HE WAS SOME KIND OF A MAN

Somewhere, in one of my previous blogs, I mentioned the expected emotive reaction to the death of the Duke of Edinburgh, as a possible relief from the continuing developments of the pandemic. I had expected some degree of coverage on the news followed by a day of mourning and a state funeral with cortege, lines of military personnel, various dignitaries from around the commonwealth, and other heads of state, all being described  in sonorous tones by a Dimbleby, with Nicholas Witchell, attempting to be sonorous, providing additional Royal colour. What I did not expect was what has transpired. 

 

Clearly the Dukes death has been expected for some time. The last sight of him leaving hospital to return home, was as good an indication of what was soon to occur, as anything could have been. As a result, the various news agencies and television networks have been preparing their various obituaries and comments on the life of the Prince Consort for some considerable time. Consequently, from the moment his death was announced, all the media instantly scrapped their current programming and ploughed in with wall to wall coverage, through the night and into the morning, trotting out numerous pundits and anyone who so much as stood within handshaking distance of the prince, ready and willing to relate the slightest bon mot or anecdote, already clothed and made up in funereal dress, with nodding and appreciative presenters smiling benignly. 

 

The reality was soon  apparent. After about 45 minutes it became a sequence of repetitions, the same photographs and film clips shown over and over again on all the networks. The same shots of ancestors, schools, ships, weddings, coronations, picnics, and visits to factories and places round the world. Endlessly being told of his work and awards scheme inspired by his old headmaster Kurt Hahn. Along the way, there was  also frequent mention of some flaws, although fleetingly. 

 

I am not trying to belittle his life or achievements, but the amount of television hours on all the networks through the night and into the day does not say so much about the Prince than it does about the British. Indeed, this outpouring of seemingly infinite adulation is something, so we were endlessly informed, the Prince himself would have abhorred. If that were the case, then why was his wish not honoured? “He’d hate it, but we’re doing it anyway. Isn’t that good of us?” Would that he could, in some way, object. 

 

I can and do object. One carefully edited hour would have done the job quite deftly with dignity and sufficient respect. I cannot help but think of Marlene Dietrich's final lines in Touch of Evil which would have summed it all up, and done a far better, and more memorable job: