At home with Vicky and Bertie

It’s one of the great weekends of the year. Hundreds if not thousands of fans descend upon a splendid and historic venue, wearing their colours, cheering on the proceedings. There’s always the chance of an upset but, whatever the outcome, this will be a day some people remember for the rest of their lives.

Sorry – did you think I was referring to the FA Cup? Well, it’s true the final takes place at Wembley today. But, about 22 miles to the west, St George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle is playing host to the wedding of Lady Gabriella Windsor (52nd in line to the throne, apparently) and Thomas Kingston. It’s the third royal wedding in the Chapel in a year, and a year almost to the day since the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

This poses a problem for the second year running for Prince William, who is President of the Football Association. Last year, his duties as best man meant that the wedding took priority over attending the Cup Final. The word is that he may get to the match this year. In any event, he needs to have a word with any remaining eligible relatives, to tell them to choose another date in 2020 or beyond.

Today’s reception will be at Frogmore House, much less well known than the Castle, but in some ways just as interesting. George III bought the house for his wife Queen Charlotte in the 1790s, and the Crown purchased the lease on the wider estate 50 years later. Victoria often worked on state papers here and she and Prince Albert are buried in a mausoleum on the estate (which isn’t open to visitors).

In contrast with the extravagance of the Castle, Frogmore is filled with wax fruit, artificial flowers and chinoiserie. There’s a room of floral paintings by Mary Moser and, to add some royal glamour, the Britannia Room showcases memorabilia relating to the royal yacht of that name. The gardens were restored in time for the present Queen’s silver jubilee in 1977. Frogmore House and Gardens is about to open (28-30 May) for its annual charity days, so do go if you have the chance. Whether you like the house’s contents may depend on your view of what Victorians found tasteful, but there’s no doubt it’s a royal day out with a difference.

The carelessness of Queen Elizabeth II

I admit it – that heading’s clickbait. As it happens, my view is that our current monarch is one of the more blameless people in British public life today. She has served, stoically and dutifully, for well over 60 years. She’s even had to put up with weekly meetings with 13 different Prime Ministers. So I’m not really criticising Her Majesty. But I do have a bone to pick with her team – or rather my wife does – and, as per the title reference to a well-known play and film about one of her predecessors, it does have something to do with George III. Tell me more, I hear you say…

It’s all to do with Windsor Castle, the oldest and largest inhabited castle in the world and one of HMQ’s official residences.  Surely the phrase “nothing to see here” was never less appropriate than here. You could end up with a permanently slack jaw and a cricked neck, and no doubt some of the hordes of visitors do.  Suit of armour, on a horse, by the Grand Staircase? Check.  The musket ball that killed Nelson? It’s here.  A special room to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo? Naturellement. And that’s before we even get to the State Apartments, built for Charles II and much altered since, or St George’s Chapel.

I could go on. But I shan’t. Because one of the best, if not the best line manager I ever had used to tell me: “Look for what isn’t there.”  Now Windsor Castle is justifiably proud, among other things, of its art collection. Some of it could claim your attention, and mental speculation, for hours if you weren’t in a hurry. For instance: The five eldest children of Charles I (Van Dyck, 1637) in the Queen’s Ballroom; is the dog unfeasibly large or are the children implausibly small?  But my attention is on a painting that isn’t there.

It used to be. George III and the Prince of Wales Reviewing Troops used to be in the State Drawing Room. The King commissioned it, the Prince was not in the preliminary sketches but sat for it later and the final work went to the Royal Academy in 1798.  A smaller version is in the collection (but not on display) at the National Army Museum.  The original was the work of Sir William Beechey (1753-1839), who escaped a possible career as a lawyer to specialise in painting portraits of royalty and other “people of quality” including Queen Charlotte and Lord Nelson.  Beechey may have been a bit of a toady to get all those commissions but his portraits, as someone wrote fifty years after his death, “have maintained a respectable second rank.”

William had two marriages – the second to a painter of miniatures – from which he fathered 21 children.  Of course, names do change, disappear and sometimes re-appear down the generations. But it so happens that my wife Helen’s maiden name was Beechey.  Since William came from Burford, not too far from the Buckinghamshire of my in-laws and their ancestors, a family legend has persisted that those ancestors include William.  It hasn’t manifested in an artistic career – Helen still remembers the woman who criticised a painting she made at the age of three – but that’s not the point. Art in the blood, as Sherlock Holmes said, is liable to take the strangest forms.

Anyway – George III and the Prince of Wales Reviewing Troops used to be in the State Drawing Room.  Then in 1992, the year of the great Windsor fire, it was the only painting at the Castle to be destroyed because – get this – it was apparently too large to move out.

Seriously?   These are people who ruled the largest Empire on Earth. They’ve come through war, revolution, industrialisation and hundreds of years of heaven knows what else, and they’re still our monarchs. And they couldn’t work out how to save one painting.  Well, if it was your (possible, and admittedly not likely) ancestor-in-law who’d painted it, you’d have something to say about that, I bet.

Twenty-five years later, perhaps it’s time to forgive and forget. Beechey’s work survives elsewhere. And – despite a bit of carelessness with one of his works – Windsor is still absolutely splendid.