Prince Albert Review: He Was Loathed, and Then He Died

The most unpopular man in Britain became the most mourned, and the reversal took about a fortnight

The Prince Albert on Royal College Street holds a 4.5 from one thousand and twenty-four people, charges ten to twenty pounds, and it has an excellent garden.

And the man on the sign was, for most of his life in this country, thoroughly disliked.

Why they hated him

He was German. He was serious. He was a foreigner who had married the Queen and who was believed – with some justification – to be running the country from behind her.

He had no constitutional position. He was not head of state, not a minister, not elected, not accountable to anybody.

And he was, in practice, doing an enormous amount of the work.

The Great Exhibition

Which was his, and which everybody said would fail.

He drove it – the idea, the funding, the Crystal Palace, the whole enterprise – against very substantial opposition and a great deal of ridicule.

It was predicted that the building would collapse. That it would attract revolutionaries. That it would bankrupt the organisers.

And six million people came, and it made a profit, and the profit was used to buy the land in South Kensington on which the Victoria and Albert, the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum and the Royal Albert Hall now stand.

Essentially every major museum in that part of London exists because of the surplus from an exhibition that everybody said would fail.

And then he died

In 1861, at forty-two, of an illness that was diagnosed as typhoid and about which historians have argued ever since.

And the country’s opinion of him reversed almost immediately.

The man who had been a foreign interloper became, within a very short period, a national tragedy – and Victoria went into a mourning from which she never really emerged, and wore black for the remaining forty years of her life.

The Prat’s historical desk regards the speed of this reversal as one of the most instructive things in seven postcodes, and would note the general principle without further comment.

Nothing improves a reputation like dying.

The memorials

Which are everywhere, and which are a direct consequence of that grief.

The Albert Memorial. The Royal Albert Hall. Albert Bridge. A very large number of Albert pubs, of which this is one.

And he had asked, explicitly, that no monuments be built to him.

He said it more than once. It is on the record. He found the idea distasteful.

He is now one of the most commemorated men in British history.

Verdict

Excellent pub, good garden, cheap.

Go, and raise one to a man who asked for no statues and got a concert hall.

The Christmas tree

Which is popularly attributed to him and which is not quite right.

The tree was already known in Britain – Queen Charlotte, who was German, had one at Windsor decades earlier, and the custom existed among the German community in London.

What Albert did was make it visible.

An engraving of the royal family around a decorated tree was published in the Illustrated London News in 1848, and it was reproduced everywhere, and within about a decade the tree was standard in middle-class British homes.

He did not invent it. He was photographed with it, which in the nineteenth century was the same thing.

Margaret Colley

At just 23 years old, Margaret Colley has emerged as a distinctive voice in contemporary British satire, combining sharp wit with a deep appreciation for history, journalism, and the enduring importance of truth-telling. Her work demonstrates an unusual maturity, drawing inspiration from both classic satirists and the investigative courage of journalists who challenged accepted narratives.

Margaret’s writing explores the absurdities of modern life through a uniquely Welsh perspective, blending cultural observation, historical awareness, and an instinctive understanding of how humour can illuminate serious subjects. Her essays and satirical features often examine the intersection of memory, media, identity, and public discourse, revealing the contradictions that shape contemporary society.

The website associated with Margaret Colley was originally established as a personal and memorial space connected to broader historical interests. Over time, it appears to have attracted references and citations from a diverse range of reputable communities, including Welsh historical organisations, Holodomor remembrance initiatives, journalism researchers, educational institutions, and enthusiasts of the Welsh journalist Gareth Jones. Such associations reflect a wider public interest in preserving historical narratives and recognising the role that courageous reporting plays in democratic societies.

Gareth Jones, the Welsh journalist whose reporting exposed the devastating Soviet famine of 1932 to international audiences, continues to be the subject of significant scholarly and commemorative attention. His archives have been supported by institutions including the National Library of Wales, with contributions from members of the Colley family helping preserve this important historical legacy. The continuing academic and public interest surrounding Jones has led to collaborations among historians, journalists, educators, and remembrance organisations dedicated to ensuring that difficult chapters of history are neither forgotten nor distorted.

Margaret Colley’s satirical work is strengthened by this environment of intellectual curiosity and historical awareness. Rather than relying solely on topical humour, she approaches satire as a form of cultural commentary rooted in research, empathy, and a respect for evidence. Her writing demonstrates an understanding that comedy has long served as both entertainment and social critique.

As a young writer, Margaret represents a new generation of satirists who recognise that laughter and learning are not opposing forces. Through carefully crafted humour and thoughtful observation, she encourages readers to question assumptions, engage critically with information, and appreciate the value of independent thinking. Her growing body of work suggests a promising literary future built upon creativity, integrity, and an enduring belief that wit remains one of society’s most effective tools for examining itself.