My dear Prince George, some hints and tips for starting school: Former Wetherby pupil TOM UTLEY, 63, writes an open letter to His Royal Highness, aged 3½, about what to expect

• e-mail

Open letter from a 63-year-old former alumnus of Wetherby Pre-Preparatory School to His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge, aged 3½: 

My dear Prince George, 

I hope that Your Royal Highness will excuse my presumption in writing to offer you tips on how to survive your new life outside the family circle after you start school in the coming year.

I am emboldened to do so because the public prints are full of speculation that you will be following your father and uncle Harry to Wetherby Pre-Preparatory School — of which I, too, am an old boy. (In my case, a very old boy, since I am 60 years your senior and left the school in 1961, the year of your late grandmother Princess Diana’s birth).

Here, you will see me at the age of six or seven, flushed with health and quiet confidence, proudly turned out in my Wetherby School uniform. In the other, you will see a baggy-eyed, broken and bitter man, weighed down by the cares of existence, ravaged by a lifetime of chain-smoking and immoderate drinking. So tip number one, Your Royal Highness:  Go easy on the booze and stay off the fags

Indeed, I was going to address you as my future king, until it struck me how extremely unlikely it is that I will survive to see you crowned. I should add that I fervently hope I won’t live to see such a day.

This is not, I assure you, because I harbour any serious doubts about the survival of the monarchy. Still less do I question your fitness for the throne, which is your birthright.

On the contrary, it is only because I wish long life and health to your great-grandmother, grandfather and father, all of whom are ahead of you in the queue. God willing, you’ll have a very long wait — and you’ll be well over my present age of 63 before your turn comes, while I will be food for worms.

If you keep cheerful and are friendly to everyone, the House of Windsor should be secure for at least the next 100 years

This brings me to my first piece of unsolicited advice. George (if you will forgive the familiarity), I urge you most earnestly to compare and contrast the two photographs that appear at the top of this column.

In one, you will see me at the age of six or seven, flushed with health and quiet confidence, proudly turned out in my Wetherby School uniform, ready to take on the world and anything it may throw at me.

In the other, you will see a baggy-eyed, broken and bitter man, weighed down by the cares of existence, ravaged by a lifetime of chain-smoking and immoderate drinking.

Strictly between you and me, even this later photograph was taken more than ten years ago, in the week I joined the Daily Mail. Suffice it to say that updating it to show what I really look like today would be an act of cruelty to readers. It would quite put them off their breakfast porridge.

So tip number one can be summed up simply. Your Royal Highness, if you wish to remain recognisable in your 60s as the fine bonny boy you are today, don’t follow my example or those set by so many of your relations, such as your great-great-aunt Margaret and your venerable step-grandmother, the Duchess of Cornwall. Go easy on the booze — and stay off the fags.

I hasten to say I don’t see much danger that you will be offered such temptations at Wetherby (assuming you go there in September), where your schoolmates will be aged four to eight. But you can never be too young to be warned.

Indeed, there’s something else you should know about the booze, which will make it very difficult for me to offer specific advice on coping with the trials of your new school. The truth is that alcohol plays havoc with the memory cells — and I can hardly recall a single thing about my time there.

All that sticks in my mind is the recollection of a sandpit in my classroom and a morning assembly at which we sang that haunting hymn Eternal Father, Strong To Save, which has been among my favourites ever since.

Oh, and I also remember the leaden weight of the school blazer, which was grey with red piping and seemed to be made of coarse-grained sandpaper, lined with thick cardboard.

That, at least, appears not to have changed since I moved on, more than half a century ago.

Otherwise, all I’m left with is a recurring nightmare about the formidable Mrs Russell, who ran the show, and a few school reports informing my parents of my shortcomings: ‘Tommy still loses marks because he writes his figures back to front. This is thoughtless and he must try harder’; ‘Tommy lacks control and his work is rather untidy’; ‘Tommy’s behaviour should be steadier and he must try to learn his homework more thoroughly.’

Whatever you do, don’t think you’re better than everyone else simply because you have a royal title and happen to live in a palace. Don’t be like great-uncle Andy

But then even if I remembered everything about Wetherby, my tips would be useless to Your Royal Highness on such matters as the best hiding places, the most challenging trees to climb and the handiest windows out of which to pour the disgusting school milk you’ll be offered at elevenses.

This is because ten years after I left, the school moved from its home in Wetherby Place, Kensington, to handsome premises two miles away in Notting Hill Gate.

Much else seems to have changed about it, too. The basic curriculum of my day — eight subjects (including painting, music and dancing) — has expanded dramatically to include personal, social and health education, citizenship, reasoning, design technology and drama. All very right-on.

The school even has a ‘mission statement’, unheard of in my day, listing such aims as: ‘To create happy, well-rounded and confident learners who are respectful, thoughtful, sociable and motivated Wetherby ambassadors.’

Then, of course, there’s the delicate matter of the fees, which have shot up to a blistering £20,595 per year.

There’s no chance that sons of jobbing journalists, like me, could have gone there if we’d been born 60 years later, like you.

But then in my childhood, it was still possible to live within walking distance of Kensington Palace and the school without being the son of a hedge-fund manager, Russian oligarch or member of the Royal Family.

I offer this next tip, however, on the off-chance that you may one day run into a playmate whose daddy has less than a few squillion in the bank: whatever you do, don’t think you’re better than everyone else simply because you have a royal title and happen to live in a palace. Don’t be like great-uncle Andy.

You see, for someone in your position, it’s very important to be liked by all sorts of people.

And the best way to achieve that is to try to treat them respectfully, as equals. No one loves a snooty-pants.

But if you keep cheerful and are friendly to everyone, the House of Windsor should be secure for at least the next 100 years.

At the same time, I should warn you that even at a privileged school like Wetherby, you’re likely to meet some dodgy types whom it may be safest to keep at arm’s length.

I note with dismay, for example, that my fellow old boys include the actor Hugh Grant, who has some very grubby habits indeed. Someone may tell you about them when you’re older.

I should warn you that even at a privileged school like Wetherby, you’re likely to meet some dodgy types whom it may be safest to keep at arm’s length. I note with dismay, for example, that my fellow old boys include the actor Hugh Grant, who has some very grubby habits indeed

You should also be wary of children who want to be your friends only because they or their parents are inordinately fond of posh people.

Here, I’m thinking of another Wetherby alumnus, Downton Abbey’s creator Julian Fellowes, whose knees seem to turn to jelly at the faintest whiff of a title. True friends will like you for your inner self, not your ancestry.

But that’s quite enough guff from me. So I’ll leave you with one last piece of advice: if you tear out this page and fold it carefully, you will be able to turn it into a paper hat or a yacht to sail in the bath. I’m sure the nice teachers at Wetherby will show you how.

Have a wonderful time there — or wherever you go — in what I hope will be a very happy new year for you and all my long-suffering readers.

I remain, sir, Your Royal Highness’s most loyal and obedient servant — and, of course, your father’s fellow Wetherby ambassador,

Tom Utley