as
in charge of round-the-clock security at home and abroad, from 1987
until 1993. He retired from the Metropolitan Police in 2002, after 35
years’ service, nearly half of it in royalty protection. He was then
appointed a Member of the Royal Victorian Order, an honour in the
Sovereign’s personal gift. Here, in an exclusive excerpt from his new
book, he describes life with the dazzling but unpredictable Diana . . .
Dressed
down in jeans, T-shirt and her favourite blue blazer, Princess Diana
imagined she looked inconspicuous as she joined a line of holidaymakers
at a Gatwick check-in desk.
It was
probably the first time she’d queued since her marriage. But she was
determined to be ‘normal’ for once — and that meant going on a budget
flight in what she laughingly called ‘goat class’.
Unfortunately,
she was recognised by some rowdy girls from Essex on their way to a hen
party weekend in Ibiza. At first, they could barely believe who was
standing in front of them.
With a few well-thumbed novels of the
Jackie Collins-type, Diana could relax in the sun in her bright bikini,
working on her tan
‘It’s bloody Diana! Look, it’s the Princess!’ said one in a stage whisper.
‘Bloody hell, so it is!’ said another.
‘Shouldn’t she be in first class?’ chipped in another.
Within seconds, we were surrounded and more heads were turning in Diana’s direction.
‘Can
we have a photo together, your ’ighness? It’s her hen weekend,’ another
of the party said, pointing towards one of her friends.
How
would we get out of this? Diana was looking disconcerted, but as her
personal protection officer, I knew she wasn’t in any danger.
So, mischievously, I let the situation unfold a little longer . . .
It
had been the Princess’s own hare-brained idea to take a budget flight
to Aix-en-Provence, just like any other member of the public.
Left:
Princess Diana is greeted by Luciana Pavarotti in 1995. Right: The
princess is shadowed by her detective, Inspector Ken Wharfe
‘I
want to go away on holiday but I don’t want any special treatment, no
fuss. I want to be just like everyone else. I want to be like normal
people,’ she’d told me.
The curveball came from nowhere, and I knew it would be particularly tricky to manage.
‘Really?
Are you sure, Ma’am?’ I asked. ‘It will present some . . . well, shall I
say, logistical challenges. Of course I can make the arrangements as
you wish, Ma’am, but to be frank . . . well, you’re not like everyone
else.’
This was not what she wanted to hear. She flushed and puffed out her cheeks.
‘Ken,’
said Diana, breathing deeply — always a sign that I might have
overstepped an invisible mark when she was in one of her moods — ‘can
you please just make the arrangements as I said. That is what I want.’
When she was on top form, there was no
one better; when she wasn’t, it was best to give her a wide berth — not
that easy when you were her protection officer with a duty to keep her
safe. The Princess is pictured with her son Prince William and Inspector
Wharfe in the background
At this
point, in the spring of 1989, I’d already been guarding her for two
years. And I’d learned to my cost that Diana, Princess of Wales could be
a difficult woman to please.
When she
was on top form, there was no one better; when she wasn’t, it was best
to give her a wide berth — not that easy when you were her protection
officer with a duty to keep her safe. This time, her heels were well and
truly dug in.
I knew full well that
her madcap scheme would go one of two ways: either it would result in a
total calamity, for which I’d doubtless be blamed, or it would be
scrapped altogether and normal service would be resumed.
Because,
of course Diana was not like any other passenger. She did have a
passport, but that was as close to normal as she got. Hers — number
125580 — had ‘Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales’ emblazoned
across the front.
The Princess' passport — number 125580 — had ‘Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales’ emblazoned across the front
And
instead of stating her nationality, it simply read ‘Princess of the
Royal House’, which always made her giggle. Plus, she’d signed it with
the single name Diana, and boldly underlined it.
Travelling
can be dreary: standing in line at security, luggage allowances, plane
delays, jet lag and strange hotels. But it wasn’t like that for the
Princess of Wales, who was used to private jets, royal helicopters and
billionaires’ yachts.
Even when she
took a commercial flight, the Princess was driven straight to the plane
by limousine, or we’d be temporarily entertained in one of the VIP
lounges.
Her documents would be dealt
with separately, and her luggage — emblazoned with the letter D and a
crown — handled by the airport Special Services. Anyway, the big day
arrived when the Princess would be voluntarily downgraded to ‘goat
class’. I arrived early at Kensington Palace so we could head off to
catch the Gatwick Express from Victoria.
‘Why do we have to leave so early?’ she complained. ‘The flight isn’t until 3pm and I have a hair appointment at 11.30am.’
Her favourite pastime, especially
around December, was flicking through upmarket holiday brochures to find
an escape from the formality of a royal Christmas
‘Well,
I can’t see how you can make that appointment, Ma’am, and queue for
luggage, then go through security in time,’ I replied. ‘We will miss the
flight as we have to take public transport, too.’
She looked at me quizzically. ‘Really, as long as that?’
We
compromised: I asked her chauffeur to take us to Gatwick as soon as the
hair appointment was over. So by the time we arrived, we were running
late and the queues were horrendous.
Soon,
we were ringed by around 20 people, all vying to get a better look at
the Princess. After a minute or two, Diana shot me a look. Without her
having to say a word, its meaning was clear: ‘I’m a Princess . . . Get
me out of here!’
Fortunately, I had a
Plan B. Without telling Diana, I’d contacted airport Special Services
the day before and explained the situation. They’d promised to help out,
if I needed them.
The Princess and I
began walking away. ‘Where are you going, Di? I wanted just one more
photo!’ cried one of the hen party girls. Seconds later, normal service
had been resumed, and we were being whisked through security.
Diana
was offered a glass of water in the sanctuary of the VIP area, which
she accepted with a smile. She didn’t say a word about what had just
happened.Yet Diana was always dreaming or conniving at an escape from
the strictures of life as a Royal.
Yet
Diana was always dreaming or conniving at an escape from the strictures
of life as a Royal. Diana is pictured in 1985 during a royal visit to
Italy
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