I think we can all agree by now that Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor is no expert at cleaning up his own mess. So news that he will be denied £488,000 in compensation when he finally moves out of Royal Lodge because it has been left “dilapidated” does not surprise me.
The 30-room mansion he and his ex-wife, Sarah Ferguson, have occupied for the last 22 years is, according to a report by the Crown Estate, in need of repairs, the costs of which will come out of the “compensation” the disgraced former prince is owed for magnanimously vacating the property before his 75-year lease is up.
All a bit awkward, isn’t it, when billionaire paedophiles come between families? The rather undignified charge of being a slobby tenant and having to foot the bill for a crumbling pile is an insult to injury for poor Andrew, whose brother has stripped from him his titles and his knighthoods and various other honours, and is rehoming him on his own private Sandringham estate where some unfortunate equerry might at least be able to keep an eye on him. But the scrutiny into how royal tenancy contracts operate has opened a can of worms and exposed, yet again, just how entitled the Royal Family really are.
Here’s how Andrew’s arrangement worked. In 2003, after the death of the Queen Mother, Royal Lodge’s previous resident, he took out a 75-year lease and paid over £8.5 million upfront. Most of that was supposed to go towards repairs, and effectively worked out to what the Crown Estate – who manage the collection of land and holdings belonging to the monarchy – considers a reasonable annual market rent for the house, of £260,000.
He also paid a token “peppercorn” rent, which is standard practice with long-lease properties. Because he’s leaving early, he is (absurdly) entitled to a portion of that money back. But he won’t see a penny of it because it needs some considerable TLC (not because of the Jeffrey Epstein business).
Now, all renters have felt the pain of a chunk coming out of their deposit because you spilt beans on the carpet and didn’t wipe the mould off the bathroom ceiling – and I’m sure many are celebrating Andrew’s first taste of life as a commoner. But I’m struggling to find much to gloat about when all it really does is serve as a screaming reminder to the rest of us of the antiquated, consequence-free stratosphere in which these people live.
In my book, the major argument for the continuation of the monarchy is that they are good value for money. Yes, there’s still some affection out there for tradition and legacy, some of them do good charity work, and I don’t think tourists care as much as we do about the scandals, villains and disrepute. But otherwise, much of the Royal Family’s soft power died with the Queen, so if we are to justify their existence, they ought to be generating as much money for the country as possible.
It seems, judging by Andrew’s far too generous rent agreement, that we could be getting a lot more. Any profit the Crown Estate makes goes to the Treasury. So if the properties are badly maintained, or if their residents are locked into unfairly cushty deals which do not maximise the potential for income, it is the taxpayer who indirectly suffers.
The public outcry over Andrew’s peppercorn set-up on a property he shouldn’t have still been living in anyway given he’s not served any royal duties in three years, and more importantly, is persona non grata, has prompted MPs to launch an inquiry into everyone else’s contracts.
Who else is living in obscenely big houses with obscenely big grounds and obscenely big bills on a similar peppercorn deal and a questionably calculated “market rent” that favours the preservation of their own wealth? William and Kate at Forest Lodge (paying an “open market rent” estimated to be between £32,000 and £100,000 per month), Edward and Sophie at Bagshot Park (around £250,000 a year), Princess Alexandra (the Queen’s cousin) at Thatched House Lodge in Richmond Park (£2,200 a year). The scale of royal entitlement and the dealings, usually far from public knowledge, are about to be reviewed, and Andrew is about to be even less popular with his family members than before.
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Don’t worry about him, of course. Justice has been served. It is a wrench to leave one’s home against one’s will – many of my own landlords have sold up and forced me back onto Spareroom, so I know the upheaval he faces well.
And downsizing is never easy – when he gets to Sandringham, he will only have six or seven bedrooms, which, given his reported requests for a cook, housekeeper, gardeners and a butler, may be a bit of a squeeze.
King Charles has done what he can to mitigate Andrew’s capacity for destruction and preserve the monarchy. Yet Andrew’s undoing just reminds us how much the monarchy itself needs a downsize.
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