‘I’m dating this bloke from Denmark’: That’s what Mary said

MELBOURNE, Australia – I’ve been receiving excitable text messages from Manila ominously warning that the GMA Government is planning to declare "martial law" and alleging that a clampdown on the press is "imminent".

I’m not at all sure such a thing is either imminent, or in prospect in the long run, but what the heck: in my profession, we learn to never say "never", or pooh-pooh the unexpected.

People, however, are prone to cry "wolf" so often in our land of Latin exaggeration and colorful hyperbole that when the late, unlamented Ferdinand E. Marcos imposed P.D. 1081 and "martial law" in September 1972, it came as a surprise to most Filipinos (and foreigners), including those who had been crying "wolf" about it.

I see that the Koalisyon ng Nagkakaisang Pilipino, the opposition KNP has now actually filed for a TRO from the Supreme Court, so I’ll comment no further.

It seems the KNP wants the entire House and Senate to conduct the "canvass", not just a committee. Will we have the "results" in three years?

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In Australia, Down Under, they couldn’t care less about our travails in the Philippines.

In fact, they’re rejoicing Australia's year of serendipity. They're raising glasses of Penfolds or South Australian Cabernet Sauvignon to toast two events which have brought both joy and a feeling of having "arrived" – and deservedly so – to the Land of Oz.

The piece in the tabloid Herald Sun yesterday said it all. Headlined, "A TRUE BLUE MISS UNIVERSE", the article by Monte Hayes enthused: "First an Australian became a royal princess in Denmark and now we have a Miss Universe."

And, indeed, there she was in full color, Miss Jennifer Hawkins, a 20-year old model and dance choreographer, from Newcastle – a somewhat grimy, as I recall, industrial city not far from Sydney – being regally crowned in Quito, Ecuador. Truly, from what we glimpsed in the photographs (ooh-la-la she was, in particular, in the swimwear competition photos), this Sheila merits that crown and title. The Aussies appear, by the way, to put great store by the fact that she had "edged out first runner-up Miss USA Shandi Finnessey" to clinch the title.

"Hawkins’ mother Gail," the Herald Sun recounted, "was waiting at the family’s Newscastle home for news of the results . . . and said she was excited for her daughter. ‘She’s a happy, easy-going type of girl who loves a laugh and always has time for people,’ she said of her daughter, a former Newcastle Knights rugby team cheerleader."

In a pageant question on what period in history she would prefer to live in if she had her pick, Jennifer had replied she would choose "this time", given the present opportunities for women.

The more sedate daily, THE AGE, also headlined its report: "Blue-eyed, Blonde Miss Australia Conquers Universe." You betcha.

The newspaper said she had been chosen from among 80 beauty queens, "the first Australian to win the Donald Trump-owned pageant since Perth’s Kerry Ann Wells in 1972, and Belinda Green won the rival Miss World title in the same year."

I don’t know why it took so long for another Australian gal to get the "Miss Universe" crown – "Down Under", coming from whatever race, the ladies here are not only cute, many of them are breathtaking even in their simplicity. (Mind you, I’ve got the nerve to write this today, because I’m accompanied by my wife – and we’ve just celebrated our wedding anniversary with kangaroo steak and that ever-popular local fish, barramundi, washed down by a Wirra Wirra from the Southern Vales vineyards).

In any event, 7,500 spectators in Quito saw Hawkins lauded as the "world’s most beautiful woman" – well, arguably – and the two-hour finals were broadcast live around the globe, watched by 1.5 billion, in 180 countries. If you’re romantic and still a bachelor, at least most of the time celibater, rush to buy a ticket south to the Lucky Country. There’s more where she came from – I kid thee not.

But you’d better be somewhat athletic. As yesterday’s story said of Jennifer: "Her interests were surfing, wakeboarding, camping with family, watching football with her father, reading, movies and going to see the Australian ballet."

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The other object of widespread affection here and probably of even much greater pride in Australia is Mary Donaldson. It’s a tale of Cinderella and Snow White rolled into one, for Mary – as The Australian Women’s Weekly warbled – "married her prince charming, Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark".

That super-glossy magazine, as did most other journals, ran a "Royal Wedding Souvenir" issue depicting, in mega-color, the "stunning ceremony at Copenhagen Castle on May 14" in which Mary, 32, and Frederik, 35, were joyfully wed.

Would you believe? This beautiful girl from Hobart, Tasmania, had met the handsome heir to the Danish throne in a Sydney pub during the year 2000 Olympics.

During the months that followed, Mary had declined to go to most parties or out on dates with her friends, modestly telling them that she wasn’t interested because "I’m dating this bloke from Denmark."

It was a love story which might have been penned by Denmark’s beloved spinner of fairy tales, Hans Christian Andersen, who sang of The Little Mermaid and The Little Match Girl.

Eight hundred guests attended the grand wedding, including members of every European royal family. The magazine had a gorgeous photo of "radiant Mary", looking every inch a princess, I might say, waving to the crowd as she walked down the aisle with her father, "mathematics professor John Donaldson, 62." John in all his calculations might not have foreseen his daughter would become a princess, but anyhow he appeared as regal as any of the royals in his silver-studded dark jacket and his Scotch kilt, bearing the tartan-weave of the clan Donaldson.

The Weekly’s writer William Langley described "the girl from Hobart (coming) down the aisle, dressed in a luminous duchesse satin gown with a six-metre train . . ." Langley exceeded himself by cooing that smile Mary bestowed on her Prince was "pure Tasmanian sunshine. And the Prince, as they say in these parts, looked like the gull that got the herring."

The writer further crowed that the Church, built on a site where churches have stood since the 12th century, "had not been so full of dignitaries since Hans Christian Andersen’s funeral was held there in 1875."

"There were Windsors, Bourbors, Hanoverians, and Grimaldis. Tiaras, insignia, swords, spurs and medals blazed from all angles, but every eye was fixed on Mary. Especially the soft, blue pair belonging to Crown Prince Frederik, a descendant of King Gorm the Old, Denmark’s 10th Century Viking ruler."

In his speech to Mary, the Prince declared: "The joy and strength you give me is like the sun in the daytime, which, with its radiance, melts all doubts and darkness on earth." Gee whiz. There’s more. Quoth Frederick: "Your radiance shone clearly for me from our very first meeting. Since then I have been blinded and totally dependent on it."

By golly, those were swell – stunning, in fact – photos of that happy day, with Queen Margrethe, 54, and her royal husband Prince Henrick, 69, beaming approvingly, while "at least a third of Copenhagen’s population were on the streets, Danish and Australian flags in their hands. All over the city, portraits of the royal couple hung from public buildings."

The wedding cake stood 10 tiers and two metres tall, weighed 90 kilograms and took seven bakers to make. "The couple cut the cake with the Crown Prince’s ceremonial sword."

In the meantime, "all week the Aussie flavor of the big event wreathed Copenhagen. There were Australian wines. Tim Tams and Cherrry Ripes in the shops. Mary’s favourite Aussie band, Powderfinger, performing at a rock ‘n’ royal night, barramundi on the menu at Restaurantionen, the Michelin-starred restaurant where Luke Mangan was guest chef, inflatable kangaroos on bar tops, and a stoned-looking didgeridoo player basking on Copenhagen’s main square."

Good on yer, Mate! That’s what I’d tell the lucky Prince. Ridgy-ditch, ridgy ditch, and "no worries", either.

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Mary Elizabeth Donaldson was born in Hobart, on the island of Tasmania (where, by the way, the swashbuckling actor Errol Flynn came from) on February 5, 1972, the youngest of three daughters of John Donaldson, a Scottish-born mathematics professor. She studied law at university, moved first to Melbourne, then Sydney, where she worked as a real estate agent and in public relations.

"She was smart, pretty and popular, and during the 2000 Olympic Games scored an invitation to Sydney’s Slip Inn, where she met a man who introduced himself as ‘Fred’." (That’s how the story went).

"After a year of cautious contact, most by e-mail, telephone, and the exchange of favorite CDs, Mary moved to Europe, first to Paris, then, in 2002, taking a job with a computer company in Copenhagen, . . . . . on October 8 last year," wrote Langley, " the couple's engagement was announced."

Now, Fred and Mary will live in "a magnificent 4700 sq. meter wing of the Amalienborg Palace in Central Copenhagen" which is earmarked – wow – for a $4 million renovation "including new kitchens, reception rooms and bathrooms, and a modern central heating system." They will have another even larger residence in Fredensborg Palace, 30 km. north of the city. The 75-metre royal yacht, Danneborg, will be there for their sailing pleasure.

Cinderella? You better believe it. Without "the wicked stepmother," of course.