HUNTER: Harry and Meghan destined for history’s dust pile

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Harry? Great lad, the young squaddies told me over a few beers at a Medicine Hat strip club.

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“You’d never know he was a royal, just one of the boys,” said one young British soldier, fighting off the last vestiges of teenage acne.

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This was in 2007 and British soldiers were training at CFB Suffield in southern Alberta, near Medicine Hat, preparing to be deployed to Afghanistan.

THAT Prince Harry seems to be dead and gone. Even friends of mine who worked in the trenches at the tabloids of Fleet St. liked him back then. He was funny, charming and not at all starchy.

Now, the Prince and his missus, Meghan Markle, dubbed Woko Ono by those same British tabloids, come off as nothing less than gray throbbing muscles of resentment.

Most recently, they’ve been baring their whiny, entitled souls on yet another Netflix documentary. A tome of moans called Spare is coming in the New Year. Get the Kleenex out.

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For a couple who claimed disdain for the limelight, their thirst for it appears insatiable.

It’s a drone-like pounding of their dreary drum, never changing a beat, humourless in messaging, never giving an inkling that sentient beings lie behind their dour tears.

They are glam exemplars of grievance studies. Every silver lining has a cloud. Every crystal goblet is half empty.

There will not be a happy ending for this couple.

If one wants to cast an eye into the future on Meghan and Harry’s fate, the best place to look is the past.

In 1937, King Edward abdicated the throne for a Baltimore-born divorcee named Wallis Simpson, or in his own immortal words “the woman I love.” Very touching stuff, to be sure, with some variation of the tale appearing countless times in True Romance.

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In their time, they became mega-watt celebrities, but their hubris overtook their stardom.

Storm clouds were forming over Europe and Nazi Germany posed an existential threat to the civilized world. The Duke and Duchess of Windsor embraced the “new Germany” and its insidious leaders, like Adolf Hitler and others.

This was in the days before the first shots were fired, kicking off the Second World War on Sept.1, 1939, dragging the planet into the bloodiest conflict in history.

Eventually, the Duke and Duchess were moved to the Bahamas and kept under the watchful eye of the British secret service for the duration. The country and Commonwealth instead lead by the courage and stellar example of King George.

Following the war, the Duke and Duchess were society fixtures in both New York and Paris, but the pair had lost their gloss — and kept losing it.

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In 1972, the Duke of Windsor was confined to the main floor of the couple’s Paris mansion and was dying of throat cancer. Both were now relics of a lost world, forgotten, moth-riddled garments in the bottom of grandma’s chest.

His night nurse, Juliana Chatard Alexander, told the Baltimore Sun that the couple did not appear close.

“She hardly ever came in to see him,” Alexander told her hometown newspaper in 1972.

“I saw her in his room on the first night, and then again the night he died. I was there from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. for about three weeks, and during that time, she didn’t come in and eat with her husband.”

When he died on May 28, 1972, his body was flown back to the U.K. and he lay in state for three days.

Just 14 attended the small burial ceremony. The Duchess of Windsor followed him in death in 1986.

By the time the curtain closed on their spoiled lives, no one much cared about them.

A similar fate looks to be in the cards for Harry and Meghan.

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