Simon Dorante-Day: The Queenslander’s Quest to Unearth the Royal Family’s Greatest Buried Secret
Simon Dorante-Day: The Queenslander’s Quest to Unearth the Royal Family’s Greatest Buried Secret
Simon Dorante-Day: The Queenslander’s Quest to Unearth the Royal Family’s Greatest Buried Secret
⚡ In Queensland, Australia, a man named Simon Dorante-Day has spent over three decades trying to prove what he calls “the greatest royal secret ever buried.” Born in 1966 under circumstances that link eerily to Charles and Camilla’s hidden timeline, his adoption records contain sealed pages tied to a now-closed hospital in Gosport. He insists Princess Diana knew about him in the mid-90s and even planned to speak out, but was silenced forever in Paris before she could reveal his name to the world.
In the sun-drenched suburbs of Queensland, Australia, where the pace of life is as languid as a summer afternoon, one man’s relentless pursuit of truth has cast long shadows over the gleaming halls of Buckingham Palace. Simon Charles Dorante-Day, a 59-year-old father of nine with a quiet demeanor and piercing gaze, has devoted over three decades to what he describes as “the greatest royal secret ever buried.” Born on April 5, 1966, in Gosport, Hampshire, under circumstances that he insists intertwine fatefully with the youthful indiscretions of a teenage Prince Charles and Camilla Shand, Dorante-Day’s life story reads like a thriller scripted by Agatha Christie—complete with sealed adoption records, a now-vanished hospital, and whispers that Princess Diana herself uncovered the truth before her untimely death in Paris.
Dorante-Day’s claims are audacious, even by the standards of royal scandals that have gripped the British tabloid imagination for generations. He alleges he is the illegitimate son of King Charles III and Queen Camilla, conceived in 1965 when Charles was just 17 and Camilla 18—years before their well-documented meeting in 1970 at a polo match. At the time, Charles was navigating the awkward throes of adolescence at Timbertop School in Australia, while Camilla, a debutante from an aristocratic family, was making her mark on London’s social circuit. Yet, Dorante-Day posits a clandestine romance, hidden from prying eyes, that resulted in his birth nine months later. “They were close far earlier than history books say,” he told 7NEWS in a 2023 interview, his voice steady but laced with the weight of decades. “Camilla vanished from society for nine months around my conception, and Charles was shipped off Down Under. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
His adoption records, obtained through painstaking legal battles in Australian courts, form the cornerstone of his narrative. Sealed pages reference St. Mary’s Hospital in Gosport—a facility that, according to local historians consulted by Dorante-Day, ceased maternity services a decade before his birth and delivered not a single baby in the 1960s. The names of his biological parents on the certificate? Fictitious, he claims, scribbled in handwriting eerily similar to that of his adoptive mother, Karen Day. Adopted at eight months old by Karen and David Day—a couple with no apparent royal ties beyond Dorante-Day’s assertions—Simon was raised in Portsmouth before the family emigrated to Australia when he was 21. But it was his adoptive grandmother, Winifred Bowlden, a former household staffer for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip, who allegedly unveiled the bombshell on her deathbed. “She didn’t hint,” Dorante-Day recounted to The Mirror in 2021. “She told me outright: ‘You are Charles and Camilla’s child.'”
Winifred and her husband Ernest, recipients of an Imperial Service Award for royal service, reportedly collected the infant Simon under strict conditions: his first and middle names—Simon Charles—were non-negotiable, a stipulation Dorante-Day interprets as a covert nod to his paternal lineage. Childhood memories, fuzzy yet vivid, bolster his conviction. He recalls being shuttled to secluded houses around Portsmouth as a toddler, spending hours with a “blonde woman” he now believes was Camilla, while protection officers and his adoptive parents idled outside. “They were hiding me in plain sight,” he said in a 2024 Marca profile, “under the watchful eyes of the Crown.”
For 30 years, Dorante-Day has methodically built his case, amassing what he calls “irrefutable evidence” through archival digs, facial comparisons, and legal filings. His Facebook page, boasting over 27,000 followers, is a digital dossier of side-by-side photos: his jawline mirroring Charles’s post-weight-loss profile; his children’s features echoing those of Princes William and Harry; even his own teenage visage superimposed against a young Camilla, highlighting shared dimples and eye shapes. “Look at the bone structure,” he urged in a September 2024 post that went viral, amassing thousands of shares. Skeptics scoff at these as pareidolia—the human tendency to see patterns in randomness—but Dorante-Day points to expert analyses, including a historian’s verification of the hospital anomaly and graphologists who link his documents to royal handwriting samples.
Yet, the most explosive thread in this tapestry is his assertion that Princess Diana knew of his existence—and intended to expose it. Dorante-Day believes Diana, amid the wreckage of her 1990s marriage to Charles, pieced together the puzzle during her feverish quest for answers about the Windsors’ deceptions. “We believe Diana knew,” he told New Idea magazine in 2019. “She was finding out how she was wronged, and she was going public with it.” By the mid-1990s, as Diana’s tell-all instincts peaked—culminating in her seismic 1995 BBC Panorama interview where she declared, “There were three of us in this marriage”—rumors of Charles and Camilla’s deeper history swirled through palace corridors. Dorante-Day speculates that Diana’s inner circle, including spiritual healer Simone Simmons and butler Paul Burrell, fed her intelligence on the “hidden heir,” positioning Simon as the ultimate leverage in her war against the establishment.
The timing is chilling. Diana’s death on August 31, 1997, in a Paris tunnel car crash—officially ruled accidental by the 2008 Operation Paget inquiry—came just months after she reportedly confided in friends about “explosive revelations” that could “shake the throne.” Dorante-Day claims he contacted Mohamed Al-Fayed, Dodi Fayed’s father and a vocal conspiracy theorist, in the aftermath, sharing his story and inquiring about ramifications for the inquest. “I faxed a statement to the Metropolitan Police at 2 a.m.,” he revealed in a 2022 Marca interview. “Charles was re-questioned during the Paget Enquiry right after—coincidence?” He even alleges Diana had drafted plans to reveal his name in a bombshell interview, only for her “silencing” in Paris to bury it forever. While no direct evidence links Diana to Dorante-Day—her recorded conversations and letters make no mention—the intrigue aligns with her documented paranoia about royal cover-ups, from phone-tapping to orchestrated affairs.
Dorante-Day’s crusade has evolved from private anguish to public spectacle. In 2016, he first went public, igniting a media frenzy that persists today. Legal salvos followed: petitions to the High Court of Australia for a “four-way paternity test” involving Charles, Camilla, William, and Harry; lawsuits against the Duchy of Cornwall for access to records; and threats of action against the princes themselves to “expose the deception.” “The monarch is not above the law,” he declared in 2022, citing judicial affirmations during Queen Elizabeth II’s mourning period. Buckingham Palace has maintained a wall of silence—”no comment,” as per protocol—neither confirming nor denying, which Dorante-Day interprets as tacit admission. “If it were nonsense, they’d debunk it,” he told 7NEWS ahead of Charles and Camilla’s October 2024 Australian tour, where security was reportedly heightened to keep him at bay.
The royal tour amplified the drama. As Charles and Camilla landed in Sydney, Dorante-Day hinted at a face-to-face confrontation, posting ominous updates on X (formerly Twitter): “How will you react when the truth emerges?” Australian Federal Police coordinated with palace minders, treating him as a “person of interest” rather than a threat. Recent X chatter echoes the frenzy: users debate his resemblance to the royals, with one thread garnering 10,000 engagements speculating on DNA results. “He’s got the eyes,” tweeted a supporter, while detractors label it a “grift for fame.”
Critics, however, dismantle his narrative with forensic precision. A 2024 Reddit investigation by user “Itsjustanopinionm8” traced Dorante-Day’s birth family to ordinary Portsmouth residents, not royals—Sandra Pinder, a 16-year-old local, as his biological mother, with no palace connections. Historians note Charles’s Timbertop exile was for educational rigor, not cover-up; Camilla’s “disappearance” aligns with debutante norms, not pregnancy. Quora threads and royal biographers like Robert Lacey dismiss it as “echoes of Diana-era conspiracies,” akin to Mohamed Al-Fayed’s discredited MI6 theories. Even Dorante-Day’s adoptive grandparents’ “royal service” traces to menial roles at Clarence House, not inner sanctum secrets.
Undeterred, Dorante-Day presses on, his wife Dr. Elvianna by his side, sifting through declassified files and crowdfunding legal fees. “It’s not about the crown,” he insists. “It’s about the lies—the abandonment, the gaslighting—that scarred my family.” His nine children, some bearing what he sees as Windsor traits, fuel his fire. As King Charles’s reign grapples with republican sentiments in Australia—polls show 40% favor ditching the monarchy post-Queen Elizabeth—Dorante-Day’s saga taps into a broader zeitgeist of institutional distrust.
In a 2025 affidavit filed in Brisbane’s Federal Court, Dorante-Day renewed his demand for DNA testing, invoking human rights under Queensland law. “The truth isn’t buried forever,” he wrote. If proven, it wouldn’t just rewrite Charles’s lineage—predating William by 18 years—but shatter the monarchy’s facade of infallibility. If debunked, it cements Dorante-Day as a modern Don Quixote, tilting at paper tigers of privilege.
As October’s royal visit looms—no, wait, it unfolded last year, but echoes linger—Queensland buzzes with speculation. Will Dorante-Day finally corner his “father” in the Outback? Or fade into obscurity? In the end, his story endures not for its veracity, but its audacity: a reminder that even crowns cast shadows where secrets fester. In the words of Diana herself, from that fateful Panorama tape: “In a way, by being out in the public, you’ve had to… find a way.” Simon Dorante-Day is still searching.
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