The royals - Kitty Kelley [274]
On his twenty-first birthday the red-haired Prince, known as “Dirty Harry,” announced he wanted to fight with British forces in Iraq. “There is no way I am going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are out fighting for their country,” he said. He served for ten weeks in Afghanistan and was well-praised for doing so, until stories appeared of him making frequent racist remarks. Referring to a South Asian friend as “Sooty,” he called one cadet “a Paki,” another “a raghead,” and told a black comedian, “You don’t sound like a black chap.”
In an effort to rehabilitate his bad-boy image, Prince Harry had flown to Africa and started Sentebale (Lesotho for “Forget Me Not”) in memory of his mother’s work with orphans. Sweet pictures of him playing with parentless children reassured the British that dissolute Prince Hal might yet emerge as sublime as Shakespeare’s King Henry V, the shining victor of Agincourt. Soon “Sooty,” “Paki,” and “Raghead” were forgiven, if not forgotten.
During this time his older brother, William, was searching for work experience and took up employment in a bank in London’s financial district for a while and then in the newsroom of a national newspaper. Hating desk work, he joined the Royal Air Force to get his wings and caused a national uproar when he flew a $15 million Chinook helicopter into his girlfriend’s back garden during an official military exercise. Eight days later he flew another Chinook to London, picked up his brother, Harry, and headed for the Isle of Wight for a stag party. The media piled on the rambunctious royals, until the palace announced that the Princes would mark the tenth anniversary of their mother’s death with a pop concert in her memory.
“After ten years there’s been a rumbling of people bringing up the bad and over time people seem to forget—or have forgotten—all the amazing things she did and what an amazing person she was,” said William, then twenty-four years old.
“She was a happy, fun, bubbly person who cared for so many people,” said twenty-two-year-old Harry.
The two brothers made their first royal engagement overseas together when they visited Botswana, Lesotho, and South Africa in 2010 to support England’s bid to host the 2018 World Cup. But as so often happens with the British royals, one step forward usually meant falling two steps backward.
Just as the monarchy marched into the second decade of the new millennium, looking forward to the royal wedding of Prince William and the diamond jubilee of Queen Elizabeth, the House of Windsor shot itself in the foot—again. This time the self-inflicted wound came from the “Duchess of Dough,” Sarah Ferguson, the former wife of Britain’s trade representative, Prince Andrew. At the age of fifty, Fergie, again millions of dollars in debt, was caught in a video sting by the News of the World for selling access to Andrew for more than $750,000 and walking off with a black bag containing a down payment of $40,000 in cash.
This was not the first time Her Majesty’s relatives had been caught with their hands out, grasping for riches. Financial desperation seemed to be the fault line for the minor royals, including the Queen’s youngest son, Edward, who had resigned from the military because he said he couldn’t hack it. He then limped along, trying to find suitable work, and finally became a television producer, making films on his royal relatives that did not sell. When his crew began following Prince William for an exclusive series, the British media objected, saying Edward was trading on his royal status for access that rightfully belonged to them. For once the palace sided with the press.
Rumored to be homosexual, thirty-five-year-old Prince Edward had married Sophie Rhys-Jones in 1999, and Sophie, a commoner, became the Countess of Wessex. With cachet but no cash, the bland-looking