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The Red Ensign at the stern of Scillonian III hangs limply at half-mast as she chugs out past Land’s End into the Atlantic. It is a hot, windless, sun-kissed September morning. We are heading for the Scillies.
The United Kingdom is burying its Queen today. At Westminster Abbey, 290 miles away as the crow flies, the matchless service, decades in the planning, is reaching its soaring finale. Here in her kingdom’s southernmost archipelago, we are asked by the skipper to observe an altogether simpler, more personal ritual.
Shortly before midday the little ship, the last Royal Mail Vessel in service, (christened by the then Prince Charles in 1977, the year of his mother’s Silver Jubilee) slows abeam St Mary’s harbour.
On the aft deck we stand, tourists, islanders, seamen, to observe two minutes silence as the sea rises and falls almost imperceptibly. The Last Post sounds over the ship’s tinny loudspeaker, interrupted only by the impertinent squawk of gulls.
I confess to being more affected by this brief, simple and wholly unexpected ritual, strangers bound together by a moment in history on a small, weather-beaten vessel, than all the mitres, gleaming swords, plumes and bands on the mainland. I was paying my respects to an individual, not an institution, to the singer not the song.
The Death of Queen spectacle was perhaps the most elegantly choreographed pageant in history, in equal measure a sublime piece of theatre that had the world transfixed and a meticulously scripted public relations performance. In a democracy the continued importance, indeed existence, of the monarchy must be endlessly validated and revalidated.
Queen Elizabeth II, the most famous woman in the world, will not be remembered as an epic figure. But she will go down in history as a sovereign whose influence far exceeded her powers. Her slight yet steely frame and her changeless good nature provided a fixed point for a nation perpetually unsettled by change.
She was the glue that papered over the cracks, not least for the Union, as it struggled to find good reasons to stick together. Did she choose to die in Scotland as her one last act to save the Union? We will never know, but it’s conceivable. King Charles’s visits to Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales immediately after his mother’s death are a clear sign that he understands the fragility of the Union.
The monarchy is woven into every nook and cranny of our national life. Our constitution, our state, our honours system, our democracy exist, in effect, by royal appointment. Butchers, bakers and chocolate makers yearn for a royal warrant. The Government governs by royal prerogative.
The power of the monarchy, its longevity and resilience, lies in this intricate relationship personified by the monarch. It will not easily unravel.
But the House of Windsor is also a repository of vast wealth and enormous privilege. It sits at the heart of a system of entitlement and patronage casually exploited by those who can, to reward their cronies for political or financial advantage: the prospect of a seat in the House of Lords or a knighthood or the lure of a meeting with the heir to the throne, in return for a fortune stuffed in Fortnum’s carrier bags to restore a royal castle.
Where do you draw the line between reward and corruption? I can imagine her saying: “Not in my name.” But in her name, and now in Charles’s name, these things nevertheless happen routinely.
The royal estate itself is the epitome of entitlement — an anachronism, some of which dates back as far as 1066 and the Norman conquest of Britain. It is, quite simply, no longer tenable.
It was last valued in its annual accounts at £15.6 billion. This includes over 100,000 hectares of land across England, Wales and Scotland, as well as sizeable chunks of central London. It also includes the seabed out to 12 nautical miles. The monarchy’s “marine estate” gives it the right to collect royalties from wind and wave power – gifted, oddly, by Tony Blair’s Labour government in 2004.
Most, though not all, income from the Crown Estate goes to the Treasury in return for the sovereign grant. Neither is subject to tax. Royal wills are sealed so we do not know what is passed down. But we do know that, unlike his subjects, the King will not pay inheritance tax on the fortune passed down by his mother.
Neither is the monarch obliged to pay income, capital gains or corporation tax, even if he or she chooses to do so. This, too, is entitlement personified when their subjects struggle to make ends meet in the face of daily hardship. We are not all equal before the law.
If we are to continue to place heredity at the heart of our national life – and there are many reasons why in a democracy we should not – then we have to ask: what does the monarchy do that cannot be done more simply, more cheaply and with fewer airs and graces? Does it need so much?
Charles has said he wishes to simplify and slim down The Firm. He would be wise to. The rituals, the palaces, the hangers-on, the soap opera in the wings and the ostentatious show of wealth may boost our balance of payments and do wonders for newspaper sales. But it is debasing the value of an institution that claims to embody Britishness.
By the end of her reign the late Queen had acquired an almost mythical status. She was in a sense untouchable. Few asked: “What is the monarchy for?” “Does its existence encourage inequality?” “Does the system of patronage it supports facilitate corruption?” Such temporal questions were, if not off-limits, then treated with kid-gloves. It’s time to move on.
The 21st century monarchy is not God-given. It survives by the will of the people, no less than the Government. That will should not be taken for granted.
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