How King Charles III counts his swans

Charles III, the Most High, Most Mighty and Most Excellent Monarch of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of His other Realms and Territories, has many grand titles, some sensible and plenty not. He is Head of the Armed Forces and the Defender of the Faith. He is Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Garter and Chieftain of the Braemar Gathering. He is also Seigneur of the Swans, a title which tends to be forgotten partly because it is ridiculous and partly because it does not matter. Unless you are a swan. Because as Seigneur of the Swans, Charles III has droits over you. And in July, he exercises them.

Which is why, on a hot summer day, six small wooden boats are making their way along the River Thames. This is not yet the great, grey Thames that slides through London but the gentler, greener river that flows towards it. A few miles upstream, punts take to the water in Oxford; a few miles downstream is the house that is said to have inspired Toad Hall. Here, there is sun on the water and wind in the willows. And here is also where the annual “Swan Upping” census takes place, a five-day-long, 800-year-old ceremony in which mature swans and cygnets are caught and counted, and mature men dress up as sailors in scarlet blazers and Breton tops and shout “All Up” whenever they see a swan.