took my advice.
Queen Elizabeth
In 1966 there was a muddle about my reception at Buckingham Palace to receive the Companion of Honour. There had been a change of date and I was away in the Congo when the note came. For some reason my secretary lied and told the Palace that I had not received it. When I turned up for the changed appointment I was taken to one side by a state official.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘Your secretary lied, didn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine why. I was in the Congo.’
We passed by the Queen, who was sitting on her throne, and I paused to shake hands. She gave me a smile. ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘it would be a breach of protocol.’ I had lost my place in the queue.
We went into the garden to pass the time. There were a lot of bishops about, and children sitting at tables eating buns and ice-cream. After an hour we went back in. I was feeling hungry and so, obviously, was the Queen, for she seated herself at the table and ate a bun. I was a little put out because shecalled me by my original first name, Henry, which I have always disliked.
It was two years earlier when, quite by chance, I found myself sitting beside the Queen during a service in Windsor Chapel. The officiating clergyman preached an absurd sermon and I found myself in danger of laughing. So, I could see, was the Queen, and she held the Order of Service in front of my mouth to hide my smile. Then Prince Philip entered. I was not surprised at all that he was wearing a scoutmaster’s uniform, but I resented having to surrender my chair to him. As I moved away the Queen confided to me, ‘I can’t bear the way he smiles.’
King Ibn Saud
I encountered King Ibn Saud in a small by-street in Westminster. He was wearing his robes and dark glasses and had apparently just left his young mistress at a tobacconist’s, where she lived over the shop. I was impressed by the great courtesy he showed her as he walked backwards to his taxi with his eyes fixed on the windows of the upper room.
An Unknown Princess
I found myself in the company of a young Princess whose father the King was dying in a castle surrounded by watchers. Her life was endangered by his death. Suddenly there was a noise through the wall of his room, like a long whistle and then a sigh. ‘That is the noise of dying,’ I told her.
It was essential that the watchers should not know that the King had died, so immediately gay music began to be played within the castle.
I said, ‘You must escape now, before the watchers know.’ I tried to assemble the batteries for my electric torch, for it was dark outside, but the batteries were old and used up. ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘it’s nearly day.’
I looked out of the narrow window and saw the watchers far below. It was essential to escape not only the watchers but the dwellers in the castle, and at least temporarily we succeeded. We found ourselves in a field of grass where there were the ruins of an old monastery. We walked through the ruins, but there were tourists there and I heard one say, ‘Surely that’s the Princess. I recognize her hair.’
I caught the Princess up outside the ruins and I told her we must get away as far as possible beforesomeone reported us to the watchers. ‘Take off your beret,’ I said to her. ‘They will say you are wearing a beret.’ Presumably we escaped, for I remember no more.
IX
The Job of Writing
Writing plays only a small part in the World of My Own. Once I came up with an idea for a short story called ‘The Geography of Conscience’, about a woman in Canada—an Irish Catholic who was going to rejoin her husband in Italy. She telephoned to her bishop asking permission to use contraceptive pills and he told her to follow her conscience, so she took one. Then she found herself in Rome in a totally different moral climate and she began to have a bad conscience about the pills. The story was intended to be a comedy and it needed to have a
Queen Elizabeth
In 1966 there was a muddle about my reception at Buckingham Palace to receive the Companion of Honour. There had been a change of date and I was away in the Congo when the note came. For some reason my secretary lied and told the Palace that I had not received it. When I turned up for the changed appointment I was taken to one side by a state official.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘Your secretary lied, didn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine why. I was in the Congo.’
We passed by the Queen, who was sitting on her throne, and I paused to shake hands. She gave me a smile. ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘it would be a breach of protocol.’ I had lost my place in the queue.
We went into the garden to pass the time. There were a lot of bishops about, and children sitting at tables eating buns and ice-cream. After an hour we went back in. I was feeling hungry and so, obviously, was the Queen, for she seated herself at the table and ate a bun. I was a little put out because shecalled me by my original first name, Henry, which I have always disliked.
It was two years earlier when, quite by chance, I found myself sitting beside the Queen during a service in Windsor Chapel. The officiating clergyman preached an absurd sermon and I found myself in danger of laughing. So, I could see, was the Queen, and she held the Order of Service in front of my mouth to hide my smile. Then Prince Philip entered. I was not surprised at all that he was wearing a scoutmaster’s uniform, but I resented having to surrender my chair to him. As I moved away the Queen confided to me, ‘I can’t bear the way he smiles.’
King Ibn Saud
I encountered King Ibn Saud in a small by-street in Westminster. He was wearing his robes and dark glasses and had apparently just left his young mistress at a tobacconist’s, where she lived over the shop. I was impressed by the great courtesy he showed her as he walked backwards to his taxi with his eyes fixed on the windows of the upper room.
An Unknown Princess
I found myself in the company of a young Princess whose father the King was dying in a castle surrounded by watchers. Her life was endangered by his death. Suddenly there was a noise through the wall of his room, like a long whistle and then a sigh. ‘That is the noise of dying,’ I told her.
It was essential that the watchers should not know that the King had died, so immediately gay music began to be played within the castle.
I said, ‘You must escape now, before the watchers know.’ I tried to assemble the batteries for my electric torch, for it was dark outside, but the batteries were old and used up. ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘it’s nearly day.’
I looked out of the narrow window and saw the watchers far below. It was essential to escape not only the watchers but the dwellers in the castle, and at least temporarily we succeeded. We found ourselves in a field of grass where there were the ruins of an old monastery. We walked through the ruins, but there were tourists there and I heard one say, ‘Surely that’s the Princess. I recognize her hair.’
I caught the Princess up outside the ruins and I told her we must get away as far as possible beforesomeone reported us to the watchers. ‘Take off your beret,’ I said to her. ‘They will say you are wearing a beret.’ Presumably we escaped, for I remember no more.
IX
The Job of Writing
Writing plays only a small part in the World of My Own. Once I came up with an idea for a short story called ‘The Geography of Conscience’, about a woman in Canada—an Irish Catholic who was going to rejoin her husband in Italy. She telephoned to her bishop asking permission to use contraceptive pills and he told her to follow her conscience, so she took one. Then she found herself in Rome in a totally different moral climate and she began to have a bad conscience about the pills. The story was intended to be a comedy and it needed to have a
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