Learning to fly at 11 is a typical posh-child hobby, like beagling or quail raising

Prince George has certainly trumped his classmates with this new perfectly-posh pastime

It’s quite an impressive hobby for an 11-year-old, flying. Prince George has reportedly had his first lesson, just before the end of the summer holidays, from an airfield near Maidenhead. His proud parents watched from the ground. Apparently, on landing, the prince swaggered into the clubhouse and shouted “Woof!” in the manner of Lord Flashheart.
Only joking. He didn’t do the last bit. He did have a flying lesson though, taking after his father, and his uncle, and his great-grandfather Philip who learned to fly from the same airfield. And indeed his maternal grandparents, who worked for British Airways. It’s in the genes.
It would be quite something, wouldn’t it, to return to school and be chatting about what you got up to in the holidays with all the other 11-year-olds – a bit of bike riding, the odd board game, a few rounds of Uno in France – and casually drop in that, actually, you’re taking flying lessons. As children’s hobbies go, it’s pretty posh. Although it’s apparently not that unusual in certain circles. Young posh boys are often still raised on Biggles; why not chuck in a few flying lessons for Christmas?
When I was a teenager, I developed an enormous crush on a boy who went to Harrow, lived in a castle (of course he did), and got his flying licence before he got his driving licence (you can get both from 17, he just aced his flying first). To me, this was the very height of sophistication. No sniggering at the back. You may well have had a teenage crush on Cliff Richard, or someone with an Adam Ant haircut; I had a crush on a boy who had a double-barrelled first name and last name, and rarely took off his aviation jacket. Each to their own.
Anything to do with a horse, of course, might be a posh hobby because it implies money and stables and ponies and Pony Club. Or hunting, which is how I spent chunks of my childhood, clinging on to my pony’s mane as it bounced across fields and through gates in the Borders, hooves skittering, mud on my cheeks. But it’s all character-building stuff, isn’t it?
That’s the whole point of certain young posh hobbies – if they don’t kill you first, they’ll make you into a man (or woman). It’s what Kitchener would have wanted: sit up properly, kick on and clear 16 hedges before lunch. The same goes for outdoorsy activities like skiing or sailing. No point in being scared. Are you a seven-year-old or a mouse? Get down that black run; mind the boom. Stop snivelling, it’s not broken, it’s just a sprain.
Did you notice some of the more controversial childhood activities featured in the Princess of Wales’s recent cancer journey video? In a couple of scenes, the children were seen clambering over log stacks, much to the horror of various viewers commenting below. Elsewhere, Louis was halfway up a pine tree, like a koala. But the same hearty principle applies: you’ll be fine, don’t be a wimp. Scuba diving, which you can learn from the age of 10, falls into this same category, mostly because it implies you go on deeply glamorous holidays to places like the Bahamas or Madagascar.
And what about shooting? We think Americans are crazy about guns, but you can start lessons whenever you like in the UK. “There is no legal age limit,” declares Purdey’s shooting school website, “Children need to be old enough to hold a shotgun and be able to understand the importance of proper safety (this is usually around 10 years old).” Is it? I’d only recently discovered that Father Christmas wasn’t real when I was 10. I’d put archery in the same bag. “My father-in-law wanted ours to take archery lessons,” says an exasperated friend. “Why not take them medieval jousting as well?”
Teacher-spies at various private schools report that fencing and polo are still offered too. “My daughter came home with a certificate for ‘Fencer of the Week’ aged seven and we felt as if the school fees were finally justified,” jokes one mother. I once went out with the Eton College beagles when I was young, but only because I had a crush on one of the Etonians involved (I know, another crush. It’s a wonder I got a single A-level), so I’m not sure that counts as a hobby. Another teacher reports that she used to work at a school “where one child had his own quails and would sell the eggs at school”. Does quail-raising beat flying? I think it might just. Although an old Tatler colleague reminds me that we used to work with someone who, as a child, raised snails so her family could then eat them. And they weren’t even French.
Are certain instruments grander than others? The harp probably beats the recorder. One school friend is still teased mercilessly for learning the French horn, lugging the cumbersome case between her boarding house and chapel for weekly lessons. There was always the vague implication with instrument lessons that they would benefit you at some unknown point in the future. But weirdly enough, there hasn’t been much call for Sarah to ship out the French horn as an adult.
If you fancy a laugh, look up the YouTube videos of last weekend’s Settrington Cup from the Goodwood Revival. It’s an annual competition open to all those aged between four and 11, in which small children in vintage overalls and flat caps race Austin J40 pedal cars. “My legs are literally shaking,” said Leo, one of the gap-toothed finalists last weekend, before adding some top-level analysis of his placing for the next heat the following day. “I am further back tomorrow, but still, I think I could at least come, like, fifth or something.” Red Bull boss Christian Horner’s son Monty also took part last weekend, naturally. There’s a restored pedal car going for £6,950 on the Austin website if you’d like your child to compete next year. These hobbies and their bragging rights don’t come cheap, you know.
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