THEY never knew our names, and we never knew theirs, but for an hour on a damp Tuesday evening in September, we stood by a darkening dual carriageway and waited together. The man in front of us said that the last time he had done a thing like this was for the Silver Jubilee when he was eleven. I remembered that event as well, and although I had never gone to it, I had been given a model of the Gold State Coach and its horses. I treasured it for a while, kept it safe under its perspex canopy, until it was later commandeered to support some toy soldiers in the recreation of a battle that could never happen.
When I was little, I read a historical novel for children, or maybe it was "British History in Strip Piuctures" (I'm American, but this explains a lot. No need to go into that baggage here). For some reason I was struck by the story of Charing Cross and the Eleanor crosses in general. The "Cherie Reine" making a last journey across her realm...
Well said. I watched it briefly on television and I surprised by the number of people standing by the roadside. I probably should not have been. I was chatting with my sister about the Queen's death and you're absolutely right about the awareness of something important happening. As an aside my sister commented that the rest of the world, particularly Americans must be baffled.
Beautiful Walt. Hope you availed yourself of the McDonalds after all that. And why didn't they tell the boy it was the dead Queen, not the living King?
I sat on the Chiltern Line reading twitter and wondering what you were doing nearby as she landed but despite a number of us peering at our phones and out of the windows, we failed to see the plane in the clouds.
Later, a short way from St James Palace, I was enjoying a refreshment with a friend when two naval officers burst in in full uniform and a chest full of medals jangling excitedly gabbling away to each other and their large table of friends with whom we had exchanged polite conversation. Drinks were spilled, toasts were raised to their old boss and their new one. And to the Admiral. And to someone the Admiral knew. And ...
A waiter considered asking them to quieten down but I said he should let them celebrate and he ushered us away to a quieter table, but really I wanted to stay and eavesdrop tales and drink toasts to a remarkable lady.
The officers left later, sans medals. Apparently they get in the way of drinking and fit neatly in a handbag. I hope that passionfruit martini stains come out of dress blues.
When I was little, I read a historical novel for children, or maybe it was "British History in Strip Piuctures" (I'm American, but this explains a lot. No need to go into that baggage here). For some reason I was struck by the story of Charing Cross and the Eleanor crosses in general. The "Cherie Reine" making a last journey across her realm...
Thank you Guy, for this beautiful reflection & for writing it for those of us who craved to be there but couldn't be.
Well said. I watched it briefly on television and I surprised by the number of people standing by the roadside. I probably should not have been. I was chatting with my sister about the Queen's death and you're absolutely right about the awareness of something important happening. As an aside my sister commented that the rest of the world, particularly Americans must be baffled.
Beautiful Walt. Hope you availed yourself of the McDonalds after all that. And why didn't they tell the boy it was the dead Queen, not the living King?
Lovely.
I sat on the Chiltern Line reading twitter and wondering what you were doing nearby as she landed but despite a number of us peering at our phones and out of the windows, we failed to see the plane in the clouds.
Later, a short way from St James Palace, I was enjoying a refreshment with a friend when two naval officers burst in in full uniform and a chest full of medals jangling excitedly gabbling away to each other and their large table of friends with whom we had exchanged polite conversation. Drinks were spilled, toasts were raised to their old boss and their new one. And to the Admiral. And to someone the Admiral knew. And ...
A waiter considered asking them to quieten down but I said he should let them celebrate and he ushered us away to a quieter table, but really I wanted to stay and eavesdrop tales and drink toasts to a remarkable lady.
The officers left later, sans medals. Apparently they get in the way of drinking and fit neatly in a handbag. I hope that passionfruit martini stains come out of dress blues.