For anyone who has wondered what sets the cultural vibes of the Royal Family a-tingling, a Christie’s auction has just offered a fascinating, indeed horrifying, insight. It was a sale of 800 lots from the estate of Prince Henry, the late Duke of Gloucester — brother of Edward VIII and George VI. And the only reason why hoi polloi were granted this glimpse into the home life of the Queen’s uncle is that his heirs needed to flog these items to pay the death duties on his estate. Not before time, you may think, since he has been dead 31 years. I hope my accountant is as clever at holding the taxman at bay.
But it isn’t the Royal Family’s legal tactics that interest me, it’s what the sale revealed about their taste. How could so much money be spent on such dreary things? How did people with so many opportunities to see the world end up with such limited cultural horizons?
I don’t know, but Prince Henry managed it. He owned dozens of paintings — but they were all of horses. He collected 2,000 books — all about hunting, racing or shooting. I’m reminded of Cole Porter’s sardonic song about a country-house party where the guests “so amusing and mentally bracing, talked about racing . . . and racing . . . and racing”.
The same woeful non-imagination seems to have guided his choice of household items. He had entire rooms of heavy Victorian mahogany sideboards. Innumerable silver soup tureens. Five ancestral sporrans. A dinner service of crested crockery weighing as much as three grown men. As you flicked through the sale catalogue you had to remind yourself that the Prince lived entirely in the 20th century, because there was hardly an item that would have shocked George II with its modernity. Even as late as 1950 one of his sons was being presented with a silver Victorian mustard pot — for his sixth birthday! How his little face must have lit up.
It can’t even be claimed that Prince Henry was unusually retro, while the rest of the Royal Family was boldly backing new ideas in art and design. I am not a regular at Windsor or Buckingham Palace but I cannot recall seeing a single object in those residences dating from later than about 1870.
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Does that matter? I think so. The monarchy should support excellence in every corner of British life. But the message it sends is that, when it comes to design, excellence dried up six generations ago. That not only insults the thousands of artists, craftsmen and designers working in Britain today; it is also plain wrong.
If I were the next monarch, I would dump the entire contents of the royal residences — sporrans, silver tureens, the lot — in a storeroom at the V&A, where scholars of mediocre Victoriana could coo to their hearts’ content. Then I would commission the nation’s top craftsmen to refurbish rooms as showcases of everything beautiful and stylish in 21st-century British design. Imagine the worldwide impact. Imagine the boost to our creative arts industry. Goodbye Buck Palace; hello Habitat House.
But sadly I’m not. And I daresay he won’t. Pity. The V&A’s collection of sporrans is far from comprehensive.