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We should not be sad that she is gone, but glad that she lived. There is little to add regarding the Queen’s passing last week, aged 96, which will prove to be a watershed for Britain as the baton is passed to her son Charles, who has undertaken the longest apprenticeship in history.
Some folk are aberrations. They appear once in a generation not to shape or mould history but become history itself and undeniably Elizabeth II was the prime example of that. Monarchist or not, the sense of public outpouring of, if not grief but affection, pride and respect, is palpable for one reason: in 1953 she said what she aimed to do and she did just that.
Celebrities these days, under only a fraction of the gaze that Her Majesty spent her life under, always err. This could be an affair, an arrest, a crime or misdemeanour that humanises them and takes the gloss off their carefully manicured mystique. All succumb at some stage but the Queen never did, except maybe for the misgauging of public opinion after Diana’s death.
Her Majesty The Queen, accompanied by His Royal Highness The Duke of Edinburgh during their vistit to Valentines Mansion and Gardens. .Redbridge. (29/3/2012) EL29737-8.
That aside, she did, as she had promised to do, dedicate herself to ‘duty’ and ‘the cause’, constantly on guard and giving away very little about herself. The stories and reminiscences have largely been from third parties: ex household staff, ladies in waiting and the odious Paul Burrell, yet they are unanimous that the Queen was as down to earth as was possible, with a cheeky sense of humour and glint in her eye, despite always knowing when to cease the conversation to avoid any whiff of controversy or giving too much, if anything, of herself, or her opinions away to anyone outside her extremely small inner sanctum.
Her example demanded loyalty and respect. The tales of her enjoying nothing more than settling down on a battered old sofa with a cup of char to enjoy Coronation Street or the X-Factor are again second-hand reminiscences and, although believed, mark her out as one of us as she hunkered down to see what Chesney had been up to on the cobbles as she nibbled on a Hob Nob.
THE QUEEN VISITS HATFIELD HOUSE
We will never know her true political leanings or thoughts on Brexit, or whether she went Devon or Cornwall with the jam vs cream scone debate, and that should be a crying shame, but it is not. The air of mystique will ensure her legacy is one of duty and loyalty, and will cement her place forever as the nation’s maternal figure.
Predictably, her death has brought the worms out of the woodwork: there have been posts mocking the death of, above all else, an elderly mother and grandmother, yet these have been quickly smacked down as the groundswell of public opinion has been unanimous. From pro and anti-royalists, she is seen, whatever the indiscretions elsewhere in the family, as the rock and the one person who never misstepped, no matter how difficult life for her charges became.
HM The Queen and the Duchess of Cornwall visit the new Barnados Centre in Barkingside 10/12/13 EL73868_16.
She did not shirk her responsibilities during the Second World War and its aftermath, and was present during every crisis we have faced during her astonishing 70-year reign. She not only met, but was held in awe by, icons as diverse as Mandela, Kennedy and Lennon and yet she was never starstruck or lost for words, and, when disapproving or disconcerted, a look would suffice, which tells me that in another life she would have made an awesome schoolteacher.
As for me, I must concede I pitied the Queen. I have friends who have attacked the monarchy for the gilded cages in which they live, the jewels, the palaces, the clothes and rich foods, but that was, in reality, not the Queen’s bag. She was never, outside official state royal duties where the crowns were only ‘borrowed, for a short while’, pictured wearing a Faberge £5 million necklace, with which to open a local community centre or bedecked in Versace finery to cut a ribbon. She was earthier, and less materialistic, preferring to slump about in Barbour-style outdoor wear.
No, I pitied her as she spent her life a prisoner with us as her guards. She could only eat one meal, wear one dress, or travel in one car at a time. Constantly surrounded by security and rubber necking subjects, she was a human zoo if you will: never getting to pop into the local Co-op for a pint of semi or take a wander for a swift half in the pub, or any other activity we all take for granted, the likes of which are only taken away from us should we be incarcerated.
Hers was a selfless giving of her mind, body and soul to the system, to the country and to duty, and for that she deserves, in spades, the only thing we can repay her with: respect. As the Beatles once wrote: ‘Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say’ before stating ‘one day I’m going to make her mine’, which is where she leaves us, as we did make her ours, and I’m proud that one day I will have the privilege of telling my grandkids I lived under the reign of the ultimate role model, bar none.
