I went to Tony Snowdon’s memorial service in St. Margaret’s, Westminster this morning. The upper echelons of the old Establishment were there to pay their respects to someone who managed to combine Rotherhithe and Buckingham Palace. He coxed when he was a student at Jesus, Cambridge; read architecture; was a fashionable figure as a photographer in the 1950s, before reluctantly having to give up his freedoms when he joined the royal family. He never quite took himself as seriously as a photographer as he perhaps should, always referring to his portrait photographs contemptuously as snaps. Two things came across more than expected: the vigour of his campaigning for the disabled; and his Welshness, with Bryn Terfel in full voice.