Robert Hardman

Elizabeth II was never particularly enthusiastic about birthdays. They were a good excuse for a parade or an honours list, but not a patch on a major wedding anniversary, let alone a jubilee. Those were a celebration of true dedication, not of mere longevity. Even so, were she still with us, the late Queen would have acknowledged that her centenary on Tuesday is a big deal. It would also have created a delightful conundrum for the Buckingham Palace anniversaries office, the department that sends out 100th-birthday congratulations from the sovereign. At the start of her reign, she was sending 385 of those each year across all her realms (by telegram). By the end, it was over 16,000 (by card).

Never one for introspection, Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor has still managed to provoke some searching questions about the institution he once served. For example, what constitutes a family if it is royal? Since Victorian times, parliament’s rulebook, Erskine May, has forbidden ‘reflections’ on ‘the conduct of the Sovereign, the heir to the throne, or other members of the royal family’ in debates. Following Lib Dem pressure, that rule has been rewritten by Mr Speaker, who has stated: ‘Because this now relates to a person who is not a member of the royal family, the situation is completely different.’ But in what way? Clarity is needed.

Watching David Dimbleby watching the royal family, I am instantly reminded of the BBC’s other royal David. It is pure Attenborough as he examines the exotic plumage and rituals of rex Windsorianus in its natural habitat. In this week’s first episode of What’s the Monarchy For?, a three-part study of the sovereign for BBC1, Dimbleby examines royal power, engagingly prodding and poking fun at both sides. However, it ends as it starts, with our host still scratching his head. The monarchy is the first thing much of the world thinks about when it thinks about Britain Perhaps we will have an answer by the end of the final episode.

We no longer correct ourselves as we sing the first line of the national anthem. ‘Prince of Wales’ no longer means ‘Charles’. As we mark the third anniversary of his accession this week, it is possible to attempt useful comparisons between the reigns of Charles III and Elizabeth II. Set aside age and medical matters and the principal differences are pace and expectation. It was nearly a year before the UK heard a speech from the new monarch in 1952; in 2022, it took a day. Court mourning went from 16 weeks to one. Three years in, the late Queen was still on her first prime minister. The King is on his third. Family-wise, her main distraction was Princess Margaret’s passing passion for her late father’s equerry.

When a previous milestone was looming in the life of Princess Anne, her 21st birthday, the late Queen asked her where she would like to have her party. There was Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle, of course, although, with a mid-August birthday, might she prefer Balmoral? ‘None of the above,’ came the reply. The Princess wanted to hold a ‘discotheque party’ in Portsmouth on board the royal yacht Britannia. And so it is this Friday, as the Princess marks her 75th, that the most nautical member of the family (patron of everything from the Royal Yachting Association to the Mission to Seafarers) will be at sea with a cake for two as she spends her birthday with her husband, Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, sailing their Rustler 44, Ballochbuie, somewhere off the Outer Hebrides.

We are familiar with the perfectly sensible convention that monarchs should not fly with their heirs. But should they also be discouraged from foraging for their prime ministers? While researching my new book and film on the King, I was at Balmoral to see the visit of the Sunaks. At one point, the King vanished into the grounds of Birkhall to pick mushrooms for his guests, who also included Sir Nicholas and Lady Coleridge. It’s a favourite form of royal relaxation (the King was picking Birkhall mushrooms on the day the Queen died). When I mentioned this to a privy counsellor last week, he was troubled.

Driving up Royal Deeside last weekend, I spotted a harvest under way on that magical Hobbit-esque green/gold/purple hillscape. It all came flooding back. One year on from the death of Elizabeth II, it’s the sight of the tractors lined up next to the A93 which remains among the most enduring images. It wasn’t just that they all had their shovels dipped in tribute, like the dockers’ cranes saluting the Havengore as it carried Churchill down the Thames in 1965. It was the fact that they were all spotless. At the busiest time of the year in this lush agricultural belt of Aberdeenshire, farmers had paused their harvesting, taken their machines out of the fields and given them a very thorough hosing down before lining up for hours to salute the late Queen.

The last time a monarch acceded to the throne, her subjects had to wait ten months to hear her speak. Elizabeth II was only 25 and had her whole adult life before her. The public were more patient in those days and the media was an entirely different creature, moving at a slower pace.  It was not until Christmas Day 1952 that the British heard their Queen (by now 26) begin: ‘Each Christmas, at this time, my beloved father broadcast a message to his people in all parts of the world. Today I am doing this to you, who are now my people…’ In 2022, we had to wait all of 24 hours before hearing Charles III outline his vision for his reign. He did so in a speech which, by common consent, hit the right note (a YouGov poll days later gave it a 94 per cent approval rating).