Not much to look at but still, a Prince is a Prince. When news of a new girlfriend began to develop and the serious nature, I knew my chances at being Queen were up. Diana was a year younger than me. While I was working on an English Degree, reading 300 pages a day, from Shakespeare to Lord Byron, she was learning the fine etiquette required for eating bouillabaisse with four utensils while in polite conversation with a Head of State. My Prince was just around the corner studying architecture and her Prince was the world's most eligible bachelor.
I quickly became the expert on all things Lady Diana. Two months after her engagement, I had my own Lady Diana haircut. Fashions quickly began to reflect her style - ruffles, bow ties, sweet prints, sheer white hosiery, white collared dresses and blouses - romantic flounces in soft colors. She was a young, natural beauty. And now she was marrying the future King of England.
Young. Not even twenty years old when she was engaged to the thirty-two year old Prince. They had been formally introduced in 1977 by Diana's sister, Lady Sarah. Lady Diana was a sixteen year old girl and Prince Charles was a twenty-nine year old man but their families had known each other forever.
At the time, I never batted an eyelash over the age difference. It was cool to think of marrying an older man who was also the maybe, King of England, someday. Adults who knew me tried to discourage me over the whole affair. You would have thought I was the one marrying the older man. But they saw how swept away I was in this romantic endeavour and humored me. I knew Diana and Charles loved each other. That's why people get married. I can understand how a diamond tiara and the Royal Yacht could turn a head.
But did any adult involved really think a marriage with a twelve year age difference would work out, much less be any fun after the heir and the spare reached preschool? Not a single adult acted in the best interest of Lady Diana. Not a parent, priest or Prince.
Yes. She said yes. That's what you do when you are madly in love with life and a Prince and a gorgeous, huge sapphire and diamond ring. Yes is the easy part. Twenty is still so new to be learning life. But it is the best time to try without reservation. Bold and brave. Swept away.
Diana's tilting head and endearing blush were innocently given up for the photographers as she and her Prince stood on the grounds of Buckingham Palace, posing for the official engagement pictures. Moments later they returned inside for a news interview. While holding Diana's hand, Prince Charles laughed slightly and said in response to a question, the game changer, "Whatever 'In Love' means." The cameras were rolling and so were the thoughts of most rational people watching. But in another spot, say fetching some fish and chips, a smaller ring would have been bouncing off the cobblestones.
But this is not a regular deal. Royals don't throw rings and marriages are perfectly planned. A twenty year old woman can be crushed but more determined to go for the fairytale, the expected route for a Queen-to-be.
And she still said yes. 750 million television onlookers are anticipating a beautiful wedding as her carriage pulls up. Wrapped in clouds of glorious silk taffeta and tulle - a vision of bridal joy. Flat, delicate silk, mother of pearl slippers with suede soles, so she doesn't slip, measure her steps toward a future of choice. We didn't know what we didn't know, thankfully.
And we can be carried along on this fairytale ride in an open carriage full of flowers and balloons because we want love to work. We want a Prince and Princess to really live happily everafter. And maybe for awhile, they loved and were happy. This romantic likes to think so.
Along the lane of my Wales' obsession, I have collected sixteen lovely books detailing everything from the Princess' fashion, including maternity fashion and nursery handbook, to the book by her butler and the book written by Andrew Morton with Diana's secret tapes, revealing anything but a fairytale existence.
My favorite book is the very first book, Charles and Diana, The Prince and Princess of Wales by Trevor Hall. It begins right before their engagement and goes through the announcement of her pregnancy. Their first official walkabouts as the British people fall "in love" with Lady Diana, discovering her gift of ease and warmth and interest in the people and world around her.
Three weeks after the Royal Wedding, Charles and Diana met seventy photographers at Balmoral on the Brig O Dee. These are my favorite pictures. They look happy and relaxed. Finally, it appears that Charles has figured out whatever in love means. Soon they will have a young family, reinforcing the fairytale.
Princess Diana is beautiful, the most photographed woman in the world, ever. In time, she will not need anyone's permission to be her own person. She has poured herself into her two sons and they will continue her legacy of outreach.
I would rather celebrate the person instead of an anniversary. However, with time, I have questioned the world, including myself, which bought the books and magazines. Sadly, I don't think we ever realized the vicious power of pursuit until the ending of the frenetic desperation in a Paris tunnel.
The Althorp family presented a touring exhibition of Princess Diana's personal things: her wedding dress and other clothing, along with memorabilia from her childhood. Diana: a celebration. A very simple and elegant exhibit.
Behind the quietly lit glass, the yards of silk taffeta and tulle were breathtaking. Her dress was a fluffy concoction of bows and lace and poufs - a wedding dress fit for a young Princess. She was tall, tall enough to carry the twenty-five foot train behind her. Her preserved wedding attire looked as if she could slip the dress over her head and replay the events of that day.
I remember as a young girl, my mother, grandmother and I going through a trunk of my mother's things. When she reached in to pick up her veil, the tulle netting disintegrated like a dandelion in a whisper.
I looked at Diana's wedding slippers. They were silk and embroidered with mother of pearl sequins with suede soles. My wedding shoes are in the top of my closet. They are white leather sandals with a cut out trellis pattern. They are tucked away to stay, forever. No one will wear them again. But I know they are there.
I am sentimental romantic. Sometimes on my anniversary, I will get a step ladder and get the box down, open the red Bandolino box and pick one of them up. I look at the tiny shoe from another day. I turn it over and look at the scuffs on the sole. I didn't have a carriage to carry me. It's as if holding that shoe in my hand can bring back the magic of August 1982 at three o'clock in the afternoon. And some years, I have needed the magic of the memory.
Nothing but the most exquisite for the wedding of the century. From the top of a sparkling diamond tiara to the bottom of a suede sole. So as not to slip on the royal red rug at St. Paul's Cathedral or the step out onto the festooned balcony of Buckingham Palace. Never let her sole touch the ground. Angel flying too close to the ground.*
*Angel Flying too Close to the Ground, Willie Nelson, 1981
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