Category Archives: Royal Family

‘Just reach out and touch me.’ Prince Harry, Her Majesty, and the undeniable urge to flaunt it if you’ve got it. Some thoughts.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. For thousands of years, since our ancestors in caves learned how to do what comes naturally, men have been ogling women. It was their God- given right and no one but a few do-gooders thought anything about it. It was the way the world was, and we males liked it that way.

Then the sexual revolution of the 1960s took a remarkable twist. Women started, tentatively at first, to ogle men… and all of a sudden sexual equality meant exactly that. The fig leaf, so firmly in place for millennia, was now dropped forever and ou la la meant Billie and Bobbie, not just Heather and Marie. Thus the world jumped at the chance to see His Royal Highness Prince Harry of Wales in the altogether, up close and very personal.

The facts.

HRH’s office reported this week that 27 year old Harry was bushed from his unrelenting labors at the London Olympics. We empathize. It is, after all, strenuous work handing out gold medals and saying just the perfect word of victory or consolation. He surely needed the holiday he took and all its perquisites. But where to go? For the funnest prince on Earth it had to be the funnest place on Earth, somewhere outside the empire where the sun still never sets and where grandmama was sovereign, somewhere where he could kiss and no one would tell.

And so it came to him, “Viva Las Vegas”, the magic place where whatever happens stays. The perfect place to parteeeeeeeeeeeee!

Now, let’s be clear about what goes on in the town universally called “Vegas”. Gambling. Sex. Celine Dion. Sex. Over abundant dinner. Sex. Capische?

Let’s be clear about something else. Harry is a bona fide prince of the bluest blood but the likelihood of his ever reigning is miniscule. His father Prince Charles would have to be out of the picture and his brother Prince William, the new Duke of Cambridge. Moreover, the minute Prince William and his alluring wife Kate have a kid, Harry goes down another notch, oblivion his destiny. What’s a boy to do in such circumstances? Rod Stewart, loyal subject of the dynasty, has the answer, and he delivered it in his 1978 pop smash “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?”. He made the necessary moves as clear as a how-to book, listen, learn, do.

“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy/Come on, sugar, let me know.”

And women did, slowly perhaps but undeniably, and a whole new genre of males was born. We called them boy toys. I was chagrined that I was old, far too old, to try on that persona and flaunt the little that was left. Call it caution. Call it common sense. Call it apprehension and fear. I demurred. But Prince Harry most assuredly did not.

Thus, this junior prince of Wales started off with the obligatory game of strip pool, so popular, so prone to reckless betting of vestments. But then, who needs clothes, in Vegas of all places?

Where was his security?

Here is where every single alarm bell in the kingdom should have gone off and where Harry’s security detail should have been johnny on the spot reminding him that stripping and flinging his glad rags on the floor was not, ahem, the best of all courses, sir. Such a warning may well have caused HRH to pause and come to his senses, keeping his clothes on his body. Had he heeded the warning, the world would have had to somehow get through the day adrift, without Harry’s buff body to titillate and amuse us. But those bells did not go off… and this is a matter not for mirth but for concern. Where were those agents when he needed them? This calls for investigation, explanation and disciplinary action.

Another matter for concern: the totally revealing photos which are now so easily accessible online are grainy, unprofessional, unclear; they resemble photos taken secretly from a closet or undisclosed location. In other words, our feckless prince, all uncomprehending, went into a room of strangers, lost his clothes and thereby became a golden meal ticket to a shutterbug who saw his chance in the naked body of this scion of Windsor to garner a king’s ransom fast. It was ignoble, deplorable, but do-able the way our clueless prince so carelessly operates.

Second royal child syndrome.

Harry’s singular problems began with his birth. In the old saying, “the heir and the spare,” he was “the spare”. In this situation, well known to every royal family, the heir gets the good stuff, all the good stuff; crown, kingdom, the respect of a great nation and its empire, and the best seat in the house for every royal pageant. Against this mountain of goodies, what “the spare” gets looks petty, derisory, even unfair. Yet it is the royal way.

As a result, second children, princes like Harry’s uncle Andrew, Duke of York, Prince Charles’ younger brother, and princesses like Margaret Rose, the Queen’s late younger sister, get indulged to a degree… perhaps because their reigning parents feel sorry for them. In short, there is guilt and lots of it, for all that this is the royal way. And so these indulged younger children run rampant in a way no heir to the throne would ever be allowed to do.

Even more guilt in Harry’s case.

Harry was just 12 when his adored mother Diana Princess of Wales died. A great nation wanted to reach out and give him comfort. This, in time, turned into near carte blanche, as if he were entitled to do whatever he liked because of the great tragedy that was his burden for life and haunting reality. And so the “indiscretions” piled up:

How Harry was famously photographed wearing a Nazi uniform for a costume party. How he was photographed cupping the breast of a female TV presenter. How he uttered a racial slur while teasing a fellow army cadet from Pakistan.

This prince more than most needed extra attention and as the events in Las Vegas show though he needed it, he didn’t get it. Will what ensued hurt the dynasty? No way. For Harry was indulging himself in ways every English mate would understand, do whenever he could, and envy. It was a case of “that lucky dog” and a lascivious wink.

But what of Her Majesty the Queen? Surely she had something to say on the matter? Not necessarily, for I suspect she realizes her own responsibility in the matter of her handsome, dashing, most humorous grandson, and likes him just the way he is. Any such call she might have made would have contained only the most mild slap on the wrist, thus: “Harry, really….” “Yes, Grandmama.” “Try not to be so trusting.” “Of course, Grandmama.” “And assume there are always cameras present.” “You’re right, Grandmama”. “And do keep your clothes on, dear Harry.” “You have my word, Grandmama.” And that, this time, was that. But of course both knew he couldn’t keep it.

Wanted: a good woman.

The solution? A good woman, of course, pretty in the English rose way, and above all someone who would understand and love him for himself. His elder brother, someday to be king, found such a beloved. With luck, and fewer trips to Las Vegas, Harry will find his, too. Until then, we must anticipate and expect more such indiscretions and misadventures splashed on the world’s tabloids, giving us the opportunity to tsk tsk, disapprove, and, above all else, enjoy the discomfiture and witlessness of a prince of the blood royal whose ancestor was once our puissant lord and king. It pleases us to see how far the mighty have fallen and hope to see how further still they may yet fall.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

‘We ARE most amused.’ 43,000 pages of Queen Victoria’s journals posted online… as we dig into royal reality.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. In 1979 my first book “Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony & Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court” was published by Hamish Hamilton in London and Taplinger in New York. It was treated as front page news in England, because it was based on hitherto unknown and unreported papers, including unpublished documents made available to me by Her Gracious Majesty The Queen.

Aside from their undeniably important content, something else was significant about this matter; the fact that it was the research of an American, indeed the very first Yank ever admitted to the treasure trove that resides in the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle. In fact, so far as I know, I remain all these many years later the only American still. And so I am uniquely qualified to write this story.

“Soldiers of the Queen”.

As every monarch has known, a royal story goes better with a strong, rousing tune, and this one is no exception. Thus I have selected one of the best marches of the Empire on which the sun never set, “Soldiers of the Queen.” It was written and composed by Leslie Stuart in the1890s for the opening of the Manchester Ship Canal. Its lyrics were not merely catchy, they were very gospel to the people who thrilled to their imperial achievement.

“It’s the soldiers of the Queen, my lads Who’ve been, my lads, who’ve seen, my lads In the fight for England’s glory lads When we’ve had to show them what we mean.”

Go now to any search engine and find this pip of a tune which you’ll probably recall from Shirley Temple’s 1939 film “The Little Princess.” It is sure to get your blood stirring if you’ve got even a drop of the old English about you.

Enter by the tradesmen’s door.

To gain access to the sovereign’s private papers, you must apply to the Royal Librarian, in my day Sir Robin Mackworth-Young. The key to entry was being a “recognized scholar.” This meant being a known author or having secured the Ph.D. from a known university. In my case it necessitated being patient until I took my Ph.D. from Harvard University in 1975. As soon as I had it in hand, I left for England, for Windsor, for the papers I needed to complete my book.

Perhaps only a scholar given such access can know and understand the thrill, the giddy excitement as you travel to such riches. But reality entered the picture at once. I was told to go to the tradesmen’s entry where a footman in powdered hair handed me a quill pen and told me to sign in. Me? Tradesmen’s entry? The sage of Cambridge?

More sobering reality.

The footman then picked up a candelabrum and a giant key. “This way,” he said (“doctor” and “sir” omitted), as if I were the butcher’s boy; leading me the few steps to the door at the base of the Round Tower. He unlocked the massive door and told me to ascend the stairs to the top where another heavy door would be unlocked.The concrete stairs were steep; it was cold. There was no light. I was a prisoner in the Tower, locked in at their pleasure, wondering how to get out. Now I was thrilled no longer; I was in a story that could easily be written by Edgar Allan Poe or M.R. James, both masters of the macabre.

“We’ve been expecting you.”

Then as I reached the top, the door swung open, there was light, warmth and a greeting from Miss Jane Langton. She showed me my room, told me which papers they had laid out and explained the rules, viz that I must take tea with the staff daily and leave for luncheon. I resented both rules; I had come a long way to gather what I needed… and luncheon was immaterial. Still I was logged out then, too, to log in again in 60 minutes sharp.

Her Majesty The Scribbler.

Victoria became sovereign by birth, merit being no part of the matter. But she became a writer by hard work, assiduous effort, and the constant perfecting of her craft. I liked that about her from the start, for she knew the burden of the blank page… and she knew the necessity to write regularly, frequently, and follow the writer’s first rule: to write about what she knew. She did, publishing two best-selling books, writing thousands of letters (only a fraction in print) and creating the most important royal journal ever written.

Thus each day I was allowed in the Round Tower, I was in direct, personal converse with the majesty that reigned over a preponderance of the known world. At first, of course, there were her quirks and abysmal handwriting to learn. This wasn’t easy for Queen Victoria was famous for her illegible hand and abbreviations… the text messaging of her day. However, in due course I mastered both to the extent that the staff would bring me papers they were working on and asked for my opinion. Thus, I built bridges with people not keen on my American heritage and became a known master of royal cryptograms, to the extent the staff would often compliment my proven skills… and in truth I earned their regard, though there were frustrating times when the Queen’s execrable handwriting defeated us all.

Now available to the world at

Now thanks to the generosity of Queen Elizabeth II you need not demonstrate that you are a “recognized scholar” to gain access. No interview required with a pompous minor member of the royal staff; no forced tea or luncheon… just you and the great Queen, from the comfort of your home. All this deserves the highest praise and gratitude and as the complete collection is indexed (a gigantic task indeed), your praise should swell, too.

But now it is time to dip into Her Majesty’s actual words, where you find from the very first a woman of honesty, directness, of strong sentiments, but no pretence at all. See for yourself…

On her birthday, May 24, 1837. “Today is my eighteenth birthday! How old! and yet how far I am from being what I should be. I shall from this day take the firm resolution to study with renewed assiduity, to keep my attention always well fixed on whatever I am about, and to strive to become every day less trifling and more fit for what, if Heaven wills it, I’m some day to be.”

On proposing to her adored Prince Albert, (October 15, 1839). “My mind is quite made up, and I told Albert this morning of it. The warm affection he showed me on learning this gave me great pleasure. He seems perfection, and I think that I have the prospect of very great happiness before me. I love him more than I can say…”

And this effusion: “I really cannot say how proud I feel to be the Queen of such a nation.” She entered it into her journal the evening of her coronation, June 28, 1838… but she felt this way every day of her life. I felt this commitment strongly as I worked busily in the Round Tower so many years ago! Now this feeling can be yours wherever you are as you dig in to her most private thoughts. God save the Queen… and every word she ever wrote.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Commission Commando ->

It’s time you were treated like a queen — or king — for (at least) a day.You’ve waited long enough.

Author’s program note. Years ago there was a television program called “Queen for a Day” where some perfectly average Jane or Betty was selected by host Jack Bailey and got herself pampered for a memorable day she would never forget. Frankly, this is what we all need and, sad to say, the program is long gone.

Being the focus of an episode of “This is your life” (host Ralph Edwards) would have worked, too, but that also bit the dust in 1972; otherwise I’d recommend you as their next guest right this minute. Yikes! Where the number of opportunities for showcasing you should be rising, in fact they have plummeted and that is very much the problem… and the reason for this ultra-necessary article.

To get this process underway I have selected one of Hollywood’s most soaring scores… it’s “Conquest” by Alfred Newman, commissioned for the 1947 film “Captain from Castile” starring one of the great stars of the silver screen…. Tyrone Power. It’s music in the grand tradition… and it brightened the lives and put zip in the step of all who heard it. Since I was born in ’47, I like to think my mother was humming it in the delivery room. It certainly suits me.

Go to any search engine now and marinate yourself in its uplifting exuberance. Like I’ve been trying to tell you; you deserve it. Got it on? Now we must craft an event worthy of the music… and of you!

You are not unwanted…. you are not unconsidered… but you are most assuredly uncelebrated and unheralded. And (let’s be brutally frank with each other) that irritates, irks, and galls you, doesn’t it, well doesn’t it?

You work incredibly hard to keep home, hearth and happiness together, and you want more than the occasional peck on the cheek, more than the Hallmark card with its pre-written message of banality and over ripe sentimentality. Yes, you want more… more than the once-a-year visit to the waffle house for Mother’s Day… or the lackluster seasonal greetings for Father’s Day. You want more…. you deserve more… and now with me as your self-appointed but supremely necessary Wizard-in-Chief, you shall have more.

The Plan.

You have been patient long enough. I think you know, too, further patience won’t deliver the love-in that you desire. You do know this, right? So, it’s time for a radical change of ideas and a brand-new plan… what celebrated author Grace Paley called “enormous changes at the last minute.” In short we mean to take business as usual and… trash it. Capiche? If not, I can assure you you’ll have an “aha!” moment shortly.

Start from the proposition that no one (now that Bailey and Edwards and all their ilk are gone) is going to organize a day (or even two) in your honor, much less possess the skills to conceive, craft, and consummate it. As my beloved Grammy used to say, “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” You know it’s true, so don’t pine too long over the fact that all the significant others in your life (spouse, children, bowling buddies et al) went missing on this matter… just be glad it’s happening at all. And turn up the volume on “Conquest” for we are already behind in getting you just what you’ve waited for and wanted for, oh, so long.

The ” to-do” llst.

* We need a date. And, dear friend, soonest… for if you put this off you will never do it!

* A venue. If you’re broke (as millions most assuredly are in our thread-bare days), then it will have to be at your residence. Nothing wrong with that. The oldest of olde English adages is “A man’s home is his castle.” In these days of gender equality, the same must be said for “a woman’s home.” Got a few bucks? Then rent a function room at a local hotel. Remember, it’s your day; it doesn’t happen every day, and you should approach it accordingly.

However, either way, you must have a place you can be proud of… for you can be sure your great event will attract shutter-bugs of every age.

* Enlist some help… your best friend Trudy or Bill will do nicely.

Your best friend already knows your oddities and idiosyncrasies, so this idea won’t unhinge them. They’ll just chuckle and say, “You, dog, you…” And wishing they’d thought up the idea, give you a hand. You’ll need it.

When you’re finished with these tasks, get down to business.

* Tackle the guest list. Just who do you want to attend? Remember, these events can range from long overdue soirees with just you and your significant other… to a “Hail to the Chief” event at the White House. It depends on what you well and truly want… and will work for. Either way you’ll need a guest list. Make sure to include that Ms. Nastiness of the accounts department. Sure you hate her guts…. but that’s the point. Think how envious she’ll be when the boss hands you an award and a bushel of compliments. It’ll be worth all the snide comments she’ll surely make… But, she’s making those already.

* About the award. You probably don’t know this (it’s just one reason why I’m such a valuable member of your support team) but EVERY government body — local, state, federal — has a drawer full of them… waiting just for your name and particular achievement to enter. My walls are full of them, and why should yours continue to be empty when it just takes knowing how to arrange matters to give them a very different look… again to the monumental chagrin of Ms. Nastiness.

Have your helper send a note like this to the governor of your state, for instance. It reads so: “I am writing to let you know that one of our state’s true treasures — your name — is finally being recognized for a lifetime of unsung service. Her many friends are holding a recognition event on (date) and would welcome your attendance, to say a few words and present a certificate. We await your positive answer and thank you for your consideration.”

Just how difficult are these citations to get? Well, the day before my brother married a beautiful Oklahoma girl, my mother and I went to the capital building to see what we could see and learn the lore. It dawned on me I’d like to give them a special present at the rehearsal dinner that night. In three hours I had one from the State of Oklahoma, signed by its governor (on a Friday afternoon, mind). “Next time” said his excellency’s efficient secretary as she handed it to me, “give us more time”, but as my brother and his bride are still happily yoked, I have not had further occasion to heed this advice. But it should be of benefit to you.

Your entry… your apotheosis.

Now it’s time to consider what you’ll wear, the cunning ‘do that’ll amplify your thinning locks… the limousine that must transport you and where to get sufficient flower petals that will rain down upon you in an entrance worthy of Norma Desmond. My unerring advice: within the parameters of your budget, do not stint. The objective is to augment your reputation and acknowledge a lifetime of often unknown services, without bankrupting you.

But in one thing you must be truly lavish: the way you look, acknowledge — and in due course personally thank — all your guests. And here the ascending music of “Conquest”, fit for any sovereign, must be played… for when you hear it, you will be at last what you have for a lifetime desired to be: the apple of every eye, at last “the fairest of them all.”

From the moment your chariot arrives (though it may only be a beat-up VW) wave, smile and wave again, the very personification of joy and largesse to all, a monarch indeed, if only for the passing hour. Oh, yes, one more thing: the toast to you. Write it yourself, for only you know what it should say and which of your many merits should be acclaimed. How I shall enjoy saying these things about you knowing how well you deserve them…

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find our why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

‘I enjoy being a girl,’ as Britain and its Commonwealth abolish royal maleprecedence.

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. So, at last it came, after a thousand long years, then as swift as lightning… girl royals are now equals of boy royals, by parliamentary fiat and the Queen’s own signature . And all the Founding Mothers of Women’s Rights and Feminism are cock-a-hoop, equality in all occupations — even the most august — having always been their goal.

For such an epochal event, there must be music, bright, uplifting, girlish music, and so I have selected that curvaceous tune “I enjoy being a girl” from Rodger and Hammerstein’s hit “Flower Drum Song” (1958). The only person who may be unhappy hearing it will be the first affected British prince… and he isn’t even born yet.

Now thanks to the omniscient information services provided exclusively to only the best of commentators (ahem!), I am about to reveal to you the transcript of the critical interview between HM The Queen, HRH The Prince Charles The Prince of Wales; HRH The Prince Philip The Duke of Edinburgh, and Their Royal Highnesses The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge at Windsor Castle on a day not too long ago:

The Queen: “Well, what we’ve always expected has at last been proposed. The Prime Minister has advised and the Cabinet has approved that princesses should now be the equal of princes in all matters, including The Succession. I have called this meeting of The Firm to discuss our options.”

Prince Charles: “Queen Victoria would not have been amused, ma’am.”

The Queen: “Or Queen Mary either.”

Duke of Cambridge: “But we must move with the times, dear grandmama.”

And upon hearing this the Queen gave an audible sigh… speaking thus with weariness and resignation:

“Every one of my Prime Ministers, starting with my first, dear Winnie, has been so advising me for 60 years now… and where has it gotten the Windsors… or the nation?”

” ‘Give up the Empire, Your Majesty,’ they said, “And so, being only a young girl, though a sovereign queen, I did.”

” ‘Give up the right to veto legislation.’ And, being a constitutional monarch I did, thereby affixing my signature while holding my nose to even the most daft and ludicrous ideas.”

” ‘Make such and such a one a baron…such and such a one an earl… and distribute knighthoods to all and sundry’; and I did this, too, giving honors to those completely without scruples, much less honor… and I felt queenship to be a deception… yet I did all this and more for the dwindling cause of royalty.”

“Yes, I did all this, and much more.”

“I was advised to give up the Royal car on the railroads… to give up the Royal yacht which made such a grand impression on politicians and especially their star-struck wives… then I gave up the Royal plane… and slashed the number of carriages… and the footmen and, and, and…”

And here Majesty took a moment to brace herself.

“And now I hear, dear Charles, that you wish to pull down Buckingham Palace and turn it into luxury flats. Can this, too, be true?”…

Prince Charles: “You have often called it a white elephant yourself, dear mama.”

The Queen rises, and speaks not so much to the living princes before her but to her princely predecessors, the Plantagenets, the Stuarts, the Hanoverians, the latter day princes of Saxe-Coburg and, as last, her relatives of Windsor… and suddenly there is profound silence in this chamber hung with red brocade, gilded with gold, and graced by majesty.

“Have I kept faith with you, my ancestors… have I kept faith with you, England? Have I done what you wished… even when I thought better of it… have I stood before the nation at all times, in all seasons, in all situations, proud to be the queen of such a people and the worthy descendant of such princes as you were? Have I been a sovereign of nobility… of wisdom… of magnanimity… of grace… of cool reflection and of courage?”

And here she moved about the room, touching each picture with gentleness as if she were caressing a beloved relative, seen again with love, respect, and deep compassion.

There was no sound in the room… but each person in that room was touched to the very core of their being. For they were all, each of them, threads in the royal skein of England… and if they never knew it before, they truly knew it now.

Prince William, the white hope of the dynasty, graced with kindness and empathy, saw the Queen was tired now, leapt up to take her arm and kiss her cheek, for he was in himself a man of reconciliation and knew by instinct just when to move and what to do.

“We love you so, dear grandmama,” and a tear came to them both.

And then Prince Philip jarred the atmosphere, as he had been doing for 60 years, “Oh, that’s all very well, but what’s to be done? This is no time to play the tragedy queen, you know.” And so they got down to the business at hand, the business of managing the greatest constitutional monarchy on earth, giving up as little as possible, keeping as much, for this constant nibbling, they knew, would never stop.

Was the government determined on the matter? “Of course,” said the Queen, “for Conservatives are always the most revolutionary.”

Have all the 16 Commonwealth nations been consulted? “Yes, and already they have all signified their acceptance.”

And what about the prohibition on a sovereign being Roman Catholic? “That will remain in place for now, not even the greatest levelers in the land are prepared to open this Pandora’s box in the face of all the current scandals, sexual and otherwise, at the feet of the Bishop of Rome.”

At last the details having been canvassed and thoroughly vetted, the discussion waned. All had had their say but one, HRH of Cambridge, once Kate Middleton. “Have you anything you wish to say, my dear? Perhaps you prefer to watch, having been one of us for such a short time?”

But Kate of Cambridge did have something to say, and she took her line from Portia in “The Merchant of Venice.”

“Your Majesty, dear grandmama,” she said…

“The quality of mercy is not strained…”

And the Queen knew the rest and thought the words in her mind as the duchess spoke them…

“It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute of awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. But mercy is above this sceptered sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; It is an attribute of God himself, And earthly power doth then show like God’s When mercy seasons justice.”

Your Majesty achieved the crown not because you were the oldest but because you had no brother. Any brother, of whatever age, would have removed you from the succession and unjustly, too. With this act, you would have achieved the crown by right and equity. And consider this: no mother, not even a queen, should be forced because of the gender of a child to love a girl less than a boy. And therefore I urge you to see this bill as a matter of fairness and love, and of mercy for a mother, not of loss and diminution. It is not like giving up a plane or boat for this is a matter of fundamental right and profound human need. This is something we must do, not because we are forced, but because we believe that this is right, for us and for all people.”

And the Queen knew she had heard more than truth from her grand daughter… she had heard the heart and the humanity of a queen. And so she, in recognition, ordered lavish Christmas revels at Windsor, in honor of Duchess Kate and her unborn child, girl or boy, Heir of England… all liberally done and paid for from the privy purse, without demur.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. He his also an expert on British and US history, and author of 18 best-selling business books.

What do you think about this topic? I invite your comments below. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer

Thoughts on the historic visit of Queen Elizabeth II to Ireland, May 17, 2011. We salute the lady and her courage.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Let’s not delude ourselves. The Queen’s visit to Ireland is not only a political statement of the first magnitude. It is also an act of great personal courage for which the 85-year-old sovereign deserves the highest praise.

There are at this very moment people in Ireland who have determined that the British monarch die in Ireland in the most violent and heinous way.

Item: On Easter Monday 2011, a representative of the splinter sectarian group called the Real IRA appeared in a video statement wearing a balaclava and military clothing and referred to the visit (which begins May 17, 2011) as “the upcoming insult” and the government invitation as “unrepresentative” of the wishes of the Irish people.

He said, “The Queen of England is wanted for war crimes in Ireland and not wanted on Irish soil. We will do our best to ensure she and the gombeen class that act as her cheerleaders get that message.” (“gombeen” means corrupt.)

This statement also included a threat to kill more Northern Irish police officers just weeks after the murder of Catholic police officer Ronan Kerr in Omagh.

Item: The republican group Eirigi (Rise Up) has placed a countdown timer on its web site, calling for the Queen’s visit to be met with “widespread opposition and protest”. The group is asking those against the visit to occupy the Garden of Remembrance, a memorial park in Dublin dedicated to those who fought for Irish freedom, which is part of the Queen’s official itinerary.

She will also go to Croke Park Stadium, the headquarters of Ireland’s two national sports, Gaelic football and hurling. It is the site of one of the bloodiest days of the War of Independence, infamous as “Bloody Sunday” , November 21, 1920; 14 civilians were killed by British forces retaliating for the killing of British undercover agents earlier in the day. In a land where symbolism is potent and sharply etched it takes just a little to imagine some terrorist or other planning for the death strike at this place.

The Irish authorities are taking these and the hundreds of other threats and maledictions with the greatest possible care and concern. This visit is now Ireland’s biggest (and most costly) security event. Up to 10,000 police and military personnel will be deployed at a cost of some $42 million. “Safety first” was British Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin’s slogan; it would be apt, too, for Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny. As for where the Irish government (mired in debt) will find the money to pay these costs that is quite a different matter…

But this very practical question is of minor interest to Irish President Mary McAleese who was insistent that this visit occur… and occur during her presidency. McAleese, like so many of the Irish, has been directly and personally touched by what locals, with stunning understatement, call “The Troubles”. She grew up in Northern Ireland during some of its worst days. Her brother was nearly beaten to death for the crime of being Roman Catholic. She is feisty and unapologetic about why this visit is so important at this time:

“It would be the culmination, a celebration, of the efforts that both countries have put into bringing peace.” Peace… so desirable, so elusive… now with the Queen’s visit officially at hand. I wonder if McAleese knows this famous speech by the Duke of Burgundy in Shakespeare’s “Henry V”?

“That face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me If I demand before this royal view, What rub or impediment there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas! she hath from France too long been chased….”

Change the single word “France” to “Ireland” and you have the very reason why McAleese has been so exigent on this subject. She and millions of storm-touched Irish wish in the catch-phrase of this moment, to “move on”. They want peace and its bounties, not the traditional delights of murdering innocent people because they choose to address God the Father in their own way. For generations people worldwide looked at Ireland and its unending, always bloody, always painful troubles and wondered why a nation of culture, civilization, hospitality and charm could still be chained to the blood sport of human murder… At last the overwhelming majority of the Irish, both northern and southern, too, have arrived at this point as the rationale for mayhem and murder has lost its persuasiveness. But not for all…

… which is why the visit of Elizabeth of England is so important and why this Queen of England can justifiably lay claim to one of the greatest speeches of her predecessor. Here is what Elizabeth I said as the galleons of the Dons of Spain moved on England in the Great Armada of 1588:

“We have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you that I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst and heat of the battle to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have but the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too”.

And so she does…

For, you see, Queen Elizabeth II has been profoundly and personally touched by the sea of Irish troubles. In 1979, the Irish Republican Army planted a bomb that killed, in his boat, the Queen’s cousin Lord Mountbatten of Burma, a distinguished theatre commander of World War II. Mountbatten was killed instantly along with his daughter’s mother-in-law Lady Brabourne, his 14-year-old grandson, and a local boy, age 15, who was piloting the boat. Prince Charles wept that day for the death of his mentor… and the good people of two nations wept with him. Thus have sovereigns and princes been afflicted along with the rest, so desiring peace as fervently.

Never forget, there is danger in this visit. There are those who prefer the grisly past. And they will move mountains, or at least attempt to, to wreak havoc and dismay. That is why in Dublin today, specialists will complete their second or third reconnaissance of the city’s sewers and all such places where bombs and other devices of death and disfigurement could be planted. Over these her majesty will travel starting tomorrow in Dublin. Thus does a queen do her duty… and demonstrate the valor which has always been one of her sterling qualities, doing the job no one does better. God Save The Queen.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. , providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also a world recognized historian, an expert on the British Royal Family and author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Work From NO Home System ->

Sir William Walton and the sound of royalty.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s note. To get the most from this article, you will need to listen to three royal fanfares by Sir William Walton, the individual most responsible for the distinctive, rich, soaring sound that epitomizes, defines and glorifies the Windsor dynasty.These fanfares include

1) “Crown Imperial March”. 2) The incidental music for Sir Laurence Olivier’s 1944 production of “Henry V”. 3) “Orb and Sceptre March”.

You will find them in any search engine.

Image is everything.

Consider the singular problem of royalty, especially the most important royalty — sovereign emperors, kings, queens and queen consorts. They do not like us too close to their overpowering presence… but they certainly want to put their stamp on us and leave an indelible impression of grandeur, awe, majesty.

Towards this end, everything their subjects will see (and be able to be influenced and impressed by) is subjected to the most intense scrutiny and consideration. Everything must serve the greater end of the dynasty; the end being just how they are perceived by their subjects… so that the dynasty (with its mountain of anachronistic privileges) is preserved, protected, defended; the better to ensure these near immortals remain “long to reign over us”.

Amongst the most important aspects of how royalty presents itself to you so that they may rise higher and you make the necessary (and heartfelt) obeisance is the music used to suit their never-ending purpose; the music that dazzles the ear at the same time their clothes, jewels, uniforms, decorations and all the other accouterments dazzle the eye. Of these subjects, the things to capture the eye are by far more discussed than the music that accompanies royalty upon every significant occasion of their lives.

At the April, 2011 marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, the major coverage went to two particular items: the bride’s gown and the two kisses the newly married couple made from the balcony at Buckingham Palace. By comparison a tiny percentage of mention went to the carefully chosen music, including Sir William Walton’s celebrated “Crown Imperial March”. Yes, here is where you heard that stirring fanfare first; although as it surrounded their royal highnesses, wafting them forward on a cloud of acoustic incense… you were paying attention to how the bride and groom looked and how they carried themselves leaving Westminster Abbey. The music was definitely secondary.

You knew the tableaux and its moving figures were perfect; you hardly gave a thought to the essential contribution of the fanfare, much less of Sir William Walton, its composer. Thus, the music does its essential work; moving you, influencing you, directing you where the dynasty wants your thoughts to be at that moment.

About Sir William Walton, (March 1902-March, 1983).

Walton was born into a musical family in Oldham, Lancashire. At age 16 he became an undergraduate at prestigious Christ Church at Oxford University. It was said at the time that he was the youngest undergraduate since King Henry VIII. His musical talents were quickly recognized and encouraged, particularly by the eccentric, talented, well-placed Sitwell family, Sir Sacheverell and his (distinctly odd) sister Edith. He lived with them for many years, while they “finished” their eager protege for the world. With Edith providing the lyrics, Walton composed the music for his first great success, Facade (1923). It established him as a member of the musical avant garde. But this designation (so pleasing to a young man with his way to make) proved short- lived and erroneous.

Walton’s strengths (and they were considerable) were not in inventing new forms, living on the cutting edge. No, indeed, he was no innovator… he was a traditionalist producing the incidental music for two great institutions — the British monarchy and Britain’s cinema. Such a role provided his numerous critics with what they needed to write him off as a “serious” composer… and made Walton wince, despite his celebrity and world-wide renown. It is often thus with those who are gifted in ways other than they planned or wanted… The coronation of 1937.

Walton was a painfully slow, plodding composer; composition came neither fluently nor with celerity. His works were relatively few, with long gaps between. Nonetheless, despite the nagging criticism of “modernists” who saw Walton as a renegade, his progress was inexorable. In due course he came to the notice of the British royal family, which took serious note of the “Walton” sound… soon to be the Windsor sound — exalted, elevated, often electrifying. The Windsors, having congratulated themselves on surviving the First World War (unlike all three imperial dynasties of Russia, Austria, Germany), soon had need of these very traits. The abdication of Edward VIII and the scandal which shook the monarchy to its foundation made them desperate to reassure the nation of their worthiness. And so Walton got the call of a lifetime, being asked to provide the entry music for Queen Mary, George V’s regal consort, the pillar of the dynasty.

Queens dowager didn’t attend coronations, but Queen Mary knew her presence would reassure the nation… and she wanted something dazzling to confirm her undeniable royalty. Walton gave her, and the world, his “Crown Imperial March”. (1937). The Windsors knew at once they had the sound they — and their challenged empire — needed… and the man who could produce it for them. It was a great gift in one of the worst years in British royal history… and they took Walton to their hearts as he, like his music, soared…

“Henry V” and Queen Elizabeth II’s 1953 coronation.

Walton was now the “go to” man when you wanted music that made showy outward display carried by the imperative commands of trumpets. Walton’s music made you sit up, take notice, and transcend yourself and your little cares. It was bombastic, a shade vulgar, but packed with the vitality and the testosterone the dynasty and the nation needed.

Of his many compositions exhibiting these grandiose traits, two more deserve mention: the film score for Sir Laurence Olivier’s 1944 production of Shakespeare’s “Henry V” and Walton’s “Orb and Sceptre March” for the 1953 coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.

Walton, in his way, was as much a pillar of the monarchy and Britain herself as Queen Mary. He lifted people up when they needed it (World War II) and when a wounded nation faced post-war austerity. His music showed you why “this band of brothers” (in “Henry V”) was victorious despite great odds against them… and why the Phoenix of England would rise again with the coronation of the new, young sovereign. It is no wonder a grateful monarch gave him knightly honors and the most prestigious Order of Merit. Thus was recognized and rewarded the grandeur of Sir William Walton who made the dynasty itself and all its princes grander still.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses.
Dr. Lant is also a Royal Historian and author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out e Master Classes ->

‘I am so happy…’ Some thoughts on Their Royal Highnesses The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, the next incarnation of Wills and his Kate.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s Note. To get into the right and proper mood for this article, search any search engine for Sir William Walton’s resounding “Crown Imperial.” This was the music Their Royal Highnesses heard as they walked the Westminster Abbey red carpet to their future subjects, the cynosure of every eye. Walton was the perfect choice… you’ll see.

The State Landau, smart and polished had just driven up to the gate where the newly minted, newly married Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were waiting. The woman who started the day as Kate Middleton, turned to her new husband and said the magic words, so telling because we all felt the sentiment before she even uttered it. “I am so happy,” she whispered to her prince, truly charming and a bit abashed by his position this day and perhaps thinking, “Waiting was worth it. I am truly marrying the woman I adore… and everyone is so glad about it. And I do believe she loves me for myself.”

The pageantry and ceremony in general.

In the 19th century, the British and their monarchy were a byword for sloppy, disorganized, and often dangerous royal ceremonies. The person who was most instrumental in changing matters was Queen Victoria’s “beautiful” (her word) hunk the German princeling Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. From his time at Court in the mid-1800s things got better, slowly but surely, as I detail in my book “Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court (1979). By the early 20th century the overall reality of ceremonial muddle had been replaced by a professional approach to showcasing the monarch to his people. The British are now justly renowned worldwide for the flawless pageants that punctuate each sovereign’s reign and present him to his subjects and the world just the way he wishes.

The now traditional and punctilious pageantry we expect was very much on display on Friday, April 29, 2011. It was a joy to watch the aspects emerge… particularly given the fact that this event operated under peculiar circumstances… the inevitable, could-never-be-avoided comparisons to the pageantry and circumstances of the marriage 30 years before between Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer. The marriage and ceremonial arrangements of Diana, Princess of Wales’ elder son and his beautiful Kate had to be considered carefully so that all of the inevitable comparisons tilted in favor of the soon-to-be Cambridges… as they most surely did.

Princess Diana’s marriage to the heir to “this throne of kings, this England”, Prince Charles was an affair of the highest state; after all the groom was the heir to the imperium. In retrospect, what seemed so beguiling at the time appears as more an event than a marriage. Splendor (and perfect coordination) was there… love and affection were not. It was an omen for the tragedy which followed, besmirching the reputation of Prince Charles and ending in Princess Diana’s sad demise.

Both of Princess Diana’s sons, groom Prince William and justly concerned younger son Prince Harry were clear on what they wanted… a real marriage, a real wedding, true and heartfelt feelings all round.

There is no question but that they got what they wanted… which was a decided relief to the British nation and its Commonwealth… and its Queen, Elizabeth II, who arrived back at Buckingham Palace after the marriage ceremony and proclaimed the day’s events “amazing.” And so they were…

The Married Couple.

After the cynical, loveless marriage of the groom’s mother Princess Diana, the nation and body language experts were on the qui vive for “the truth” about this couple, their wedding, and whether it confirmed (or challenged) the good feelings they had about Wills and Kate, and their pivotal role in establishing just the right reality (not merely image) that will allow the monarchy to flourish after the many crises of the current Royal Family, particularly the much married, much divorced children of Queen Elizabeth, a tawdry, shopworn crew.

April 29th delivered what everyone wanted: a grounded, affectionate, sincerely attached couple, people who are what they seemed to be, not a scandal waiting to happen.

Kate’s gown was the first clue. Lady Diana’s overdone gown made her look like a confectioner’s bride. Who’s idea was the taffeta anyway? But Kate, chic Kate, delivered exactly what one would have wanted for one’s own family wedding: a form-fitting dress that breathed classic good taste, undeniable (though understated) elegance. It is the dress of a lady of taste, breeding, good judgement, and, so very visible, care, every one a desirable trait for her future job as one-who-may-be Queen Consort.

The little clues so beloved of commentators and would-be cognoscenti began to stack up:

* The interaction between Princes William and Harry indicated just how close they are; they needed to be given the scandal and tragedy of their parents’ relations. Harry, for all that he’s a known wise-acre, will be lonely now; Wills has other things to do which, even with the best will on earth, will limit time with Harry.

* The way he looked at his bride for the first time in her riveting marriage attire… and said, quite simply, “You look so beautiful.” And so she did… and what every bride longs to hear, the compliment based on affection, awe, and a dawning awareness that he is really getting married, and to the person he has always wanted.

* The body language. As all the world knows, these two people took some eight years to get acquainted, know each other, argue and make up with each other, and love each other. The time they wisely took enabled them to become and be a couple, then yesterday, a married couple. They move together well; I was interested to see how they left the Abbey, hand in hand, the new Duke of Cambridge putting down the heel of one shoe on the toe of the other, so as not to hurry his duchess in her gown and (not too long) train.

Mad for Kate.

I have long been a Kate Middleton admirer; I thought she had just the right traits of heart and mind to be a truly helpful, loving partner to her prince, the better enabling him to do the important work he must do to transform and improve the monarchy in a world of relentless change. After yesterday, my already substantial admiration has substantially increased. She played her part faultlessly and, more than that, with her new husband’s complete concurrence they turned their marriage from an event of monarchy and nation into a true wedding, dedicated to each other and their friends and family, including their great nation.

Everything was done well, thus delivering just what everyone wanted: two deeply devoted people with a great task, historic task before them, ready now together ready to do the best we well know them capable of.

And so the newest Royal Duke is now His Royal Highness of Cambridge, the old shire, not the University and Kate gets what the Duchess of Windsor could only long for, the coveted letters HRH. True, of the many new Royal Dukes of Cambridge since the 17th century, not one has been notable for anything other than his capacity for strong drink and wrong women and oodles of FitzCambridge children, royal byblows. Queen Victoria always had trouble with the Cambridges of her day, but from these self-same Cambridges came a pillar of the dynasty. That pillar was Queen Mary, Elizabeth II’s dutiful, God fearing, monarchy reverencing grandmother… may our new duchess find such traits in herself. God Save the Queen (to be) and may she remain happy and glorious!

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also a recognized royal expert and historian having penned 18 best-selling business books. Watch for his online televised interviews about the Royal Wedding of William and Kate. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Info Cash ->

‘Happy and glorious…’ Kate marries her Wills and every grumbler on earth has a field day. April 29, 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

What can you say about the quintessential non-event that has over 2 billion viewers showing up to watch with unfeigned interest?

Plenty, if you’re Boston Globe columnist Yvonne Abraham, “God save me from the Queen,” she wrote on April 24, as if her pen were filled with acid reflux. “And especially from their Wedding of the Century.”

Then she goes on her hackneyed way, “I didn’t embrace citizenship of a country defined by its violent rejection of monarchy to turn around and be surrounded by all things royal.”

My, my Mother Abraham is in a pother today… and will, if she keeps on this way, be positively apoplectic by the time Kate becomes, at the touch of a golden ring symbolizing eternity, Her Royal Highness and the world oohs and aahs.

Ms. Abraham is Australian (she has to get that in in every column she writes), and Aussies can be amongst the rudest people on earth; too often priding themselves on just how cheeky and brash they can be. It’s a sign of their often blatant need to “grow up” and abandon their egregious manners for better ones. But Abraham just cannot let go…

“Come Friday, the birthplace of the revolution will be lousy with cucumber sandwiches, Pimm’s Cups and jelly donuts shaped like hearts (Et tu Dunkin D?)”

Why does the lawful marriage of one young man of striking good looks, a mega-watt smile, good posture and average intelligence to one young woman of intelligence, undeniable beauty, a coal miner’s grand daughter who once denied him and broke off their thing, irritate so many… turning otherwise sensible folks into grumps and bores on the subject?

Such people tumble over themselves to recite the reasons for their loud lamentations and hostilities.

* The day for a monarchy has, they assure us, passed… down with the Windsors and every other crowned entity on earth.

* No one should be so privileged as the Windsors are and their ilk. It’s time for them to get with the republican agenda.

* America, as Yvonne Abraham has naggingly reminded, went to war, bloody, long, vicious, to get rid of the very people the wedding glorifies.

* The monarchy is a symbol of all that’s wrong with the world… being at once elitist, privileged, coddled, protected, immune from the realities of life from which we should all be suffering, prince or pizza maker.

Let’s examine these remarks. Is there anything here beyond unsubstantiated opinion, bias, and the need to mouth off?

First and foremost: this is above all else the celebration of a fundamental rite, marriage, the selection for life of one smitten by another, hopefully equally smitten, or even more. A marriage celebrates the decision to try to love, honor, cherish. For 50% or so of the people so venturing divorce and mayhem loom… but people want to try anyway. And they are glad that their princes, too, embrace the concept.

As clever 19th century British journalist Walter Bagehot (1826-1877) wrote in his insightful book “The English Constitution” (published 1867): “A princely marriage is the brilliant edition of a universal fact, and, as such, it rivets mankind.” Spot on.

This marriage will feature more carriages, more guests, more presents, and more media coverage than you got at your wedding… but the heart of this wedding will be the same as yours: “Do you…? Do you…?” And they with all their palaces, wide acres, jewels and powdered footmen to spare will then offer the same simple kiss that you gave your new spouse, the kiss that symbolized your desire to love and live for this now very special person and your sanctified relationship. And at that moment, with that kiss the two billion viewers will be thinking not just of the prince and new princess… but of themselves, of their marriages, their ceremonies… and their personal dreams and illusions. And of how not even princes emerge from fairy tales unscathed.

Their way will feature different problems than yours, but they will face problems all the same. What they are saying is that they want to be with each other as they face these problems. They deserve the same chance that you had and like all newly married couples the same generous good wishes from those of us who know better than they that even princes will need those good wishes in future since no one lives on this planet without costs of every kind and amount.

And as for the comments by designated commentators like Yvonne Abraham, angry that America, the first great republic of modern times, should waste its time watching people whose ancestors robbed, plundered and pillaged amongst us. Have we forgotten that, well have we?

Slow down, darling’, most assuredly you have got your knickers in a twist… and every word beside the point.

Our interest in this marriage and attendant events has absolutely nothing to do with being seduced away from our republican constitution and government. Even the question is silly. First, many millions amongst us have a high regard for the old countries of the United Kingdom, England, Scotland, Ireland. They are part of our history and heritage. To abjure them is to abjure a part of ourselves. Why would we ever want to do that? Even the Founding Fathers didn’t advocate such a course. The men who had toppled George III and his emblems in every colony worked hard after the Revolution to establish diplomatic relations with England. Then they worked long and hard to turn mere relations into an alliance of heart and mind, not just politics and commerce. The United Kingdom, whose monarchy we rebelled against and expelled from our land, is now our closest ally and friend.

Suppose for a moment that you had once quarrelled with your parents. Suppose terrible things, regrettable things were done and said by you and them. Would that end matters, in grief and recrimination? Certainly not, for are they not your parents still and have you no regard for them and the good things they did? And here’s the point: if they invited you to an important event, say a wedding, would you refuse to be friends again? You’d go of course, for auld lang syne.

That is why billions of people will gather round their television sets this Friday, April 29. for us on this side of the Pond at very early hours indeed. We shall watch closely, commenting freely and, for nearly all, in good humor. And when these young now married people go onto the balcony of Buckingham Palace for The Kiss, our hearts will go out to them, not as gaudy royalty but as good people on whose slender shoulders a valued thousand year old institution will in due course be placed. Then they will surely need from us not just cheers, but support. They shall have it from me.

One last word for you, Mother Abraham. In 1999 the citizens of Australia voted in a national referendum about whether to abolish the monarchy and become the Republic of Australia, or not. Your fellow citizens voted 55-45 percent to keep the Windsors and the monarchy.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also a noted historian and author 18 best-selling books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Info Cash ->

For royal wedding guests of Prince William and his Kate, April 29, 2011 a list of does and don’ts, especially the latter.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

By now I am sure you are aware that April 29, 2011 is a very special day in the prodigious annals of the British monarchy. H.R.H. Prince William, white hope of the dynasty, marries his Kate… and his grandmama The Sovereign is adamant that all be done just so — or else.

Sadly, you have not been invited. Admittedly it is abashing, even humiliating. But you will be glad to know that the lot of the those precious few invited is not a bed of roses. The empire on which the sun never set is history, but protocol, the right thing done in the right way, is very much alive chez Windsor.

Let’s take a look.

The Windsors are nothing if not keen on pageants that are meticulously planned and flawlessly carried out. They know that it was not always thus in royal ceremonial. One way they know this was by careful scrutiny of my first book “Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court”. (1979). I was the first American ever granted access to the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle… and it was part of the deal that The Queen and Prince Charles get advance copies to increase their knowledge of the hopeless mismanagement of ceremonies by their regal ancestors.

Confusions, muddles, and disorganizations were the order of the day. It was supremely frustrating, irritating, and inexcusable that the English made so many mistakes, even lethal, in presenting the monarchy to the nation. Ceremonies of the highest significance and importance — coronations even — were so lamentably organized and delivered that the English monarchy became a byword for ineptitude.

We owe improvement to Prince Albert.

Queen Victoria, only 18 when she ascended the throne in 1837 had far better things to do than worry about ceremonial derelictions. For openers she was free of the heavy thrall of the Duchess of Kent, her mother; perhaps the ultimate controlling Stage Mother of all time. The first thing the new queen did was order her bed to be taken out of the bedroom she had shared all her life with her mother… then order dinner to be served to her alone, the first time that had ever happened. She was free, free at last! She was queen, her every wish a command instantly carried out. A few glaring mistakes in court ceremonial counted for nothing.

But the German princeling she married, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha was very, very different. The insidious culture of royal errors and tolerance for same made him nervous, dyspeptic, and determined to apply Teutonic efficiency to the problem. He fumed, he fretted, he even wept at the minuscule progress. But there was progress. Just not enough of it.

As the grasping English built the largest empire ever assembled on this planet, their royal pageants continued to be notable for all the wrong reasons: they were lackadaisical about the protocol that consumed other royal houses; thereby causing endless hurt feelings. Their planning was always of the too little, too late variety. And like clockwork, security arrangements were so lax that every ceremony produced a bumper crop of dead, the victims of English inability to get it right… and without fatalities.

All this is no doubt known to Elizabeth II and the princes of her house and their constant motto is “Never again!” Thus, they are fastidious in the business of Getting It Right. When the English were a great nation, the sovereigns themselves were scarcely punctilious about such matters; but with only the shadow of empire remaining, they are all adamant that the royal ceremonies, in which they so prominently feature, be the very essence of polished perfection.

Hence the list of do’s and don’ts now circulating amongst the honored guests, be they princes of the blood royal or (that democratic touch the royals are close to perfecting) personnel from the various charities patronized by the bride and groom. In Windsor eyes there is really no difference between them. For them there are, after all, only two ranks: Sovereign… and the rest.

Now to the various admonitions, politely phrased of course as suggestions, recommendations. But they are in fact royal commands and must be treated as such.

1) Don’t give the queen a friendly hug. Michelle Obama, First Lady of these United States did something akin to that and the royal reaction was a tad below frosty.

2) Don’t tweet. You are attending an historic event. Curtail all distractions.

3) Be on time. On this of all days, there is no such thing as fashionably late, even by a minute. The Queen is the last person to take her place; to upstage her is lese majeste, intolerable.

4) Ladies, select an outfit that blends in. You should wear a dress — not too short, not too skimpy, and certainly not white. Most British women will complete the unmistakable (rather frumpy) look that screams “We’re English!” with a hat or a fascinator — a small feathered or jewelled hairpiece attached to a clip or a comb.

More politely disguised commands.

5) Leave your cellphone in the car. No one wants your ring tone to the tune of “The Stripper” to be part of the record.

6) Make sure you have all necessary medications with you. You need to know that no one, absolutely no one, will facilitate your egress to get them… and you will not be allowed to return either.

7) Visit the facilities as often as necessary to ensure bladder control. This means limiting liquids, just as you’d do for a colonoscopy, a not inapt comparison. (Avoid the solution adopted by one ceremony attending gent. He brought a soft drink bottle and used it like a chamber pot. The name of the perpetrator and the incident itself was immediately classified.)

“I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

Upon reading these guidelines and rules, you may say, and actually believe, that you didn’t really want to go to this critical event of “Rule Britannia.”

But we’re kidding ourselves, aren’t we? For the chance to see Prince William and be able to tell your non-invited neighbor that he’s taller than he looks on telly is just too good to pass up. Not to mention the bride, and wasn’t she lovely?

Indeed, to secure lifetime bragging rights because we were well and truly invited, we’d all, if ordered, go naked with a full body search to boot. Honi soit qui mal y pense.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also an authority expert on the royal family and author of 18 best-selling books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Info Cash ->

Hot times in The Hague. The life and turbulent times of Juliana, Queen of the Netherlands.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

A program note from the author. To get the most from this article, go to any search engine and find the theme of the fourth-movement Sarabande of George Frederick Handel’s Keyboard Suite in D minor composed in 1731. It’ll help set the mood for what follows…

I have a confession to make. I was not, until recently, up on the ins and outs of the last century or so of one of Europe’s most enduring monarchies, that of the House of Orange-Nassau, rulers of the Netherlands. I suspect you are not up-to-date on the topic either… and I suspect, therefore, that you’ll be as riveted as I am by what I’ve learned. I kept thinking: if they had been English princes, not Dutch, their larger-than-life existences, founded on the reality of a throne, their astronomical financial resources, royal shenanigans and hijinks, and all the rest — would have been seized long ago by media producers.

But they are Dutch, hence and oh so wrongly, thought to be dull. I have learned otherwise… and now you will too.

My curiosity about Queen Juliana began by receiving one of the regular emails I get from Sothebys, the famous auction house, which finds me amongst its regular customers. They were having an auction (commencing March 14, 2011) of over 1700 lots of the personal effects of Her Netherlandish Majesty. Since I am a long time participant in such auctions, I dropped everything and went straight for the online catalog. It took several days to go through it all. As usual this auction was an aperture into a life as foreign to me as if the lady had come from Mars.

Daughter of a Queen, Queen Regnant, Mother of a Queen, ex-Queen.

Juliana Louise Emma Maria Wilhelmina was born 30 April 1909 and died 20 March 2004. She was born at the apex of the European royal caste, moving inexorably towards its cataclysmic conclusion, though its princes little suspected most of them were about to perish, with those remaining, dazed, admonished, everything they knew either changed or washed away. Whether before Gotterdammerung or after, Juliana of the Netherlands was always amongst the lucky.

She was born in The Hague, only child of Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands and Duke Henry of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, a German princely state about to face oblivion as a result of the German Kaiser’s bombast and miscalculation.

Right from the start, she was already a social reformer… her mother determining that Juliana’s education should include other young ladies of suitable family who would be educated along with their future sovereign. Her Royal Highness was 6 years old at the time. Already, without knowing it, she was changing established habits… helping others. She made a lifetime’s work of it.

Her good fortune continued with something that didn’t happen, namely the Netherlands going to war. Instead they remained neutral in the Great War of 1914-1918. The Dutch and their princess thereby avoided the destruction and ruination of most of Europe where every major dynasty fell except for the newly named Windsors of England. Juliana was to be seared by the flames of global war… but not yet.

Her luck ran out in 1936 at the Winter Olympics in Bavaria where she met Prince Bernhard of Lippe-Biesterfeld. Here she discovered love… its costs would come later.

Prince Bernhard seemed to solve a problem. Princes of suitable pedigree and religion (for the Dutch were strong adherents to the tenets of their demanding faith) were rare. He had the right heritage… he was willing to perform the always tricky role of prince consort (not the king). Importantly, he was good looking and good company in the jaunty German manner.

What no one knew then was that he was textbook perfect as randy rogue, flagrant adulterer, always dubious where money was concerned, with a yearning for Deutchland uber allies and absolutely no regard at all for his new country… or its crown princess and her impending destiny.

In short, a newspaper publisher’s dream for selling papers…

Standing against many of her concerned and wary countrymen, who disliked Bernhard right from the start she married her dashing choice 7 January, 1937 and hardly ever had a happily married moment thereafter. Adolph Hitler (who had, let it be recalled, a puckish sense of humor) sent as his wedding present a strong hint that this marriage was really in the nature of an alliance between his acquisitive Nazis… and the Dutch.

Such was the outraged reaction of the nation that Juliana ‘s mother Queen Wilhelmina and her government were forced to issue the strongest possible denial, though of course many people still doubted… and rightly so. Hitler meant to have the Netherlands, its refineries, its far-flung imperial possessions, the Rembrants and Vermeers he coveted… probably he wanted all the tulips, too. He bagged them all, for a time, but he failed to capture the Royal Family. In the person of Princess Juliana, her two daughters (including future Queen Beatrix) and always her egregious consort, she went to Canada, where she lived a life of quiet simplicity and service, thereby gaining the hearts of Canadians, who can be quick to smell pretension. Quite simply, she set out to capture their hearts… and she did. It was a skill worth having.

She would need it in the eventful years to come, years marked by World War II and the Nazi occupation and spoliation; by her succession as Queen in 1948 upon the abdication of her mother and the simultaneous loss of Indonesia and the golden possessions of the East Indies, producing national despair. Juliana coped with all… until she had to cope with her last child Princess Christina (born 1947) born nearly blind and other afflicted because of her mother’s German measles contracted during pregnancy. Desperate to help a much loved child, Queen Juliana, as she was now, sought help and consolation in mystic religion. Her people, sympathetic to her plight, were not as sympathetic to the faith healers in whom she sought solace. Her husband, of course, gave her the same attention he always had… none at all. There were serious grumblings against the dynasty. However a lifetime of service, the simplicity of her ways, and rising Dutch prosperity, saved the woman who as queen, liked to have her countrymen call her (“mevrouw”, Dutch for “Mrs”). This covered her shady husband, too, from the fall out from one sexual and financial escapade after another. The woman, the queen he constantly wronged, constantly saved him. Such was her meaning of love.

There are echoes of all this in the over 1,700 items from her possessions in the March, 2011 Sothebys sale, the proceeds going to the Red Cross she ardently supported in life. Personally, I intend to pick up a little silver something for myself. It may be from the Queen’s great store…or perhaps even from Prince Bernhard’s. He had better, more royal tastes, and from his financial chicaneries he was able to indulge them.

About The Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant’s live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is also a noted historian and the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Daniel Fischer Check out Info Cash ->