Photographers trod warily; Prince Philip was in town. His Royal Highness was in Toronto to address a 1967 Canadian Audubon Society banquet at the Inn On The Park. His topic? Conservation. Prince Philip is deeply interested in the preservation of all species ­ except photographers. Only recently he had cleansed the sins of the English paparazzi by drenching them with a garden hose. Cameramen fingered their equipment nervously as they waited in the plush corridors.

Sartorially, Metro-Toronto rose to the occasion. Cadillacs crept to the hotel entrance and disgorged their elegant, expensively-clad occupants. Ladies smoothed down their gowns and adjusted mink stoles, while their men straightened black ties before entering. A sense of occasion was in the air and, this time at least, Metro bested its cultural critics. Society columnists must have been proud of their Toronto constituents.

Policemen from the RCMP, Metro-Police, and Scotland Yard were there, but only the experienced eye could spot them as they mingled with the crowd, smartly clad in evening dress. You learned to pick them out after a while. They were usually taller than the rest and more mobile. They were also the ones without partners. Although smiling and affable, their eyes constantly swept the crowd for potential incidents. The tall executive type turned out to be RCMP sergeant Buck Morse, the friendly business type, Metro-Toronto Police Inspector George Sellar.

The Prince arrived almost unobtrusively and I knocked on the door to ask when photographs could be taken. An English aide opened it a bare inch and peered at me as if it were the prohibition era. I felt like saying "Lou sent me." Primly he announced: "The press are not allowed here." Although shorter than I, this paragon of princely protocol somehow had reversed the laws of trigonometry by looking down on me!

But the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had the job in hand. From nowhere, Buck Morse appeared. He explained when photographs could be taken and threw in a few tips on the best locations. Great cop. Super PR.

Then it was dinnertime. The huge doors of the Centennial Ballroom opened and a thousand guests flowed in. The Audubon Society had given me a place at table number one, just below the head table. We sat down and scanned the menus. A tremendous sense of anticipation pervaded the ballroom.

Inspector Sellar leaned over and asked if I would exchange seats with another man. I hesitated. My vantage point was ideal for reporting the event. He persisted: "It's for the Duke's personal detective, Inspector Thorning of Scotland Yard." I moved!

Inspector Thorning sat down beside me. He had been the Duke of Edinburgh's detective for five years and parried the obvious questions from other guests skillfully. Yes, he travelled all over the world with the Prince. Yes, he had been to Australia, and the Middle East. And the Far East. And South America. And yes, the Duke really was deeply interested in conservation.

A guest asked him about the chances of meeting with the Prince in London, to discuss conservation. The inspector replied with the speculative detachment of a scientist considering an equation. "It is not entirely impossible," he conceded, "but extremely difficult. You'll have to write to his personal secretary."

Suddenly, the guests rose as the Prince wound his way to the head table, standing as 'The Queen' was played. A brief grace, a toast to Her Majesty, then dinner. Fruit cocktails were followed by Consomme aux Pailettes, Rock Cornish Hen, wild rice, green salad, followed by Bombe Suchard. Prince Philip was relaxed as he chatted to his companions at the head table.

With dinner concluded, the head table guests were introduced by the chairman of the society, Dr. Walter Tovell, the Duke being welcomed by Dr. William Swinton, University of Toronto's Centennial Professor.

Dr. Swinton warmed up the audience with a witty address. He noted that he had once been associated with the British Museum but assured the guests that he had never been an exhibit. He said Prince Philip belonged to the fraternity of the sea. "He is a sailor prince, a sailor adventurer, a sailor naturalist. He is also the best after-dinner speaker in London." The crowd loved his repartee, but surely, this was a hard act for the Prince to follow.

Smiling, the Prince rose. "Flattery, as Disraeli once noted," he said, "is always effective. But with Royalty, you lay it on with a trowel." The crowd roared. Then with a sly quip at the menu, he observed that the Rock Cornish Hen might soon need protection ­ if the Audubon Society held any more dinners.

This was regal entertainment. The audience was now his. Like an artist, he began to manipulate the collective psyche like so much sculpting of clay. First he wooed his audience, then he lectured them. There was none of the platitudinous "our two great countries" stuff ­ nor shying away from controversial issues.

"If we could comprehend the problems of birth control," he said, "more of the starving millions might be fed" ­ a warning that the total farming of all lands would not feed the under-developed nations. "We can, if we wish, convert the jungles of the world into productive land. We have the capability to cover the landscape with concrete for our automobiles. But I would like to see a stabilized world population so there would be no further demands on world resources."

"I would also like to see all land users show a reasonable concern for unnecessary disturbance of wildlife. We cannot do this until people become aware of the problems. The Audubon Society has a splendid record in this," he said. "The long-term effect might be pointed out to planners and engineers. After all, they are not unintelligent people. Conservation is a special case. It is now or never."

Now deadly serious, the Prince concluded thoughtfully: "If we don't get the answers right now, there won't be a second chance. We will go down in history for our neglect. I, for one, do not relish the idea of my grandchildren asking me, 'what went wrong?'"

As the Prince sat down, the crowd rose to a standing ovation. In classic tradition, he had left his audience more thoughtful, better informed, and wanting a little more. Truly a regal environmental performance from an erudite, articulate performer ­ a Prince of a Man, in fact.

Author's Note: This article was first written when I was a newspaper reporter. Shortly afterwards, I was offered the position of editor of Canada's oldest environmental journal, Water & Pollution Control. Later, I became Science Editor at the University of Toronto's Institute for Environmental Studies. This piece was excerpted from All The Views Fit To Print, a joint Southam/Davcom Inc. book.