LETTER TO DI

A bit off-piste this one: an imaginary letter I wrote for my Writers' Group. I think it speaks to us, though, about knowing when to pass things on to the young and knowing when something has come too late in the day to be at its best.

Dear Diana

Today is the day of my Coronation and I find myself wanting to write to you.

Although we found ourselves in the end with nothing to say, there was a link between us through an instinctive spirituality on both sides - me expressing it through exploring different religions and you, always more adventurous, seeking counsel with spiritual healers. It is for this reason that I think you might understand, above all others, what today means to me - and it’s not all good.

As you know, it’s been a long wait. I remember talking to you about whether my mother would be willing to pass on the crown when I reached my 50s. I thought ‘No’, knowing what a stickler for protocol and duty she was; you thought ‘Yes’, thinking that any mother would want her son to be fulfilled. Sadly, I knew my mother better than you and when you protested at so much of what passed for parenting in my family, I often found myself defending them even when I thought you were right. Sorry about that - you paid the price for not fitting in.

So here I am today, about to be dressed for the occasion. I will have Camilla by my side and I am grateful for that. I know you never really liked her, quite understandably, but she is my best friend as well as my wife. To be honest, I’m rather dreading the rigmarole with the Arch Bish and the endless public scrutiny, but there it is. I am too old to be enthusiastic, too wise not to know that the adulation will not last, and too tired to want to spend a day pleasing people. The Crown, being King, it’s all too late for me. I am glad William and Kate are so prepared for a life of duty, service and public reckoning. William is a credit to both you and I.

Harry, dear Harry, I miss him like a knife in my heart. He too is so much part of you, but he represents our differences and difficulties with each other. He’s fractious, outspoken and not easily mollified - just like you. He has disappeared himself just to be able to live as he sees fit, and I really can’t blame him. But I do wish he’d come home.

And so, my dear, if you are looking down from wherever you are, I ask you to wish me well. You know how to love in a way that my own family has always found difficult. Keep an eye on Harry and put your arms around all your grandchildren. You may not be here, but we all need you still.

Charles III

A King