“You can have it for half price.”
I was at Collectorama, a vintage fair in Nambour, Queensland, last week when I spotted the plate bearing the youthful effigy of (now) King Charles III, issued for his first marriage.
There was no question I was going to buy it, but such a hefty discount made me suspicious. I ran my fingers around the edge of the plate, feeling for chips in the porcelain.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the Diana plate?” the vendor asked, gesturing towards the plate next to it. I politely declined and handed over my money.
While the woman was wrapping my plate in brown paper she remarked in a tone of resignation, “Well, I guess he will be our King someday.”
I don’t think either of us realised that time would come only six days later.
**
I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. I’m fond of love stories and I especially love tales of turbulent, wholly consuming love affairs. Love so intoxicating you can’t eat or sleep and instead write lustful poems and view life through a soft-focus Vaseline lens.
I firmly believe there is no greater love story than that of King Edward VIII and American double divorcee Wallis Simpson. All the power, money and jewels in the world could not assuage his desire to be with the woman he loved, even if that meant abdicating and living in exile, never able to freely return to his beloved homeland. Can you imagine someone abdicating the throne for you? I don’t think there is a greater declaration of love.
But the second-greatest love story, one that is hugely underappreciated, is that of Charles and Camilla.
Throughout his life, Charles’ relationships have been laid bare, often in intrusive detail. Camilla and Charles dated in the early 1970s but royal protocol deemed Camilla to be an unsuitable candidate as the wife of the heir to the throne.
We all know what happened next.
Having endured years being unfairly maligned for her role in Charles’ failed marriage to Diana, she remained stoically by his side. Divorce, even in the early 2000s, was still taboo in the royal family, so marriage to a divorcee was completely out of the question. That was until 2005 when they were finally granted permission to marry in a civil ceremony. I’ve been a fan of them (and Camilla’s resplendent feathered wedding headdress) ever since.
Their affection for each other is obvious, and in his first address as King this week she topped the roll call: “I count on the loving help of my darling wife Camilla.”
In 2012, ahead of their first tour of Australia as a married couple, tabloid media began whipping up a frenzy of spiteful headlines and rumours.
Forever in the shadow of Diana’s death, public sentiment towards Camilla had been festering away and the venom directed towards her was abhorrent and unjustified.
And so I wrote to HRH, not in a sycophantic or obsequious manner, but to say that not everyone felt this way towards his wife and there was at least one person who wasn’t going to throw eggs at them on the steps of the Sydney Opera House.
A few weeks later a letter came in the post.
Among my other prized possessions, a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle I bought in an op-shop to commemorate their wedding. It had all the pieces but when I went to assemble it during lockdown in 2020 it appeared the previous owners defaced it with moustaches. The cheek!
In the absence of any other wedding memorabilia I took it upon myself to, ahem, redesign a biscuit tin from his 1981 marriage. Unfortunately, it came into contact with water at some point and Camilla’s face is now a fluorescent shade of purple. I use my tin exclusively to keep Easter eggs on my desk at work.
Charles and Camilla returned to Australia again in 2015. I asked my then boss if I could take an extended lunch break on the day they were in Martin Place in Sydney. She didn’t even need to ask why. “God you’re weird! Go on!”
I weaved my way through the crowd to make it to the front. Charles was patient as he shook hands all the way down Pitt Street. “Is Camilla coming over this way?” I asked a member of his security detail standing nearby. “Sorry, they were running late and are doing one side each today.” I was a little disappointed. “What’s she like to work for?” I asked. A broad smile washed across his face. “She’s great. She has a terrific sense of humour!”
While we were driving the other night I asked my husband, “Would you abdicate for me?”
The reply came immediately.
“Of course, my darling.”