I was sceptical about the Duke of Sussex, but I did end up kind of liking him
Before Prince Harry took the stage at the Melbourne mental health summit, I sent a selfie message to fellow ABC broadcaster Virginia Trioli: “I’m ready for Harry to talk about burnout in the workplace when there’s no workplace at all!”
Virginia and I enjoyed several spirited public and private discussions about the Sussexes, whom I viewed as skilled opportunists. He asked if I was there to “troll” Harry: “I’m sure you’ll end up liking him.”
That’s what I was there to find out. Did I do that? If you saw Haz in real life, would you see it?
First, some scene setting. Harry was 25 minutes late, causing presenter Professor Melinda Edwards to improvise for the 300 people who paid $1,000.–plus a mind-blowing head from a duke.
It was great. Said of Finland’s energy technology, algae farming, and Bhutanese melted butter dish: “Anyone here who likes peppers? My husband’s allergic.”
When Harry finally approached the microphone it was visually worth the wait. He looked expensive like Tom Hiddleston. Night Manager. With a great nickname. An incredibly white shirt, a beautifully cut suit. The eye area is a little tired.
But this wasn’t the prince who could effortlessly pull off children’s hospital visits, who could make a good half-bet, who could charm everyone. It was as if an office was running a town hall without enough notice.
Limited stage presence, head bowed during his stilted speech. Social media platforms talk bad, good, “the world is troubled,” “being a husband and father has a way of focusing on perspective,” etc.
It’s not boring: Meghan was there! She sits off to the side, dressed in perfect white, focused like a laser on her man. “Making a difference” is “exhausting” for them, Harry said, but “we all have to believe that tomorrow will be better than today”. Definitely.
However. When Haz walked into the Q&A with the fawning Brendan Nelson, he immediately started talking and suddenly wasn’t just a middle-aged man working in a life-coaching business.
When asked where his sense of duty comes from, Harry was incredibly arrogant, cruising around on his Sandhurst officer polo horse: “I was born into it.” For example, Brendan. “And it’s also what my mother would want me to do.”
Correct answer. Being Diana’s son was his calling card, so he went there with something that combined brutality with sophistication.
“Grief doesn’t go away because we ignore it,” he said. “Experiencing that as a kid with constant supervision in a goldfish bowl, yeah, that’s going to have its challenges, too.
“And without purpose, it breaks you. I said, ‘I don’t want this job.’ He killed my mother. I buried my head in the sand for years.”
Legit, I wanted to invite her for soup and an early night.
The problem is, I can still see Diana’s long hair forming a cloud around her beautiful, happy, exhausted face as she carried Harry from the hospital.
I remember him banging on the piano in a puffy-sleeved shirt. Dressed as a tiny soldier, he relaxes on a jet ski a week or two before his mother dies when he is 12 years old.
Most of all, everyone remembers his untouchable devastation at his funeral: a lost boy walking through London wanting the one thing he can never have again.
Although he wasn’t particularly adept as a public speaker (I’ve seen more persuasive speeches on shopping channels and should hire Larry Emdur as a speechwriter/chemistry coach), I felt more for Harry than I expected.
Not because he is one of the most famous people in the world, but because in some moments I can see the 12-year-old boy clearly again.
Of course, life goes on, but this special man is frozen in time for most of us. That’s why there will always be an audience.
This earned him a standing ovation. “I like it. I love it,” said our tablemate Rose. He met Princess Diana at his school in Melbourne when he was four years old. “As real as you could expect from such a person.”
Maybe. And Virginia, I’m finally starting to like her. Keep this under your hat.
Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.
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