Well, it has finally arrived. I write of course about Independence Day or as it is being called – Brexit Day. It is here at last and after eleven o’clock – I wonder why they didn’t choose midnight – tonight, Britain will at last be independent of Europe or at any rate, the European Union.
The last time I lived through an Independence Day was on 18th April 1980 when Rhodesia finally became Zimbabwe. I didn’t join in the celebrations then so I can sympathise with those who will not be celebrating tonight, but although there have been three and a half years of bitter squabbling among the people of this country over Brexit, at least nobody has been killed as happened in the lead up to Independence to thousands of my own countrymen way back then.
So what will happen tonight I wonder? Will there be a ceremonial lowering of the European flag and raising of the Union Jack, as happened in reverse in all those liberated colonies? Will Prince Charles attend and stiffen to a royal salute as he did in my own country before handing it over to Robert Mugabe?
Somehow I doubt it. There will I suppose be the odd party here and there, but I fancy it will all be pretty subdued, as a nervous nation waits for what will happen next. This was once the proudest nation on earth, but modern Britons seem too cowed by comfort and technology to celebrate the fact that they will be free of what really was a brutal and corrupt tyranny.
Talking about Prince Charles, I do feel terribly sorry for his mother. Poor old Queenie must be tearing her hair out as her family in general present themselves to the world as rather a sordid sort of soap opera.
Charles himself, who tells us all how he talks to his plants and is intent on saving the planet from itself was this week revealed to have travelled many thousands of miles of late in private jets – a little like his younger son who not so long ago lectured us all in bare feet, having taken four private jet flights in a week.
Prince Andrew drops ever further into disgrace over his heartless attitude toward Epstein victims and his apparent refusal to speak with the American investigators in the case. Peter Phillips demeans himself and his family by doing a tacky commercial advertising Chinese milk, as does Lady Kitty Spencer with a rival milk company. The Duchess of York is opening a business selling more knick-knacks under a ‘Duchess’ brand and of course the Royal Biscuit and his Yank have horrified the world by running away from their royal duties to cash in on their titles and celebrity connections.
And now to cap it all, a bloke in Australia claims to be the illegitimate son of Charles and Camilla and is so confident of his case that he has taken it to the Australian High Court. Simon Charles Dorante-Day (he has a posh name at any rate!) seems determined to prove that he is the second in line to the throne. The fifty-three year old has long claimed to have damning evidence that he was born out of wedlock in 1966 and was farmed out to a family who had strong private ties to the Queen.
Says Simon: “My grandmother, who worked for the Queen, told me outright that I was Camilla and Charles’ son many times. The government and the palace would’ve learnt about my High Court submissions just before Christmas, and I have no doubt it would’ve caused panic. Then we hear of Harry announcing that he was stepping back from the royal family and all the crisis talks at Sandringham Estate with the Queen, Charles and William. It’s all a very big coincidence!
“While the whole world was thinking they were talking about Harry, we believe this legal battle would’ve also been on the agenda and discussed. In his farewell speech, Harry himself alluded to there being ‘other challenges’ and I can’t help but wonder if this case is one.”
As part of his new case, Simon has asked for a mediation session and a ‘Statement of Paternity’ whatever that may be. “When looking into my options, I received advice that led me to believe that it was best to take my case to the High Court,” says he.
It would seem that Simon was born in Gosport during April 1966 and at the age of eighteen months, was adopted by a local couple named Karen and David Day. His adoptive grandparents, Winifred and Ernest Bowlden both worked for the Queen and Prince Philip in one of their royal households. Ernest in fact received an Imperial Service Award for his work for Her Majesty.
Simon’s grandmother apparently told him many times he was Camilla and Charles’ child. “She didn’t just hint at it, she told me outright.”
It seems that Charles and Camilla first became close in 1965, and just months later, in the lead-up to when Simon was born, Camilla mysteriously disappeared for at least nine months, while Charles was sent to Australia. The hospital where Simon was reportedly born didn’t deliver babies at the time and the names of the parents listed on his birth certificate were fictitious. It all sounds somewhat fishy I suppose.
Simon reckons that he has firm recollections of being taken to houses around Portsmouth as a little boy, where he would spend time with the woman, he believes was Camilla while protection officers and his adoptive parents waited outside.
Simon believes Camilla kept him until he was eighteen months old, using the royals and protection officers to help conceal him. But when he was getting too old, it was arranged that one of the Queen’s trusted house staff − Simon’s grandmother − would have her daughter adopt him.
God only knows what will happen next but the papers here are being very coy about this case. I said to begin with that the Royals were beginning to seem like a somewhat sordid soap opera, but I can’t imagine any screen writer having the imagination or the gall to inflict so much personal disaster and shame on any one family.
What on earth will Queenie have to put up with next? She goes around looking regal and unconcerned but inside she must be dreading the next horrific instalment in her personal family drama.