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Published on January 4, 2008

I had decided to become a musician and that through the piano I would create all this wonderful sound. After the general public was seated in the grand old hall, the orchestra played "A Royal Fanfare" and we all stood up to pay homage to the Princess, who was followed by a consort of men in suits and police officers.

She unusually insisted on being seated in an ordinary seat in the stalls, instead of the conventional balcony throne, for the much better acoustics and vision. I remember feeling afraid of the serious-looking but marvellously graceful Princess and her fearful entourage.

Who would have imagined that eight years later I would have the chance to meet her in person? The experience was entirely different.

After graduating from The Yehudi Menuhin School, a specialist music school in southern England where I had received a scholarship, I applied for the Fund for Classical Music Promotion under the Royal Patronage of Princess Galyani to pursue my studies. HRH took a special interest in the fund and audited each candidate personally.

My application took the form of a very special interview where the Princess invited me to join her at the Verbier Music Festival in Switzerland. I was amazed by her attentiveness when she telephoned her secretary who picked me up, wondering where we were and when exactly we would arrive.

As I arrived in the simple but beautiful hotel, amidst the scenic Swiss Alps, hardly managing to carry my luggage up the stairs, at the end of the corridor stood the very Princess whom I feared so much. She was smiling and looking at me with kind, caring eyes. My only feelings then were comfort, respect and - not wishing to take inappropriate liberty - love. Perhaps I can contrast this encounter with my former childish experience: then, when I did not know HRH, I felt I needed to behave well; now in this meeting, I felt I wanted to be a good human-being.

After years in British schools, I was largely ignorant of sophisticated Thai royal protocol. I awkwardly greeted her in the ordinary Thai way with a wai, but much deeper, probably looking very stupid. And as she asked me "So, you just arrived?", I dug myself a deeper grave, replying "Krab".

The modest Princess laughed kindly and arranged for me to have the most wonderful stay, filled with musical activities and cultural excursions.

I found myself sitting beside her in the concert hall at the festival. I remember fondly that it was Brahms' "Violin Concerto" and my favourite "Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen" (Songs of a Wayfarer) by Mahler. We conversed about music between every piece and I was deeply impressed with her profound knowledge of classical music. I later learned that HRH was a very serious concert-goer who before performances would research and listen to the pieces so as to be able to appreciate the performance to the full.

To see one of the most charismatic national figures pay so much attention and give so much care to something I consider to be my purpose in life was truly inspiring. This was confirmed by the fact that the Princess would attend almost every serious concert played in Thailand, regardless of whether they were world-famous musicians or amateur students.

After the Princess most kindly granted me the scholarship, with the minor pomp and circumstance of the ceremony over, she turned back as she was about to depart the reception hall of her palace. She said I should write a regular report to her by email and ordered her personal medic's email address to be given to me. Since then, every once in a while, I would write to HRH and the committee about my whole experience as a music student in London.

Every time I came back to Bangkok during the holidays, it was my duty to report to her personally about my progress, and to my astonishment HRH would be able to recall the events in my letters in detail. In the reception hall at Le Dix Villa, there would be a rectangular table where she would sit at the top end, on the same level as the committee and myself. She was by then more than 80 years old, but was still energetically in charge and running everything with efficiency, authority and the most personal care.

It is famously known how much the Princess loved classical music, and her extensive support and patronage to many musical organisations was deeply appreciated by all. But all these small accounts of her activities and attention confirmed her support as something beyond just royal duty; it was her passion.

A few months ago, in my final year at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London, I was most touched when all the scholars of the fund got together and presented a concert called "Saeng Nung" (One Light) to celebrate the Princess's 84th birthday. I learned then that the Princess had not been seen in public for three months, but on that evening of this monumentally long concert, she attended, for the first and only time, in a wheelchair.

This very last time I saw Princess Galyani was as memorable a sight as the first time I saw her 12 years ago. I was peeking from backstage, hearing the very same fanfare. The physically very weak Princess still had the strength of spirit that I had seen all along in our brief but meaningful encounter. Her unremitting support for what she loved and considered significant brought tears to my eyes.

Finally, as the concert ended and all the musicians lined up to see her off, the Princess, perhaps too tired to say anything, greeted us with her smile and caring gaze that communicated everything beyond words.

Prach Boondiskulchok, who studies piano performance and composition, is now a final-year student at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London.

Special to The Nation