Written by Sandshoe*.
Funny, if that’s the word for my viewpoint from my cell, sorry college room in which I immerse myself in little else these days other than the study of careless and murderous intent described in terms of Crown and its judgements. Allow me to describe my commingled thoughts these last few days about specifically the Duke, that’s Mountbatten and not Wayne.
Funny, as I was saying, I was born in 1950 and I cannot recall the exact year the presence of the Duke came to my ken, but as I was reading before I went to school, I am guessing near the very most beginning of me. I recall sitting on my father’s shoulders waving a small flag as the Royal procession passed. That was the visit to Australia in 1954. I was not far older than three years of age. It is not a mystery why I got down to some really serious thinks the small past while. A thought wafted up like a liberating genie out of a bottle.
I am me in a large part because he was who and what he was.
Astounding. I was incredulous. He contributed to shaping me. I knew some men could be something like my father. Here an example was in full view on a world stage. He was sober albeit you do not understand what that exactly is, but by what it presents as. He was outspoken I knew when I was very young. That fascinated me. I saw him as brave in that regard when I learned he was opposed to the degradation of the environment. It goes on.
When I learned something of his history, when I started to understand the dimension of the political and moral dilemmas he witnessed in his experiences as a prince of Greece and a cousin of the Windsor royal family I felt astonishment at how rich the viewpoint must have been. I was a student of history and geography, economics, literature and later of the social sciences. When his kids got into scrapes and the worse they were with regard to immorality as we perceive it through the media, I wondered how much pain he must have been carrying, the worry. I had seen my stoic father walking with his shoulders back and his head held high through similar grief and worry. I had my own children.
I learned about Phillip’s mother and wondered about her decision in later life to choose a path of humility and penury in service to others. I imagined her influence on him.
Not sure when, but some time I conceived of the notion this man was so awed by the adoration of him his cousin formed when she was a child, he responded to what was required of him as a consort forever on that ground … aside the hordes, aside the media, aside Parliament, but as well because he understood this little girl. He in the first instance loved the beautiful young girl who adored him. He had no sides. I believe it is that simple.
*Sandshoe is Christina Binning Wilson (B.A. – History and Politics). Christina is a current undergraduate student of Bachelor of Laws (Graduate Entry) at an Australian University. She is a long-time contributing writer for the independent blog, the Window Dressers Arms, Pig and Whistle aka the Pig’s Arms. Nothing she writes can be taken as representing her alma mater or affiliates and no opinions she expresses are those of the College.