OPINION: The King always had a soothing effect on the battle-weary and neglected

King Charles III has ascended the British throne at a time of uncertainty, with the scars of the Covid pandemic still visible, the threat of economic collapse and when his kingdom feels less united than it’s done for a long time.

His recently deceased mother, Queen Elizabeth II, was not only the longest reigning British monarch but arguably the most consequential of modern times. She embodied to many the nature of service and selflessness.

Through 15 prime ministers, from Winston Churchill to Liz Truss, through Britain’s post-war deprivations, economic crisis, unrest and Brexit, she was steadfast. To many, the new King is a very different character. From his divorce with Princess Diana, his opinionated forays into everything from architecture to climate policy, King Charles came to be seen by some as more partisan, less gracious, more selfish.

But my experience of King Charles III – then the Prince of Wales – tells a very different story. A story of a filial apple that’s fallen much closer to the maternal tree. The story starts in the Middle East. I served in Iraq, running the reconstruction of Basra province during the war. It was a tough, unforgiving assignment. We were mortared daily, militias hunted our staff, progress was limited and sadly thousands of Iraqis died.

Conditions were much harder for the soldiers patrolling Basra, who were attacked at close quarters, but it was difficult for us civilians who had less training and support for such a wartime trial. Little trains you of course for taking calls under a desk while trying to find your helmet as rockets slam into your building. Nothing prepares you for running between concrete-covered Maersk containers – where we slept –  while mortars are raining down on the compound.

The assignment took a toll on many of my team – many of whom had not supported the war. For months after returning from Iraq I would flinch at loud sounds, ready to throw myself to the ground. But I coped. I had by then worked in Bosnia, Afghanistan and Yemen. I was a bit more battle-ready. Many of my colleagues struggled.

And unlike the military who are used to manage battlefield stress, civilians were offered only perfunctory support and in many cases had no jobs or contracts to return to. Soldiers received medals, but it took a while until medals were created for civilians. We came home to little.

It wasn’t quite like Bruce Springsteen’s song Born in the USA but the song’s line about the Vietnam vet who has “nowhere to run and nowhere to go” felt apt. The war was very unpopular and it was hard to talk to people about what we had tried to do. I worked hard not to become frustrated and dejected. I missed the camaraderie that is anchored in a shared and traumatic experience but it was made all the poignant by everyone’s dismissal or even opposition to what we had done.

In the midst of this I receive an invitation from Clarence House. A surprise, I didn’t know what to expect at all. I arrived, full of trepidation, to find all my civilian colleagues there as well as the country’s leadership – everyone from the then Foreign and Defence Secretaries, the Cabinet Secretary, the Chief of Defense, everyone in Who’s Who.

Everyone had all been invited by the then Prince of Wales to honour all the work of us civilians in the war. Not, for once, the soldiers who fought on the frontlines but us, their civilian colleagues. We who planned sewage systems, organised courts, helped fix the oil wells, built bridges etc.

The PoW then arrived and patiently walked from group to group, meeting everyone and hearing their stories while the various ministers and generals just listened in. He spent as much time as was needed with everyone, asking sensitive questions and commending everyone.

The late Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once described the effect The Queen had on meeting a group of Holocaust survivors. Meeting her had “brought a blessed closure to deeply lacerated lives.” I would not in any way compare my experience or that of my team to those survivors, I only mention it to say that I saw in the future King’s sensitive engagement, his initiative and his kindness toward many battle-affected – and neglected – people a similarly soothing effect.

I left the unpublicised encounter deeply touched, grateful that my ex-colleagues had been properly thanked, convinced that no politician could have had a similar impact – and with a lifelong respect for the man who is now King Charles III. He is very much his mother’s son and will be a fine King.