better with their problems and their lives, and not to change their personalities. Unfortunately Harry’s personality has been revealed to us in his autobiography, his interviews and self-indulgent films for Netflix.
And his real self is not a pretty sight. Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of the Harry saga is his level of ingratitude. Rules have been broken for him, strings pulled, excuses made, cover-ups concocted either to explain away his behaviour or to get him what he wants.
Somehow he scraped into Sandhurst with two questionable A levels, and somehow got through the four to five day long officer selection board during which time a team of senior officers watch, note and assess every aspect of a candidate’s behaviour.
During my assessment at Westbury, I still remember the unnerving sound of the officers scribbling their notes on their mill boards throughout all the test sessions, inside and out.
I remember a question right out of left field – what book are you reading at the moment? Fortunately the book I was reading was also being read by the Colonel at that moment too, and we had an amicable chat – what books would Harry have been able to list: ‘How to look after a polo pony,’ or a: ‘ Guide to choosing in-offensive fancy dress’?
Luckily the experienced staff sergeants and sergeant majors at Sandhurst have nursed kings and princes from many countries through the Academy, from Jordan, Oman, Dubai, Bahrain, Qatar to Luxembourg, so Harry was in practised hands at Sandhurst.
Yet during his time in the army he brought it into disrepute when he gained headlines for wild antics – playing naked pool in Las Vegas, (his CO was not pleased) tossing girls in full evening dress into a stately house swimming pool, (until stopped by the butler) and staggering out of nightclubs barely able to stand up, (supported by a sober military mentor).
After being caught smoking cannabis as a teenager, Charles took him to a rehabilitation centre to help him see the long term consequences, yet in 2023 he was recorded as saying
that: “psychedelics are a fundamental part” of his life and that he used “psychedelics, ayahuasca, psilocybin, mushroom.”.
Which leads me to wonder if these mind altering drugs may be responsible for some of his irrational behaviour and vengeful pursuit through the courts of those who incur his displeasure, or who thwart his desires for status and recognition, including round the-clock- police protection.
The Anglican church broke its rules so Harry could have a big, fat, white wedding like his brother, even though his father had had to make do with a registry office when he married a divorced woman. But after the wedding the green-eyed monster pounced again, when instead of moving into a 20 room apartment like his brother, he had to settle for the same three bedroom cottage that William had used when he was first married.
The faithful, loyal Duke and Duchess of Gloucester were turfed out of the 20 room apartment in Kensington Palace where they had lived for 47 years so Harry could move in. But his new wife preferred Windsor Castle – the Queen gave them a five bedroom cottage in the grounds instead.
In his book Spare, Harry details his rows and disagreements with his brother and sister-in- law, and the annoyance of the ‘grey men in suits’ who were trying to keep his circus on the road, and disguise his irresponsible behaviour, as they had been doing ever since Harry had left school – hard work for them, but which Harry felt was obstruction and interference.
And now he has removed himself from behind that shield of help and protection, the world has seen who and what the real Harry is. And the strange thing is that Harry himself has revealed it, reminiscing about his school days when he mocked a disabled teacher at school as she made her way painfully backwards down the stairs, and disparaging the first girl he had a sexual experience with.
It’s an absolute taboo in the forces to mention lives lost in combat, but Harry boasted of killing 25 Taliban who probably had wives and children like him, describing shooting them from a helicopter.
As Captain General, an honour he inherited from the Duke of Edinburgh, he skipped the memorial service for Royal Marines who were killed in the 1989 Deal barracks IRA bombing, a tone deaf dereliction of duty, in order to posture at the Lion King premier with his wife, and angle for work for her.
And since his departure from Royal duties, this person who didn’t even have the courtesy to speak to or visit to tell his future father-in-law he was marrying his beloved daughter, has undermined, maligned, lied about and sabotaged his own family.
He has colluded with his wife, who has fuelled his jealousy, in a campaign of revenge for all his imaginary injustices and has become a professional victim in which his steadfast family, the grey men, the press, the legal system and anyone else who thwarts him are villains out to get him. In the years since he married, the party-loving, rebel young prince has morphed into a resentful, tone-deaf, middle-aged man exuding self-righteous, offended dignity
Many commenters keep quoting the Prodigal Son as grounds for forgiving and welcoming Harry back into the family. But they miss the point about being forgiven. The Prodigal Son had repented, but Harry doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong.
Instead, he’s demanded apologies from the family he told radio listeners during his engagement had welcomed Meghan, and had become: “the family she had never had.”
(Never mind the father and uncles who’d paid for, supported and loved her.)
My husband has a saying you can’t fix stupid, which puts me in mind of the ancient Sufi
adage: ‘He who knows not and knows not that he knows not, is stupid – avoid him.’
The next line is: ‘He who knows not and knows that he knows not is ignorant – teach him’.
But sadly no-one seems to have been able to teach Harry anything.
He remains in a permanent state of not knowing and unawareness, and permanently too, in the claws of the green-eyed monster. Like my late sister he will probably be unable to escape this misery for the rest of his life. As Quaker William Penn said, “The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.”
Food for threadbare gourmets
I’m always fascinated by chefs and the like who disclose what are the staples that they always keep in their larder or pantry, aside from the obvious like bacon and eggs. For me, this is virgin olive oil, pasta, tins of tomatoes and parmesan in the fridge.
When there’s nothing ready to eat in the fridge, and there’s no flicker of inspiration, these handy ingredients are the answer. Chopped fresh or tinned tomatoes are gently fried in the olive oil while the pasta is cooking, and parmesan grated. When the pasta is ready, tip it into the tomato mixture, toss it together, and sprinkle the parmesan on each helping.
Torn shreds of fresh basil are delicious if you have fresh basil on hand. I cook the pasta in cold water, a la Nigella Lawson, and find it avoids the dreaded clumping as long as it’s given a stir every now and then.
Food for thought
Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless because they cannot think new thoughts.
Salman Rushdie
ThesoundofwaterNZ 