Paul Burrell - The Way We Were: Remembering Diana

THE WAY WE
WERE

Remembering Diana

PAUL BURRELL

In memory of two women who taught me so much about life,
my mother and the boss

I have to go now to the stars. And one day, when you look at the stars, you will remember me.

as quoted by Diana, Princess of Wales, in 1996, from The Little Prince.

In July 2006 I found myself standing inside Kensington Palace, and Diana, Princess of Wales was there once more, with her warm smile and infectious giggle.

I was nothing but a visitor, one of thousands of tourists who pass through those ornate black and gold gates in London W8, and the boss was nothing but her own iconic image, looking down from every wall; her spirit and sense of fun captured perfectly by photographer Mario Testino.

Its never easy returning to KP where I worked and lived as butler to the princess, but I had to see Marios unique tribute, which portrays her like no one ever has before: at her happiest, most relaxed, most radiant, most natural. For me, they show Diana, the woman at home not Diana, Princess of Wales on duty. This was the princess I knew, and how I remember her; the princess Mario wanted the world to see, as if each person who viewed those photos was sitting on the sofa chatting to her. As he did. As I did, during ten years of service at her side.

In his mesmerizing photos, she wore no shoes, no jewellery and little makeup as she sprawled across a sofa, or sat on the floorboards, laughing.

Laughter, laughter, laughter thats what the day was all about, Paul. I had such fun! she said. It is a vivid memory for me because I was at KP in 1997 when the boss returned home from Marios studio and what had been her final photo shoot for Vanity Fair. Ive never felt so relaxed, she went on. Shed had such fun, and was soaring with the confidence Mario had instilled in her, which brought out the best in her for the photos.

I remember the day when, at last, a Kodak box of 8 10 prints arrived at the front door. The princess couldnt wait to see them, and I helped her spread more than fifty images across the sitting-room carpet. Then we knelt to scan each shot.

This is you! Hes got you! I told her.

Do you think so? she said, with the sharp intake of breath that punctuated her conversations. Is that really me? She giggled, embarrassed to have invited a compliment.

Typically, she allowed me to choose my favourites and ensured I received my own Mario Testino collection of the shots she had discarded. The exhibition, almost ten years later, was important because it illustrated the princess as the world deserved to see her; a side of her that few were privileged to know. In that respect, Mario did her millons of fans, and her memory, a true service.

An appropriate and fitting tribute to Diana, Princess of Wales was long overdue, something more significant than Hyde Parks water memorial, which certainly doesnt do justice to her memory. Thats why it is a shame that Marios exhibition isnt permanent because it is everything that a tribute should be.

Even though Id seen every image before during my exclusive preview at KP, I wasnt prepared for their impact when I entered the exhibition. It was their sheer size, larger than life, that struck me. The princess dominated the place.

Photographs and words capture memories, and I am writing this commemorative book to give you an insight into the privileged life I shared with the princess, in memory and celebration of her. I have included my own photographs of Apartments 8 and 9, to form a visual tribute that the Royal Family accorded to the late Queen Mother and Princess Margaret, but not the princess.

I took photographs of each room and of her jewellry in September 1997, and Im sharing them with you, opening the door as Butler to show how this iconic royal once lived. I hope my words and pictures evoke powerful memories. Im no Mario Testino but he and I share the same aim: to remember a unique and remarkable woman especially as the long overdue and much delayed British inquest into her death in Paris, on 31 August 1997, is now in view. Over the past two years, I have assisted Scotland Yard officers, investigating on behalf of the coroner, as much as I can. I have spent many hours with them and provided statements and suggestions to aid them in their pursuit of the truth as to what really happened. It has been a thorough investigation, there is a fear that, in the process, Diana, Princess of Wales, might be remembered for all the wrong reasons, her character so scrutinized that it is in danger of being distorted; that her warmth, spirit, vivacity and good work will be lost and the concerns she harboured for her safety are misrepresented.

So, I have written this book to keep at the forefront of our minds a true memory of the boss. I hope it shines through these pages, and continues to shine after the inquest process, whatever is said, whatever is alleged, whatever is decided. When it is over, we will be approaching the tenth anniversary of her death a true time for remembrance and reflection.

I am aware that my intention in writing this book may be misrepresented and misjudged by the media and system that attacked me for my first book, A Royal Duty, which appeared in 2003. It was portrayed as a betrayal but, as more than 93,000 letters to me have confirmed, it was a tribute, as I intend this book to be. I hope people will read The Way We Were and judge it on its tone and content, not on its media portrayal. I have always said that I will stand for ever in the princesss corner and shout on her behalf, and there seems no better time to remember her than now as vividly as we knew her before that terrible autumn of 1997.

My memories dont mellow with time. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the lilies in the sitting room, hear the Victorian gas lamps hissing in the courtyard at KP or the grandfather clock ticking on the stairs. I can still see the princess in the drawing room, playing Rachmaninovs Piano Concerto No. 2, I can still see her sitting in a window seat on a summers day, the sun on her face, eyes closed, tucking her hair behind an ear.

As her butler, I invite you to step inside a unique world. This book commemorates the life of the Peoples Princess. Your princess. My boss.

PAUL BURRELL

T he gold Yale key turned in the lock, and my stomach lurched as the back door of Kensington Palace opened. I stepped inside and walked forward, as the heavy black door slammed behind me, sending an echo throughout the emptiness that lay ahead. It was as dark and gloomy as ever in that part of the palace so I flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. The bulb must have blown, I thought.

Then I looked up to the ceiling and saw that the entire light fixture had been ripped out, leaving only dangling wires. I walked on, my footsteps echoing, to what had been the engine room of the home I called KP, where tradesmen, staff and deliverymen had once busied themselves. I was in the middle of the lobby, once filled with the buzz of the refrigerator, the whirr of the ice-making machine, the swish of the dishwasher, the chatter of people coming and going. Now there was a void. The mail pigeon-holes were empty; black garbage bags, empty drawers and chairs lay about, discarded. KP looked as if it had been ransacked by thieves. Apartments 8 and 9 had been reduced to a shell, there wasnt a single hook for my memories.