TO MARK THE tenth anniversary of our mother’s death, Willy and I organized a concert in her honor. The proceeds would go to her favorite charities, and to a new charity I’d just launched—Sentebale. Its mission: the fight against HIV in Lesotho, particularly among children. (Sentebale is the Sesotho word for “forget-me-not,” Mummy’s favorite
flower.)
While planning the concert Willy and I were emotionless. All business. It’s the anniversary, we need to do this, there are a million details, full stop. The venue had to be big enough (Wembley Stadium) and the tickets had to be priced right (forty-five pounds) and the entertainers had to be A-list (Elton John, Duran Duran, P. Diddy). But on the night of the event, standing backstage, looking out at all those faces, feeling that pulsing energy, that pent-up love and longing for our mother, we crumpled.
Then Elton walked onstage. He seated himself at a grand piano and the place went mad. I’d asked him to sing “Candle in the Wind,” but he said no, he didn’t want to be morbid. He chose instead: “Your Song.”
I hope you don’t mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you’re in the world
He sang it with a twinkle and a smile, aglow with good memories. Willy and I tried for that same energy, but then photos of Mummy began flashing on the screen. Each one more radiant. We went from being crumpled to being swept away.
As the song ended Elton jumped up, introduced us. Their Royal Highnesses, Prince William and Prince Harry! The applause was deafening, like nothing we’d ever heard. We’d been applauded in the streets, at polo games, parades, operas, but never in a place this cavernous, or in a context this charged. Willy walked out, I followed, each of us wearing a blazer and open shirt, as if going to a school dance. We were both frightfully nervous. On any topic, but especially on the topic of Mummy, we weren’t accustomed to public speaking. (In fact, we weren’t accustomed to private speaking about her.) But standing before 65,000 people, and another 500 million watching live in 140 countries, we were paralyzed.
Maybe that was the reason we didn’t actually…say anything? I look at the video now and it’s striking. Here was a moment, maybe the moment, for us to describe her, to dig down deep and find the words to remind the world of her sterling qualities, her once-a-millennium magic—her disappearance. But we didn’t. I’m not suggesting a full-blown homage was in order, but maybe some small personal tribute?
We offered no such thing.
It was still too much, too raw.
The only thing I said that was real, that came from my heart, was a shout-out to my team. I’d also like to take this opportunity to say hi to all the guys in A Squadron, Household Cavalry, who are serving out in Iraq at the moment! I wish I was there with you. I’m sorry I can’t be! But to you and everybody else on operations at the moment, we’d both like to say: Stay safe!
