Chapter Thirty ‘Extraordinary and Irreplaceable…’
Chapter Thirty
‘Extraordinary and irreplaceable…’
It was five years since my sister’s funeral. In that time, I had been serving as a trustee on the Nelson Mandela Children’s Fund in South Africa.
One day, after our AGM, I was in a group talking with the president when one of his aides came over.
He explained that there was a young boy outside, born with severely truncated legs, who had tried to see Mr Mandela when he had paid a visit to his hometown.
But he had been unable to get a glimpse of the president because of his disability.
‘Bring him to me,’ the president said.
The boy was brought forward, smiling bashfully.
President Mandela bent down and scooped him up in his arms.
Just before that moment, photographers had been allowed in, and now they started to take pictures of the president warmly holding the child.
I was near enough to hear Mr Mandela saying quietly to the boy, as the camera lenses sounded: ‘See how important you are?’ The child beamed with delight.
On the day of the president’s visit to Althorp, my sisters and I had lunch with him – Malay curry, his favourite. Afterwards he walked with us so he could plant an oak tree to commemorate his visit, halfway between the house and the lake.
John, the old Althorp forester who had been one of the pair who dug Diana’s grave in those desperate, early-September days of 1997, came out of retirement for the day to help Mr Mandela with his tree-planting.
Because the president was too frail by that stage to contemplate a boat crossing, I had a pontoon bridge put up for him – the first time since the funeral that any bridge had appeared there.
Mr Mandela asked me to carry his glorious floral wreath and bade me hold his hand tight for support as we crossed the bridge together, the tallest member of his security detail holding an umbrella over the president to shield him against the stubborn rain.
Once we arrived on the island, I guided the president through the maze that shields Diana’s exquisite grave. The top of this simply says DIANA, with the dates of her birth and death beneath, while the carving down the sides reflects her love of beauty.
We stood there silently for some time, in contemplation of Diana.
‘You do know,’ the president suddenly said, breaking our silence with a compelling urgency, ‘she was a very, very great lady, your sister…’
And I realized, in that moment, that this finest of men had just paid Diana a more remarkable tribute than any I could ever have composed.