It seems there was a void in our lives left by the decline of talk shows, where audiences were treated to sordid details about Britain’s dysfunctional families and offered an opportunity to feel morally superior to the show’s guests. Luckily for us, though, our good old (former) prince has filled this emptiness and gifted us a reality show for the ages.
Harry’s latest revelations – his resentment at being a “spare”; his reference to his once beloved brother as his now “arch nemesis”, and the alleged physical assault by William during which Harry was injured by landing on a dog bowl – cast the Windsors in a new light: as a troubled, dysfunctional family despite all its many trappings of wealth and privilege. In a twist few saw coming even a few years ago, now, we, the ordinary folk, can feel superior to the monarchy.
Harry Windsor, once part of the royal inner circle, is now a subversive. The regular explosive allegations released by the Duke and Duchess of Sussex might make great telly but they’re also deeply uncomfortable, especially to those of us who understand the often painful consequences of enduring bitter disputes with siblings.
Harry’s latest bombshell includes the details of a scrap he had with his older brother in 2019. What I wonder, though, is why we’ve never heard of this before. Isn’t Harry all transparency, honesty and therapy-speak these days? Call me cynical, but it’s almost as if the incident has been purposely withheld so he can publicise his new book.
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Ahead of the release of his autobiography, Spare, the Duke of Sussex describes a battle royal between him and “Willy” at “Nott Cott” [Kensington Palace]. Prince William doesn’t come out well… but then neither does Harry in telling the story for a public audience. According to the account, our next King called Harry’s wife, Meghan, “difficult”, “rude” and “abrasive”. Harry writes that the row then escalated, until William “grabbed me by the collar, ripping my necklace, and … knocked me to the floor”.
According to Harry, in contrast to his blazing brother, he was the epitome of reason. “He… called me another name, then came at me. It all happened so fast. So very fast… I landed on the dog’s bowl, which cracked under my back, the pieces cutting into me. I lay there for a moment, dazed, then got to my feet and told him to get out.”
It seems that William wanted Harry to fight back but the younger brother refused, forcing him to leave before returning “looking regretful, and apologised”. William left a second time but turned back to call: “You don’t need to tell Meg about this.” “You mean that you attacked me?” Harry says. “I didn’t attack you, Harold.” William responded.
Now, as someone with two brothers and a sister, I know a thing or two about sibling spats. In my experience, they’re inevitably distressing for all parties involved but for a once close sibling to be described as an “arch nemesis” must be devastating – for everyone involved. If Harry’s intention was to show his brother just how much he’s hurt him – and to land a few metaphorical blows himself – then surely he’s succeeded. If one of my siblings said the same about me, I’d be inconsolable – and the pain would last for the rest of my life.
But Harry isn’t following all the rules: the first rule of Family Fight Club is that it’s never mentioned outside the household. The second, is that afterwards, both parties must attempt to construct themselves as the entirely innocent victim. Harry’s triumphed on that score. The real coup, though, is that Harry’s also triumphed with a genius delayed retaliation: he’s exposed the Royal Family – and the heir to the throne – as possibly being even more dysfunctional and violent than the rest of us.
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The real revelation here isn’t that William physically assaulted Harry. It’s that the Windsors are no different to the rest of us. I mean, sure, they’ve got an empire worth a reported £28bn, they are addressed by “Your Royal Highness” and “Your Majesty”, and own vast tracts of land across the country.
But none of this enormous wealth and privilege precludes them from being flawed humans like the rest of us. The mask has dropped and the horror behind it is that the royals are unremarkable.
If this is the case, why do we maintain the charade that they aren’t? Why are we content to be known as “subjects” and accept the implication of inferiority that entails?
Harry might have had a fall out with his brother – something many of us have experienced – but his disclosure of the details of their row is truly explosive. He’s picking off the diamond-encrusted protective veneer of the monarchy stone by precious stone.
To defend themselves, the monarchy must reconstruct itself as extraordinary, as worthy of all the pomp and privilege – and the loyalty of its subjects. In light of Harry’s media campaign, it seems like a very tall order.
