I've read and listened to so many thoughts of people, famous and unknown, those who knew her, met her and those for whom Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II was a lifetime institution no more tangible than God. Do I have the right to put my thoughts into words or am I, like so many others, just more flotsam and jetsam on the sea of mass grief? Well, I'm going to do it anyway because, like so many others, she mattered in my life and perhaps because most of all, I'd like my children and maybe grandchildren to know this.
To find the roots of my feelings towards the Queen, you have to dig deep and far back. It begins, I suppose, with the abdication of Edward VIII in 1936, not that I was alive then, by the way. This act of defiance, of personal desire over duty, is probably the single deed that forged the monarchy as we understand it now and the three subsequent generations of the House of Windsor. My mother told me that when my grandmother, the formidable Nana, listened to the abdication speech on the radio, she wept inconsolably. Edward VIII was the rock star of her age. It was unthinkable that he could choose Wallace over the Crown. And yet, as mum would remind us, had he not abdicated, we might all be speaking German now (her view).
My parents were massive Royalists. I once pointed out to my father when I was learning Civil War history, that he might have fought for Oliver Cromwell instead of the rather underperforming monarch of the time, Charles I. It was unthinkable for him. Their's was the generation that had survived the Second World War when the Royal Family refused to leave London to safer Royal homes. My father who was in the Army once guarded the then Queen (the Queen Mother latterly) and the two princesses during the War. We have a photograph of my father sitting with all three of them. Their unselfish role counted for so much and bound them to the majority of our parents' generation more than mere words could ever have done.
Then comes my near-brush with the Royal Family. When I was a teenager and Prince Charles, now King obviously, was still unmarried, the great and good were invited to the Royal Garden Parties and were encouraged to bring along their single daughters of a suitable age. King Charles must have thought yuk and my thoughts on him were not dissimilar. However, just the possibility of it all made my mother's heart beat a little faster. My memories of those occasions are confined to the wonderful flamingoes in the lake at the bottom of the garden and the massive crush in the tea tent. Ungrateful child!
Both my parents were honoured by Her Majesty - my father was knighted which made him, and us, very proud and brought my mother a level of status she never forgot. My father was not a popular choice of husband for my mother as far as Nana was concerned, being quite a bit older with two children already, but he promised he would make a lady of her and he certainly made good on that. My mother was later honoured with the CBE. I sat at the back of the ballroom at Buckingham Palace with Daddy whilst my mother stepped up to receive her award. My father, not prone to being emotional, wiped a tear from his eye. He was so proud of her.
So Monday was, as well as saying goodbye to the greatest head of state this country has ever known, another small farewell to Mum. She would have been devastated by the Queen's passing and would have been rooted to the television for the past week.
And now we go forward and the sheer brilliant Britishness of the funeral (who could not be proud?) will be quickly forgotten and our attention overtaken by rising fuel bills, a plethora of strikes and the sad but brave status of the Ukraine. Let us in our farewells, remember that she would have wanted us to give King Charles a fair crack, both here and in the Commonwealth. She'll be a tough act to follow.
God bless you, ma'am.
