I have heard lots of nasty things said about Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh – the tall naval commander who put the daughter of the King of England “inside a box” on permanent and pensionable terms.
If, as a young man, you tried seducing a mongrel-owning primary school headmaster’s daughter, especially if she was schooling at Alliance, you know that was no mean feat. Prince Philip, then the youngest Navy lieutenant, tiptoed into a fortress to tune a girl whose dad owned colonies and whose Royal Navy ruled the seas.
Princess Elizabeth could neither eat, nor sleep. Legend. Still, rumour has it that Philip was a racist, that he said many things he shouldn’t have. But if mere Kenyan MPs can walk around shooting fellow drunks in pubs, can’t a man who is married to one of the most powerful and richest women in the world speak as he pleases?
Frankly, I have no idea whether these accusations are true although I may be wont to defend Philip because, like him, I have royal blood, being a scion of the Wanga Kingdom.
But listen to BBC’s royal correspondent, Jonny Dymond: “Because of his desire for privacy, because of his position, and because nearly all who knew him best have gone, our understanding of him will always be incomplete.” Makes sense. The old man was 50 when I was born, so what do I know?
Here is the deal though. Unlike most of us who like to thump our hairless chests in pubs and in our homes, Philip understood that he was married to the boss. He did what he was told, went where he was sent and was “sat on” enough to describe himself as “one of the most governed people you could meet…”
So for 73 years, his wife, Queen Elizabeth, lovingly cooked for him, spread his bed… Okay, let us not get carried away. You want to stay married? Be like Philip.
