Britain and the royals. I've never been much of a monarchist-living in Greece there is little reason to be sentimental about the Queen's head on a banknote. But in an old-fashioned, unthinking, sort of way I've always felt that the Windsor family were rather good roving ambassadors for Britain. Who isn't mesmerised-if only momentarily-by the mystique of the world's most celebrated unelected office?
Now that I have seen the Prince of Wales close up, on his recent trip to Athens-and seen the Greeks flinch at the sight-I am not so sure. Back in Britain, Charles may be winning his charm offensive. But as a former admirer, I have begun to wonder whether this cold, distant man isn't a liability to his country.
The Hellenes have never been Charles-baiters even though they ousted his cousin, former King Constantine, whom they dislike intensely. They have also been most gracious about both Diana and Camilla. Unlike Charles's tough, Corfu-born father (for whom Greeks hold no particular fondness) they, like me, had been rather attracted by his penchant for talking to plants, philosophising ? la New Age and playing polo on fearsome steeds.
Seeing Charles for the first time I saw several female reporters gushing a little, particularly at the zig-zag scar above his left cheekbone. The gushing did not last long. Watching him fidget uneasily, his face locked in a permanent grimace, was itself an uncomfortable experience. Charles may be a man "more sinn'd against than sinning," but do the rest of us have to share his pain?
Greece was not a taxing trip for the prince. Billed a "cultural tour," the three-day November visit was the first any British royal had made to the Greek capital since 1964-when the Windsors flew in for Constantine's wedding. The Greeks couldn't get enough of him; the problem was the prince clearly didn't want to have too much of them. After offering a lop-sided smile and limp-wristed wave at the airport, his desire to mingle (beyond the compulsory cocktail parties), or even speak openly, was nil.
"Milton called Athens 'mother of arts and eloquence' and I don't wish to put the latter too much to the test even here," he said in a prepared speech on his first day. From then on Hellenes had to make do with off-the-cuff remarks that were usually limited to the weather: "The storm this morning was extraordinary. I've never seen one like it," he said after a Shakespearean-like tempest had lit up the skies.
By the time Charles got up to the Acropolis for a tour that was regarded as the most important part of the trip, Greek journalists were beside themselves. He posed for photographers, but still kept quiet. The gift of a stone mason's hammer loosened him up a bit: "I might find that very useful," he burbled to hoots of laughter from courtiers. But apart from that, the silence was deafening. To make matters worse he looked ever so slightly bored.
"Can we ask His Highness a question?" someone shouted. "No," hissed Peter, one of his three, umbrella-wielding, pin-striped bodyguards. "The prince only addresses. He can never be addressed." A short man with a Jacobean-style haircut-the prince's personal doctor who paced after him with a "moving hospital" in a leather attach?-case-concurred noisily.
The Acropolis may now be shrouded by scaffolding but it never fails to move. As Charles, in another prepared speech, had reminded us of the archaeology degree (a 2:1) he had earned at Cambridge, people wanted to hear his views on the western world's most symbolic archaeological site. And since he was being bombarded by talk of the Elgin marbles from Greece's loquacious culture minister, they wanted to know what he thought about them, too. Hadn't his subjects, after all, recently voiced support, in various polls, for the marbles to be returned to Athens?
But the prince remained stone- faced. The marble columns of the 2,500 year old Parthenon had more life. "It's putting the prince in a very difficult position, all this banging on about the marbles," Charles's especially sycophantic deputy private secretary squirmed. "He's just not in a position to answer." Perhaps. But can't he pretend? He gets paid enough and, anyway, after years of public duty you would have thought he had learned the art of dissembling.
We don't want a touchy-feely prince who goes to work on a bicycle. But if he is to represent Britain abroad, and modernise the monarchy, he will have to learn to communicate. These things can be taught-even to 50 year olds.n
