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The Duke has spent his whole adult life as the embodiment of duty, walking behind his wife. But he is not a dull or timid man. Indeed, I should not say he has spent his whole adult life in that role. Famously born on a kitchen table in Corfu but exiled from Greece as an infant, Philip joined the Royal Navy in 1939, spent the war in harm’s way and was mentioned in dispatches. He gave up what would once have been called a very masculine way of life to become, as he once put it, “a bloody amoeba … the only man in this country not allowed to give his name to his children.” Yet in this difficult role he not only exhibited strength, he was a profound source of it to his equally admirable and inspiring wife. (And no, despite vicious tabloid rumours, there is no credible evidence of infidelity.)

Those who mock the royal family are hard pressed to find anyone else who exemplifies duty and character with such modesty and wit. On a 1979 White House visit Philip not only chatted with two butlers, he poured them drinks. In 1960, before Britain’s General Dental Council, he defined “Dontopedalogy” as “the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it, a science which I have practised for a good many years.”

When the BBC asked five years ago if he was proud of his accomplishments, he said “that’s asking too much” and added “Who cares what I think? It’s ridiculous.” And he once commented that the adulation early in Elizabeth’s reign “could have been corroding” but he deliberately decided not to “play to the gallery … Safer not to be too popular. You can’t fall too far.”

Philip is wise as well as blunt, modest as well as brave, funny as well as strong. What politician can “republicans” put forward to compare with him? When mathematician Sir Michael Atiyah just told him “I’m sorry to hear you’re standing down,” Philip cracked him up with “Well, I can’t stand up for much longer.”

Where, indeed, shall we find his like again?