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have denied her a last cigarette.

    All through the afternoon, Charles and his mother sat behind a thin curtain in a cubicle at the Royal Hospital, listening to the almost unbearable sounds of human suffering. They heard death, agony and the desperate laughter of teenage nurses as they tried to remove a withered rubber doll from the penis of a middle-aged man. The Queen almost laughed herself when she heard the man’s wife say to the nurses, “I knew there was someone else.”
    But she didn’t laugh. She pulled her features into a scowl. Crawfie had taught her to control her emotions, and the Queen was grateful for Crawfie’s wise guidance. How else could she have borne all those interminable speeches of welcome, in languages she didn’t understand, knowing that she must sit through the translation into English. Then to have to rise and read out her own banalities, and then to inspect the troops, knowing that each man or woman dreaded her stopping at them . And what did she say when she did stop? “Where are you from? How long have you been in the Army?” It was painful to watch them stammering a reply. Once she had asked, “Do you like the Navy?” of a young sailor of eighteen. He had instantly replied, “No, Your Majesty.” She had scowled and moved on. But she had wanted to smile and thank him for his rare honesty. She had given instructions that he was not to be punished.

    “I am sorry to keep you, Mrs Windsor. I’m Doctor Animba.” The doctor had been warned, but he felt his blood pressure rise as he took the Queen’s injured hand in his own. Tenderly he removed the bloodstained dressing and inspected the deep cuts on the thumb and two fingers.
    “And how did you do this, Your Maj – … Mrs Windsor?”
    “On a corned beef tin.”
    “A very common injury. Legislation is called for. Those tins should be outlawed.”
    Doctor Animba was a serious young man who believed that the law could cure most social ills.
    Charles said, “Dr Animba, my mother has waited nearly five hours for medical attention.”
    “Yes, this is normal.” Doctor Animba rose to his feet.
    “Normal?”
    “Oh yes. Your mother is lucky she did not choose to eat corned beef on a Saturday night. On Saturday nights we are extremely busy. Now I must go. A nurse will be coming along soon.” With a swish of the curtain he was gone. The Queen sank back onto the hospital trolley and closed her eyes tightly against the prickling of tears gathering behind the lids. She must control herself at all costs.
    Charles said, “It’s another world.”
    The Queen said, “Another country, at least.”
    They heard Doctor Animba go into the cubicle containing the rubber doll and her victim. They heard his vigorous struggle as he endeavoured to part rubber from flesh. They heard him say, “There should be legislation.”
    Red with embarrassment, Charles said, “I was supposed to be opening a new hospital in Taunton tomorrow.”
    The Queen said, “I expect the populace of Taunton will cope with your absence.”
    They waited in silence for the promised nurse. Eventually, the Queen fell asleep. Prince Charles looked at his mother, her untidy hair, her bloodstained jumper. He took her uninjured hand in his hand and vowed to take care of her.
    9 Faux Pas
    That afternoon, Diana’s tiny living room was full of visitors, all women. Some of them had brought autograph books. The room reeked of Christmas present perfume. Perfume that had been manufactured in industrial units in the Far East. Violet Toby, one of Diana’s next-door neighbours, was telling Diana the story of her long life. The other women fidgeted, lit cigarettes, tugged on their skirts. They had heard this story many times before.
    “So, when I seen this letter, I knew . So when he came home from work I said to ’im, who’s this bleedin’ Yvonne when she’s at home? Well, ’is face went white. I said, You can gerrout and stay out. So that was number two.”
    Diana prompted, as she had