June 15 - 30 Issue
Behind the royal facade is a very real human being.
I've been to London, the cat in the nursery rhyme said, to look at the Queen. Well, dear cat, if you’re listening, I did not meet the Queen, but Prince Charles did shake my hand, and equally enthralling, was the fact that I stomped about his wonderful garden in Highgrove, dressed in a silk sari and walking shoes!
Well, I’ll start at the beginning since I have got you curious, I see. There we were, senior journalists from all over the world, holding in our hands individually addressed invitations to meet HRH The Prince of Wales, at his Highgrove residence, and a chance to walk through his treasured gardens.
It was royalty’s way of telling us They were pleased with the way we and our publications were promoting Britain, but it was exciting all the same. Especially when we were told that the waiting list for visits to Highgrove Gardens was three years long.
Of course, neither royalty nor any of us media people remembered to send a message to the weather gods about our intended walkabout in the royal gardens, so on the appointed day, the clouds moved in and the heavens opened, as they know how, only in Britain. And we blessed the organisers who had warned us to come equipped with walking shoes.
The garden proved a source of great joy. As we trudged out into the cold, wet afternoon, umbrellas aloft, looking for all the world like a bunch of agitated ostriches, the skies held their water. What started as a ‘might as well get it over with’ routine, soon turned into an expedition into the unfamiliar and wonderful.
Highgrove is the Prince’s retreat; his garden is mainly of his own design and creation, and the many sections are as different, one from another, as his many experiences across the world.
Thus, we sauntered through his Islamic garden, with newly-planted Cyprus trees all in a row, along the walled rectangle... A moment later, we were in a field of tulips, black and yellow, bravely holding their own despite the wet weather. The mood each evoked was markedly different, and kept the tedium that sometimes overcomes me in orderly, over tended, gardens well at bay.
Everything in the garden was innocent of chemicals. Manure and compost ensured that there was no tainting of the flora, and the flowers grew bright and smiling on the only food Nature meant them to have. Design and surprise played an important role; the Vegetable Garden was a maze of clever design, with a herbarium at the centre; the Temple Garden had a Greek structure and petrified trees forming natural arbors.
Wonderfully-sculpted bushes and hedges, strategically-placed man-made toadstools, a seemingly wild arborium... The garden was full of delights. And I could well imagine the Prince wishing to spend much more time than his duties allowed him to, in its many enclosures.
ALL too soon, the walk was over, and my shoes were muddy, but my sari had survived the walk, and I had indeed enjoyed the experience.
Careful not to disturb the living spirit of the place, I stooped and picked a fallen tulip petal from the damp soil and placed it in my coat pocket as a memento of my visit. And then I changed my shoes for delicate golden-heeled sandals and readied to meet the owner of the magical garden.
We broke into small groups and waited. I was in almost the last group. I wondered if he would tire or run out of conversation by the time he reached us. But I needn’t have worried. The Prince seemed genuinely interested in everyone, and spoke earnestly to each of us.
The brief meeting with him convinced me that here indeed was a man of many depths. His easy humour, the sudden flush of colour that suffused his face when the evening took on a formal note and speeches of thanks were delivered... All made me like this very human prince, much more than all that I had heard about him had in the past.
When he decided to make a formal reply, humour tinged his speech once more, and there was a genuine warmth of feeling that made us feel welcome.
And then, it was time to leave. The evening did not seem cold any more. There was an enchantment that was foolishly apparent, that seemed to include all of us. Stop acting like a fairy tale character, I scolded myself, as we drove off into the night in our bus.
The reprimand helped bring me down to earth... And then, as I settled down for the night, I was woken up with a start by a sudden thought. In the excitement, I had fled the princely residence leaving behind... my walking shoes!
The Editor

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