Sarah Vine’s message to four-times-married ‘cad’ Earl Spencer

What are we to make of the battle between the two Charleses? On one side stands King Charles, not yet four years into his reign, dealing with ill health, a difficult younger son and a brother whose reputation has been badly damaged. He is attempting to guide the monarchy through some of its most turbulent waters.

He is not without flaws, nor has he always been an easy man. Yet over time he has developed into a more reflective monarch, perhaps even a wise one, alert to the lessons of the past and resolute in his commitment to the Crown and the country.

Then there is Charles Spencer: an aristocrat descended from James I, sole heir to a vast estate and its many treasures, brother to the late Princess Diana and uncle to a future king. He has now emerged as the latest source of difficulty for the monarch.

Why release this book now? In recent interviews promoting Swan Song, Spencer has worked hard to explain the timing. His justifications are delivered in polished, distinctly Etonian prose, yet a deep resentment appears to run beneath the surface.

Presenting the memoir as a tribute to his late sister is understandable, but ultimately unconvincing. Readers may conclude that the book is chiefly concerned with Spencer himself—an impression that would hardly be surprising to his critics.

Those critics argue that Spencer has long been driven by personal grievance and a powerful sense of entitlement, shaped by his position as heir to a family that has traditionally regarded itself as superior to the Windsors. In that reading, Swan Song represents no departure from form.

Spencer condemns King Charles over words he says were insensitive and poorly judged in the aftermath of Diana’s death. Words can be misunderstood, distorted or remembered differently over time. Actions, however, are harder to explain away—and Spencer’s own conduct remains central to the criticism directed at him.

There was also an obvious irony in Spencer choosing the BBC to promote the memoir after condemning the institution over its role in the controversial Martin Bashir Panorama interview with Diana. It is a contradiction unlikely to have escaped viewers. Yet commercial priorities can easily overwhelm principle when a book is at stake.

He also criticises the late Queen’s offer to restore Diana’s HRH title after her death, questioning what purpose such a gesture could serve. His answer is essentially that it would have come too late. The same criticism, some might argue, could be applied to Spencer’s own funeral speech for Diana: eloquent, certainly, but delivered after the damage had been done.

This does not appear to be about Diana—or her sons. Rather, it looks to opponents like another display of personal bitterness from a man who has benefited from extraordinary privilege and wealth, but who has not always allowed duty, restraint or gratitude to stand between himself and his impulses.

To his detractors, Spencer’s conduct over the years has fallen well short of what might be expected from a member of the British aristocracy. They see this latest attack on the King as entirely consistent with a record they regard as lacking both judgment and moral authority.

The real tragedy, from that perspective, is Spencer’s apparent failure to recognise how he is perceived. Much the same criticism has been levelled at his nephew, Prince Harry. His memoir Spare was widely viewed as an attempt to rebuild public support after his interview with Oprah Winfrey and a series of highly damaging attacks on the royal family. Instead, it produced the opposite effect. Spencer’s book may meet a similar fate.

For while Swan Song revisits the complicated relationship between King Charles and Princess Diana, it also places its author under scrutiny. The result may serve as a reminder of the old warning that those who live in glass houses should think twice before throwing stones.

How Spencer can claim the authority to lecture the King about his treatment of Diana is difficult to understand. He has also said that the Palace’s response to the memoir made him feel “gaslit”. Critics, however, would argue that he is hardly unfamiliar with the use of competing narratives and emotional pressure.

Consider his first marriage to Victoria Lockwood, described as a beautiful and vulnerable woman who, like Diana, struggled with anxiety, addiction and an eating disorder. It has been alleged that Spencer began an affair while Lockwood was pregnant with their first child.

Spencer later moved his family to South Africa before divorcing Lockwood under South African law, which was considered less punitive than the system in Britain. Court documents reportedly described him as a “serial adulterer”, while accounts of his treatment of his wife were widely reported. Despite his vast inheritance, he ultimately paid Lockwood—mother of their three elder daughters and elder son—a relatively small settlement.

His second wife, Caroline, known as Pidge, was considered a more formidable figure. He married her after her first husband, publicist Matthew Freud, left her for Elisabeth Murdoch. During that divorce, allegations concerning Spencer’s “unreasonable behaviour” were kept confidential.

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But I recall sitting next to the earl at a dinner just before they were due to be married. It was many years ago, but the conversation has stuck in my mind. Spencer was very interested to hear my views – and the views of the rather attractive woman to his other side – on adultery.

Was it acceptable, he wanted to know, and if so to what degree. I don’t recall my reply – I was nervous and probably burbled something stupid – or worse, dull. But I do remember thinking it was an odd question for someone who was just about to walk down the aisle. That union produced two children, a son and a daughter.

His third wife, the entrepreneur and philanthropist Karen Gordon, gave him another child and 13 years of her life, before he ditched her too, for his current wife. Gordon also invested significant time and effort into renovating the earl’s estate, including restoring the walled garden and redesigning the Round Oval Lake (Princess Diana’s final resting place). 

They even made an online series together, Spencer 1508, documenting the restoration work, archival discoveries and day-to-day running of the 13,000-acre estate.

But even she couldn’t keep the earl on the porch – and earlier this year Spencer married the Norwegian archaeologist and author, Dr Catrine Jarman, with whom he co-hosted a podcast.

It seems to me he has tossed aside the women in his life like used tissues. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. What about the claims that his old friend, Darius Guppy, gave him a broken cheekbone after it emerged that he (the earl) had tried to seduce Guppy’s wife while the latter was in jail for fraud? And is there a reason he hasn’t been present at either of his daughters’ weddings (Lady Kitty, in 2021, and Lady Amelia, in 2023)?

Let’s face it, if he weren’t an earl, with access to the best lawyers, friends in high places and, of course, vast tracts of prime inherited land (in July he sold off 310 acres to Persimmon Homes for a cool £60million), he’d not be out of place as a guest on the now defunct Jeremy Kyle show.

Of course, none of this would a) be relevant or b) matter much had he not decided to climb onto the moral high ground and dump on the King from a great height, profiting handsomely in the process. 

Because however badly Charles may have behaved towards Diana, however tumultuous their marriage, whatever mistakes he may have made, however tragic their divorce and her terrible death, Spencer is certainly no hero in this tale. Or anyone’s tale, for that matter.

So while, in the words of the Palace, one can perfectly understand how ‘the pain of fraternal grief can cloud reason [and] affect judgment’, the extent of his high-handed hypocrisy really does beggar belief.

As for the notion that his sister herself would be ‘cheering from the rafters’, I’m not so sure. Princess Diana had a rare compassion, which is one of the main reasons she was so loved. I can’t imagine she would have liked the idea of kicking a sick man battling cancer – even her ex-husband – when he’s down. He is, after all, the father of her children, and the only parent they have. 

Besides, how does any of this help her precious sons? How does it help heal the deep rift between them, which would break any mother’s heart? It only deepens it.

On one thing, however, the earl is right. Those two boys should never have walked behind their mother’s coffin – I thought that at the time, and I think that now. But you cannot change the past, and you will never right past wrongs with bitter vengeance. 

You can only learn to live with it – and move on. If you don’t, you risk wasting your life in anger and regret. As Shakespeare wrote in Othello (Act 1, Scene 3): ‘The robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief; / He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.’

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