When Sparks Fly...

Earlier today, as I watched the funeral of the Duke of Edinburgh on television with my wife, I felt a lump in my throat as we watched the Queen sitting all alone at her seat inside St. George's Chapel within the walls of Windsor Castle. I, too, was almost about to cry as we watched her sitting all alone, mourning for her beloved husband. Almost her entire face was obscured by the brim of her black hat and also the black face mask she was wearing. To me, for her to wear a mask while sitting alone, away from all her family members, seemed so unnecessary, especially when she is already fully vaccinated and the interior of the chapel happens to be very large and spacious. However, not far away sat her two married grandsons: Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge and his younger sibling, Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex.

Sometimes I wish I was in Prince Harry's shoes. No, not because of his title of Duke, neither because of his wealth and not because of his fame and social standing either. But rather, had it been me who flew back to the UK from California to attend my Grandad's funeral, the first thing that would cross my mind would be to ask to be brought to my older brother, Prince William, who is second in line to the throne. 

The Duke of Edinburgh's Coffin.

If he consents, I would then run into his arms and allow my tears to wet the shirt covering his shoulder. I would plead for forgiveness and full reconciliation, as both of us had emerged from the one and the same womb. The ball would then be entirely in my brother's court. Would he accept my plea of repentance? Or would he push me away so hard that I actually stumble backwards across the room? 

I felt a sense of sombre while I watched on TV both brothers walking behind the coffin. But unlike at their mother's funeral back in 1997, this time, these two brothers weren't walking next to each other. Instead, their cousin, Peter Phillips, was walking between them, as if acting like a human barrier, just in case these two brothers were to suddenly pounce on each other. 

Come on! As if such an incident would have ever happened. Not at Prince Philip's funeral.

Here, I try to look inside the Duke of Sussex's head while he's under quarantine, a tongue-in-cheek attempt to analyse his train of thinking. 

                                                                   **********

"What rotten luck it was to have someone beat me to the throne even before I was born. From conception onwards, I will always play second fiddle to my older brother William. It's like having a carrot held in front of two moving donkeys, but no matter how fast I can run, I'll never get to eat the carrot. The other beast is head and neck ahead and the gap between its mouth and the carrot is getting narrower, albeit slowly.

"Being initially third in line to the throne still sounds pretty good. I have already jumped in front of my two uncles, Princes Andrew and Edward. But trust my brother to marry Catherine - or Waity Katy, as that Daily Mail columnist, Amanda Platell, used to call her. How Platell loved to show some contempt at the future Duchess' apparent idleness before she married William. Then later, as soon as a baby is born to them, it would take my place as third in line, pushing me back to fourth.  

"Then how could I forget 2003? That was the year I finished my studies at Eton. A real posh school. Fit for a prince. But that doesn't really solve anything. My older brother also attended Eton. Our Dad Charles should have sent him up north to Gordonstoun. Perhaps the school would have made more of a man out of him. After all, Dad attended, but he was so miserable there, so I was told. Maybe that was why both of us attended Eton instead. 

"Then my gap year and that awful trip Down Under! While there might have been other British tourists visiting real attractions such as the Great Barrier Reef, instead, I had to work as a cattle rancher. Or a cowboy as they called him. Cowboy? Nah! Here in the UK, a cowboy is a dodgy builder - or any swindler who charges an exorbitant price for delivering shoddy work or even no work at all. No! I'm not a cowboy, and I don't want anyone to call me that. I'm a prince, for heaven's sake, even if I have to spend the whole of my life under the shadow of my brother.

"Coming to think of it, this is the funeral of our Grandfather, the Duke of Edinburgh. During his lifetime, there are legends that he had quite a tongue. Let's see. Asking the President of Nigeria, who greeted him whilst dressed in formal national garments, if he was ready for bed. Commending a black Brit who was born here that her English is surprisingly superb. Then that bit about calling the Japanese "slitty-eyed." Or was he referring to the Chinese? It doesn't matter, anyway. As the Media cried out throughout the last week, his death marks the end of an era. Yea, I know what that means. The British Empire and all the white supremacy which went with it. No wonder Philip took the p*ss out of anyone who might look a little different.

Prince Philip when young.

"Going back to that trip in 2003. Australia, a Commonwealth nation. A former colony in other words. How the British subjugated the indigenous Aboriginals who lived in that land for maybe thousands of years. So, if I'm a rep of the old Empire, how dare they assigned me as a rancher! Playing a role in maintaining the Reef, surely this would have been a lot better. None of that poo stench one would expect at a cattle ranch. Coming to think of it, I wonder if the Duke of Edinburgh would have loved the Reef? He was so much into the natural environment and the threat of climate change, even my father inherited the same set of traits, which is also parallel to the views of David Attenborough. 

"As a rancher and knowing that I must play second fiddle to my brother, had made me feel miserable Down Under. Then they began to accuse me as one of those whinging poms. Okay, perhaps I did feel like a Prisoner Of His Majesty's Service but had they treated me more like a Prince than a Pom, then there would have been nothing to whinge about. 

"But since Mum's death and her funeral, I made every effort to get on well with William. And so we both did. We were inseparable. The bond between us couldn't be broken, no matter what strain it was subjected to. But to live under his shadow, always playing second fiddle - why does anyone need to question the way I had behaved before I met and married Meghan? Why was it that through being an extrovert, I managed, quite successfully to woo the nation, making me the second most popular Royal after the Queen?

"And those parties I loved attending! On one occasion, I was caught topless by a passing photographer. What a scream! Especially when my pic made it into the national newspapers. And then having started the Invictus Games back in 2014. What a success they were. Not to mention the polo games I played, which I had inherited from both my father and grandfather. Oh, I loved it, really loved playing in the rain and ended up drenched and mud-splattered. Like that, I can shine my own light to cancel out William's shadow, at least for the time being.

"Then Meghan came along. Wow! What a raving beauty! And with African bloodline, this, to me, has enhanced her beauty. And this film star had recently divorced her husband. Yea, I know what the Bible says. That is, if a bloke marries a divorcee, he commits adultery. And my Grandma is the Defender of the Faith and head of the Anglican Church. And there was a time when our Church forbade divorcees from remarrying. But with the advance of Darwinism, much of that is discarded. A divorcee she may be, Meghan is the one for me.

"After the wedding and after the close of the honeymoon was when reality began to percolate into our lives. That was when a split between them and us began to show. It was Meghan who shone a light into my soul. How would I have ever known that by being a Royal myself that I too, had the imperialistic mentality festering in the subconscious? I wasn't even aware of it, and coming to think of it, none of my family members had ever been aware of it. Yet, here it sits in the subconscious mind - and has an influence on everything I think, feels, says and do. I guess it's his subconscious that made Grandad make such gaffs to his non-white hosts.

"And when I told her about that stag do which was held at Windsor Castle. I attended dressed in a Nazi suit. It was meant to be a lighthearted gaff, a fancy dress party. But it was Meghan, with her darker skin and therefore, more sensitive to these issues, who revealed to me my subconscious intuition. It was after all this was revealed to me that my imperialistic intuition got to me, and feeling rather ashamed of my Royal upbringing, I became more inward-looking and withdrawn. Meanwhile, the rift between Willian and me became wider, which also gave me another perception of the whole institution.

Prince Harry at a polo match.

"And just as Grandad became ill and was hospitalised, this interview with Oprah Winfrey came along. Really, it couldn't have been at the worst time. As Grandad was in a London hospital, recovering from an op, it had to be Meghan who accused our family of racism. What she was doing was revealing this intuition that dwells in their subconscious without any of them being aware of it. But I guess it can manifest itself in one way or another, such as in Grandad's gaffs, a sensitive question that was asked of Meghan, or even the way I dressed for a party. For her to accuse the Firm of racism was the final straw which broke the back of our relationship camel with William. No wonder he was furious!

"If it wasn't for royal protocol, I think William would have punched me hard in the mouth! I bet he was itching to do just that. Whew! Talk about flying sparks! Therefore, had I had the chance, I might have called William over and had a talk in the hope of cutting a trail towards reconciliation of some sort. However, with the pandemic, I had to quarantine as soon as I entered the UK. I couldn't see anybody for a week, let alone William. But to be honest, do I really want to make it up to William? After all, both he and his wife had upset Meghan before now. It's no surprise that I too feel agitated over this whole issue, and withdrew from royal duties last year.

"Why, oh why, wasn't Meghan better accepted by the rest of the Royal household? The British Empire was all about national white supremacy. It was out of this fruit of Empire where this human maggot grew within and crawled out. Charles Darwin had certainly left this dark brown stain of Evolution within the apple, making it inedible. I have already been reading the funeral schedule during isolation. It involves staying separate from my brother.

"But Psalm 104 will also be read out during the service. It's all about God's Creation. Something the Duke of Edinburgh believed in. Oh, the nation will bow its head momentary whilst it's read out aloud. But after that, it will be universally discarded with Darwinism fully embraced.

"It's all about pageantry. Nothing more than that."

A Maverick in Oxford.

As I walked into a newsagent, I could not miss the page-size photo of Prince Philip occupying the front page of each newspaper stacked on the shelves. And not just one newspaper but at least three: The Sun, The Daily Express, and The Daily Mail, three of Britain's highest selling media. These newspapers, all of them supporting the Conservative Party holding the keys to 10 Downing Street, just poured heaps of praise to this elderly gentleman, the Duke of Edinburgh, husband to her Majesty the Queen. Just think of it: the national applause for seven decades of hard work with loyalty to his wife. Men and women across the land doffing their hats, so to speak, and taking a curtsey bow, "Well done, Sir. Your retirement is well deserved."

No doubt, at age 95, he deserves a restful retirement. True enough, in 1939 aged 18, he joined the Royal Navy and served through World War II, and remained in the Navy after the War ended in 1945. He then wound up his active service after thirteen years of military action in 1952, then aged 31, after marrying Princess Elizabeth in 1947. After this, his work consisted mainly of shaking hands with dignitaries and keeping a few paces behind his wife wherever the couple were out together in public. Not for him would "hard work" consist of lifting heavy boulders, bricklaying, cement mixing, pushing a wheelbarrow of concrete, pneumatic drilling of a hole or trench across the road, nor for that matter, rewiring a house or installing plumbing. Perhaps this could be the key to his longevity, by contrast to many labourers in the past who stepped off this planet before ever reaching seventy. Then to add to this, it takes only an infection within part of the Prince's anatomy, and the whole nation would seem to be in a grip of panic! But good for him, he has reached the middle of his tenth decade of life. A very good achievement, may I say. After all, if it wasn't for the skills of a cardiac surgeon just over two years ago, I would have considered myself very fortunate ever to reach seventy years of age, and at this time of writing, I still have over five years to go before my seventieth birthday.

Philip during his days in the Navy

The Duke of Edinburgh about to retire.

I see something of an phenomenon here. Here is a mortal who is held in very high respect, if not actually worshipped by much of the nation. So it is not much of a surprise that news of his retirement is splashed across the front pages of newspapers, such an announcement has gone far and wide across the globe. In the meantime, an unseen, anonymous luggage handler, who spent his working life ensuring that all your departing airport baggage are safely stored within the hull of the correct airline, finally reaches his moment of retirement, and yet not a single passenger would ever be aware of his special day. Elsewhere, someone may indeed bow in obeisance to the Prince, then once alone behind the wheel, inwardly curses the workman with his noisy pneumatic drill for being the cause for crawling traffic and journey delays. And just to add here, if I was present before the Prince or even the Queen herself, I would willingly bow in obeisance, as instructed by the Apostle Peter in his letter:

Show proper respect for everyone: Love the brotherhood of believers, fear God, honour the king.
1 Peter 2:17.

But as the apostle himself has instructed, the honour given to the king should never be at the expense of disrespecting men of all other social standing, or not loving fellow believers.

Yet there is this uniqueness about the human heart. After all, we may have a high regard for the Royal Family, as well as contrasting opinions for Government ministers. And as politics go, there are those who love the Tory Party and its leader and despise the Labour Party and its leader, accusing them all of incompetence. And there are those who feel totally opposite, having a preference for the Labour Party. And there are devoted Labour voters who are at present disillusioned with its leader. The same can be said about the Conservatives. Then again there is nothing new about all this. It is said that ancient Egypt, for one, exalted their Pharaoh to deification, and the divine ruler ordered his people to build a pyramid as a lasting memorial to his reign. The men who built the Pyramids were not slaves, as once thought, but paid workers. And I wouldn't put it past any of them that while Pharaoh was alive, many of the builders adored him, whilst others actually despised him, accusing him of being an equivalent of what we call a nerd or a prat today with his cruel, bullying dictatorship, as they scorned at any idea of him being divine. But these dissenters had to keep all this to themselves whilst carrying on with their work, in order to stay out of trouble.

Yet despite the mixed feelings among the ancient Egyptians, the work put in towards the king's tomb was felt generally by Egypt as a source of national security, taking in social coherence, military strength and economical stability. The presence of the king was their salvation, especially among the Pyramid builders, but also for everyone else too. As the Egyptian Pharaoh was the intermediary between the people and the heavenly realm, so it was with the Roman Caesar who was regarded as divine as well, the Emperor of Rome being the mediator between the Romans and the heavenly realm. Therefore as I see it, it cannot be a mere consequence that the Queen holds a threefold role of Head of State, Head of the Church of England, and Defender of the Faith. With being the head of the national church, history books tell us that she is the replacement of the Roman Pope as intercessor between her people and heaven. Little wonder that I have heard churchgoers say that our God is the God of England. Indeed, from Ancient Egypt, through to Rome, and onwards towards modern Britain, the need for an intercessor between the human heart and the divine realm has never seemed to have changed over the millennia.

And here lies the rub, with just a few active, church-going Christians of both past and present, fortunately not many. I am strongly disliked by them for debunking the value of Englishness, including the social class system and culture, and saying that all members of the Royal Family, along with all celebrities, and people of distinction are all mere mortals, and fulfilling all natural body functions as all humans and beasts alike do. And talking about the animal kingdom, I had to smile a couple of years back when our former Prime Minister David Cameron ignored the advice of his associates and went out to swim in the sea infested with jellyfish. Sure enough, he was stung, and he came out of the water looking and feeling like a right fool. The offending marine creature ought to have known that this particular human was the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and should have regarded him with the same respect we fellow humans had for him! But no. When threatened, the jellyfish had no alternative.

It was the same when I noticed the V.I.P. entrance to London Zoo as I walked by. This was separate from the main entrance, where the rank and file have to queue up at the ticket booths. Then I imagined the celebrity, or "very important person" - including the Queen herself, standing at the Primate cage, and watching the monkeys swinging from one branch to another in complete oblivion to her presence. Despite being our closest cousins, according to the Evolutionist, I doubt very much whether the presence of Royalty would have made any difference in the primate's behaviour. The same applies to all the animals in captivity.

To tell the truth, I find the concept of England being God's country very malodorous. There seems to be a bad smell to it. Perhaps its culture with its fanaticism for the class structure is far more tuned into the theory of Evolution, a concept borne out more from denial of God's existence, his creation and judgement, rather than from verified scientific research. Maybe as I see it, Her Majesty is more advanced in her evolution towards godhood than all of her subjects. This has allowed her to advance to the level of divinity where she can be the suitable representative on behalf of her country and its Commonwealth, by being head of the Church of England. And how parallel is all this to the lie in Eden, where the serpent offered a form of divinity to Adam and Eve if they disregard God and follow him instead?

And so as I was born into a family close if not at the bottom of the social ladder, I grew up with an independent mind, rather like my late Italian father, a Republican and devoted Labour supporter and voter, and who possibly had never properly understood why the English were so devoted to their beloved Queen. But he did have a deep respect for university graduates, especially those at Oxford and Cambridge. Maybe in those days of my boyhood, these were the only true institutions recognised for higher learning, and only a small percentage of the student population made it in. And so my father looked upon these venues with the greatest of respect.

And so as I pushed my wife Alex's wheelchair through the streets of Oxford, primarily for a combination of clothes shopping and a day out, I could not help feel somewhat intimidated by such beautiful architecture of these limestone-built colleges. But what has always struck me was that it was difficult for me to see these buildings as colleges. Instead they looked more like churches, or better still, cathedrals. And this brings me back to the Natural History Museum in the London borough of South Kensington. This is one of the most popular museums in the UK, and its architecture is not unlike one of many colleges in Oxford. But walk inside the main hall, and its interior has a striking similarity to that of any cathedral. And enthroned at one end is the statue of Charles Darwin, you could say, literally replacing the Cross of Christ.

As I stand in awe of these magnificent college buildings in Oxford, I can't help feeling small and insignificant compared to the students who are deep into their studies inside. When I was a boy, I had a longing to be a medical doctor or a journalist. Unfortunately, my slow learning at school has forever extinguished such dreams. Nowadays, as I look upon such buildings, my sense of unfulfilled dreams became more acute, and the feeling of weakness in my knees whenever a student is seen entering or exiting the college. How speechless would I have felt if one of these students, say a promising NHS surgeon or a rising writer and journalist, was to extend his hand in a friendly greeting?
 

Many Oxford Colleges resemble Cathedrals.

Today I had attended a men's half-day conference at a local church in my home town of Bracknell. The three sermons were excellent, Spirit-inspired discourses, but I wonder just how much these preaches would really be life-changing, or merely mulled over before slowly passing out of memory as the daily issues of life continues. Because in reality, it was the two breaks between sessions which held the real clue about what life in Christ is really about. Whilst most of the other men formed cliques suited to their interests, I sat alone at a nearby armchair, contemplating the street view outside. This made me think just how would I have been perceived as an individual if I held a degree. Because for some, I was no stranger, but someone well known for years, decades even, but without ever attending Grammar School and gaining a degree at university, there was little to talk about, having practically nothing in common. One Grammar School-educated graduate even felt reluctant to talk to me because, as he puts it, "We are in different circles." And I knew this English guy for as far back as 1978.

But a stranger did approach me with a genuine interest of who I am. When he mentioned his occupation relating to outdoor activities, by mentioning my hiking experiences at the Grand Canyon, we had stirred quite a conversation between us. Suddenly I felt a sense of belonging, even if he admitted that he is from South Africa. It's through this interpersonal uplift which gave fulfilment to the whole conference, rather than the preaching.

One of the sermons was about not allowing anyone to label us, except by God himself. Thus being a maverick is a good thing, a virtue. A maverick is someone with an independent mind. As I wrote I Stand Alone at Easter, I will always believe in a Thursday Crucifixion rather than on Good Friday. I will always confess the death, burial, and the Resurrection of Jesus Christ to atone for our sins, defeat death, and to give eternal life to every believer. I will always believe in Once Saved Always Saved. I will also stand up and insist that traditional Englishness is not allied with the Scriptures, neither is our national culture a mirror of the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit. On the contrary, going by what I have read and heard in the Media over the past twelve months, our national culture has a tendency to lean towards the occult - parallel to the Lie in Eden, where a false hope of deification was offered to our first parents, as such deception, at present, sending countless numbers into a lost eternity. Furthermore, I will declare the 6 x 24 hour days of supernatural Creation as historical fact, in opposition to the general held belief in Evolution as a theory. I don't care if everyone else thinks I'm a Creationist nerd and not to be taken seriously. I will always stand up for Jesus Christ and the historicity of Holy Scripture.

And I always will insist that there is nothing wrong with a man crying in public. Jesus himself did it at least twice during his ministry, and both incidents are recorded. And there is nothing wrong with two men greeting one another with a hug. Not British? Sure, but it's very beneficial to health and well-being. Yes, the preach I listened to earlier today was a confirmation of what I have suspected over the years - that I am a maverick, an independent thinker, and the consequence of this is that I have made a few enemies within the church as well as a greater number of friends.