HEADLINES intertwine: the Pope is dead, the Prince of Wales is marrying, the election is due. Distinguished diaries are hastily rebuilt. Half-asleep with the news on, I dreamt that Tony Blair was postponing his wedding to be made a cardinal.

One curious theme runs through this week’s preoccupations. It concerns what old-fashioned headmasters used to call “Character”. This differs from “personality”, or even “charisma” and is definitely not the same as “being a bit of a character”. It is hard to describe but easy to spot: it includes firmness, restraint, calm determination. Surprisingly, it is often loveable; perhaps because persons of character do not complain and are not “needy”. Their psychology shows the sort of self-disciplined grace that a dancer shows physically. You may not always agree, but you often warm to them.

Character shows itself in very diverse people: Churchill and Nelson had it, Baroness Thatcher and Mother Teresa. Artists and actors sometimes do: think of Dame Judi Dench or Kwame Kwei-Armah. Sometimes it goes hand in hand with the lighter, jollier quality of “personality” — Julie Walters has both — but sometimes it is understated, in some elderly nurse or dour engineer. Sometimes it is commingled with “leadership”, as in the late Admiral Lewin, one of whose officers said that he rarely raised his voice but “you never wanted to let him down”. This week’s contrasts in leadership are all about Character.

Regarding the late Pope, a wise commentator remarked that even when Catholics hated his teaching they loved the man. John Paul II’s contribution to liberty in Eastern Europe and his advocacy for the poor and sick are universally lauded, but it would be dishonest not to admit the dismay he caused many Catholics. His unswerving resistance to modernity disappointed those who questioned the value of priestly celibacy; brilliant and pious women asking for a role in the Church were flatly ignored, and women in general praised only for meekness and maternity. His rejection of liberation theology in South America upset many. He reinforced the widely ignored 1968 ban on artificial contraception, condemning condoms even for Aids prevention. There is a harshness in recent Vatican statements on homosexuality which many of us hope did not emanate from the frail Pope himself, but from his nastier confrères.

That hope was real. It sprang from the fact that even semi-detached Catholics wanted to love him: Karol Wojtyla the man, the romantic patriot Pole, the priest who flung wide his arms to say “We are an Easter people!”. His last message was to the young people in St Peter’s Square: “I have looked for you: now you have found me, and I thank you.” He handled his terminal weakness with courage, dignity, even gaiety. As well as faith he displayed Character.

Swing across now to these northern islands, and the next Supreme Governor of the Church of England. Nobody expects the Prince of Wales to be holy; but all the same he is born to a public role and has not rejected it. He wants to be monarch after his mother: a Queen who, incidentally, offers a perfect illustration of how to display Character without bothering us by affecting a twinkling personality.

The Prince of Wales, alas, does not. He has enabled excellent work in the Prince’s Trust. He encouraged sustainable farming when few others did. On architecture and medicine he voices views which may not be right, but which set off good arguments. He is kind, in a slightly sentimental way. But the glaring deficit, the root of all his problems is lack of Character. There is a petulance, a perennial tone of complaint about the Prince of Wales. I have been trying to deny this for years because I value the monarchy as a symbolic, ceremonial institution. I have discounted third-party gossip and the malice of republicans and Diana-worshippers. I have conversed with him, helped his causes, and tried to ignore the note of selfindulgent plaint; I studiously ignored the way he sat looking bored during the loopy Jubilee procession (his testy father beamed and waved at every Hell’s Angel and Commonwealth gymnast, while the Prince sat shtoom). I welcomed his remarriage.

But the Klosters press call puts him in the last-chance saloon. This was not paparazzo journalism. It was an agreed event with roped-off camera positions, visible microphones and predigested questions. The two young princes proffered dutiful smiles. Their father, on the verge of the happiest day of his life, did not. “I hate doing this . . . these bloody people . . . I can’t bear that man (Nicholas Witchell of the BBC). I mean, he’s so awful, he really is.”

There are limits to what even a monarchist can bear. Here is the heir to the throne, visibly encouraging the next two heirs to treat with contempt a gentle, sycophantic media attempt to show them to their people. People criticise the Duke of Edinburgh, but he at least meets the frustrations of his role with jokes and an air of interest, and refuses to complain even when invited to by interviewers. The Princess Royal is unnervingly brisk, but would never insult a formal press call. The Queen smiled on with regal restraint when an Australian Prime Minister patted her bum. Prince William gamely tried to salvage the photo call with friendly jokes. Prince Charles showed neither love of his people nor a sense of duty. He flounced.

Oh, the irony! I am a rebel ex-Catholic who disagreed with much of John Paul’s teaching, yet I was drawn to his strength. Conversely, I support the British monarchy on rational grounds, yet its heir is slowly alienating me. That’s tribute to the power of Character: no point pretending that it doesn’t matter and that institutions and causes can flourish without it. They can’t.

There’s an election message there too. It is not ideologies, but great and steadfast people whom we want. Perhaps that explains why so few of us vote: we’re pining for something that isn’t on offer.

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