The first members of any royal family I met were several of the wives of the Baganda kings or Kabakas who we greeted as part of a small delegation from Nsambya Hospital in Kampala. They were sitting talking on grass mats, barely visible in the shadows at the rear of an enormous thatched rondaval which was where the public came to pay their respects. The royal family had ruled most of southern Uganda for years, becoming a British protectorate in 1893.

The wives eventually recognised our presence and gestured for us to approach. They were simply dressed. We kneeled some distance away, introduced ourselves, laid our offerings in front of them, were thanked and dismissed. There was a mournful atmosphere at the Kabakas’ palace, unsurprising when we learned their recent history.

After Uganda’s independence, Milton Obote, the new president, abolished the various kingdoms. King Mutessa II of the Baganda was forced to flee to Britain after Idi Amin, then Obote’s army chief, stormed the palace in 1966. Mutessa lived a fairly miserable life in Rotherhithe, London, for the next three years and was found dead one morning at the age of 44. The coroner’s report mentioned alcoholic poisoning. Few Ugandans believed this and the BBC’s John Simpson had interview him the evening before and found him sober and helpful.

In South Africa, I found myself working daily alongside a statuesque Zulu nursing sister. Her husband, Cyril, a young magistrate, used to play bad tennis with me on the court beside the Tugela River. It was he who mentioned that Mary was a member of the Zulu royal family. In those apartheid times, her natural dignity and tact were invaluable; we were expanding our community health services and frequently ran into stonewalls when approaching government health workers. Half an hour with Mary resulted in a sea-change in their attitudes.

Swaziland has long been ruled by its kings. King Sobhuza II was the best known, educated, worldly-wise, humble in the best sense. He reigned for 60 years and was buried in a sacred cave in the mountains. It is continuously under guard.

One of his many, many sons – the old man had over a hundred children – succeeded him after a period of instability and is the present monarch with a collection of beautiful wives and numerous strictly brought-up children. The wives have their own houses and several were gardening enthusiasts. They would come to my wife’s nursery without fanfare and discuss what would be suitable for their homes. This could take some time and led to on-site visits from time to time. I found them interested and perceptive – and aware of value for money.

The British royal household arouses mixed emotions if my extended family in Africa and Australia is any guide. They appear in the media as the longest-running soap opera in town, a different world from the black and white photograph taken in 1952 which showed the aged warrior, Winston Churchill, the British prime minister, bowing to his new young monarch on her throne.

Prince William appeared in Swaziland briefly some years ago and was the guest speaker at an AGM held in a very hot and shadeless field beside an old portacabin and a minute caravan. All, including the field, were donations to Hospice at Home, the newly founded NGO caring for terminally ill patients in diverse rural areas of the Kingdom. The poor man was in a non-tropical suit and tie. He had to shake numerous sweating hands, simultaneously being told who we pipsqueaks were and what we did. As the group’s honorary medical consultant, I should have ordered iced beer and chilled white wine all round as the first item on the agenda.

When Prince Charles came to Mbabane, the capital, he did a small walk-about before entering the enormous waiting Bentley. One Swazi in traditional skins broke away from the small crowd, shouting with joy and waving one hand for all to see. “He shook my hand, he shook my hand. I won’t ever wash it again!”

One of my medical friends travelled the long road to Lisbon in 1967 for the European cup final. Not long after the game, Jock Stein, Celtic’s legendary manager, appeared on the pitch. Mike could not penetrate the adoring crowd to shake his hand but later he did pluck some grass from where Stein had been standing. His reactions were otherwise identical to those of his Swazi brother beside Charles’ Bentley.

Dr David Vost studied medicine at Glasgow University and works at a hospital in Swaziland. He and his family live on a farm in Northern Uganda near the Albert Nile. davidvostsz@gmail.com