Dicky-bird's Flight

"A bad blunder has been made by the Queen's advisers, and it is hard to see how they will extricate themselves from the booby trap." The London Evening Standard spoke like a firm but indulgent nanny; half a dozen other London papers chimed in with dismay, outrage, chagrin. Cause of the clamor--and envy: the news that Antony Armstrong-Jones is going to work for the opposition.

Armstrong-Jones, besides being Princess Margaret's husband, is also the Earl of Snowdon and until his career ended in marriage, he was a competent freelance photographer. Weighing all these credentials, Roy Thomson, Canadian-born publisher of 93 papers, had hired Tony as "artistic adviser" to Thomson's prestigious London Sunday Times (circ. 1,022,913). The salary--a reported 7,500 quid ($21,000)--was regal enough on Fleet Street. But the rest of Fleet Street promptly hollered foul.

Jealousy Showing. At first the London Sunday Observer (circ. 727,964), which is challenging the Times's Sunday supremacy, was shocked almost speechless. Its initial notice of the Earl's new job ran 17 deadpan words. Then the Observer's wrath spilled over. "Everyone, including the Observer," observed the Observer, "has said that a royal marriage should not preclude Lord Snowdon from doing work. But we believe he has chosen the wrong kind of job."

Even while pleading the impropriety of Margaret's spouse's becoming a newsman, the Observer could not hide its jealousy. "It will inevitably seem unfair to rival newspapers and magazines that the Queen's close relative is used for the enrichment of the Thomson empire."

Jungle Screams. Although no other paper felt quite so strongly, few but Thomson's Sunday Times, which had Tony in the bag, could resist sounding off. The London Daily Sketch puckered with a mild case of sour grapes: "Lord Snowdon sharpens his artistic genius for readers of the Sunday Times." Cassandra (William Connor), London Daily Mirror columnist, was moved by amusement: "Now Tony Snowdon, as the Observer calls him [to Cassandra, Tony was 'a royal Dicky-bird'], has flown from Kensington Palace to the jungle that is Fleet Street. In a trice, the macaws, the parrots and other screaming birds in the inky undergrowth have set up a-screeching and a-yelling that splits the eardrums."

Amid the general chorus of disapproval (including the charge that Thomson wanted to use Tony to land a peerage), a few mild voices rose: "The Mirror hopes Mr. Jones will stick to his job." If he didn't, added the Mirror slyly, Tony was more than welcome on the Mirror's staff--"at considerably less money."

About the only person who did not offer an opinion was the Dicky-bird himself. He was on holiday with his princess, spreading his feathers to the Antigua sun, waiting to shoulder his new duties next month. And keeping his beak shut.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.