A toast to absent friends

There have been few more momentous weeks in British history, or indeed in world history. This commentator must plead guilty. To draw on George Bush Jr, I mis-underestimated Liz Truss and appear to have made the same mistake about Ukraine. That said, we should all be relieved when the war is over on favourable terms, and tactical nukes have remained an item in Russian military doctrine, without becoming part of military practice.

Another mis-underestimation has now been corrected, one hopes permanently. Though I was never guilty, the former Prince of Wales had not received the respect that was his due. That is not true of King Charles III. Throughout the United Kingdom, his first coronation has already taken place, in his loyal subjects’ hearts.

The Queen is dead. God save the King. That might seem insensitive, denying a gracious and glorious lady her due period of mourning: not so. At the heart of the magic of monarchy lies a paradox. Like all humans, sovereigns are mortal. But the institution draws on secular immortality. At times such as this, there is no shame in being guided by emotion, so we can swing in an instant from tears to cheering, and cheering not only for our king, but for king and country.

Great events are not diminished by lesser sub-plots, such as the humorous scenes on the fringes of the Bayeux Tapestry. For weeks, young Arthur, previously mentioned in these columns, had been pressing his parents to give him a dog. Without realising that this was a regal choice, he had settled on a corgi. Luna arrived just before Her late Majesty’s kennels had a change of ownership. A small boy bonding with a puppy: that is an enchantment to make eyes water. Though his parents may wish that Arthur falls short of full outlawry, Luna will surely become the equivalent of Just William’s Jumble.

The past few days have seen the passing of another notable figure. No one in these islands was more fervently devoted to monarchy than Merlin, 7th Baron Sudeley and since the departure of Sir Iain Moncreiffe of that Ilk, no one had known more about the interstices of European royal lineage. Merlin inherited his title early, which caused confusion while he was up at Oxford. His contemporaries included Tommy, now the Earl of Arran, then known by his courtesy title Lord Sudley, who was an undergraduate of more orthodox tastes.

Mail was regularly misdirected, with amusing consequences. Tommy wondered why the devil he was being invited to a gathering of Herzegovinian Carlists, while Merlin was alarmed to find that the Proctors were requiring his presence to explain activities relating to late hours, licensed premises and climbing over college walls.

A week of changes has also seen the departure of a much loved member of the London diplomatic community. For five years, Ignacio Peyró had run the London branch of the Instituto Cervantes, the Spanish equivalent of the British Council. He is now moving to Rome: its gain, our loss. A delightful fellow, his formidable command of Spain’s history and culture was reinforced by his knowledge of his country’s wines. Friends benefited as he ran down his cellar prior to the transfer. A 1995 Vina Tondonia blanco gran reserva will stay in the memory, as will a CVNE Imperial 2011 and a Ribera del Duero Bodegas Portia 2010. It is hard to add to Rome’s cultural and vinicultural riches. Ignacio will succeed.