My life is hurtling towards its end. Was it really as long as four years ago that Queen Elizabeth died? In that time, the royal family—and the world in general—has completely changed.
John Humphrys, still piqued that the Queen once refused him an interview, spent an hour last month on television telling us why the royal family should be abolished. He was backed by Nicola Sturgeon, hardly an example of good political, financial judgement. I was startled by my reaction to the programme.
I have been in trouble during my career for expressing sometimes strident left-wing opinions. I have written and talked about my dedication to equality and tolerance, and the evil of the huge gap between rich and poor in this country, all of which should put me firmly in the republican camp. But I am very old now, which means that I can be eccentric and inconsistent. Therefore, I declare that I consider having a royal family by inheritance infinitely preferable to ending up with a country led by the elected Trump or Netanyahu. I really don’t want the future to be decided by citizens, many of whom don’t bother to vote, and, when they do, make decisions like the ruinous results of the Brexit referendum. Until a proper decision-making system is worked out, I prefer to risk sticking with people who spend their whole lives, from birth, training for the job of ruling the country—opening things, making speeches, supporting charities and smiling, smiling even when your feet are killing you. The system seems to get rid of the duds like the Duke of Windsor and, overall, has resulted in some pretty good royals, compared to our elected leaders.
The last king, George VI, and his queen, Elizabeth’s mother, were exemplary during the war, stumbling over bomb damage in their glad rags to inspire their subjects, and the King struggling with his agonising stutter to speak to us on the wireless. Even the little princesses spoke to us children as we waited in air raid shelters, or in the unfamiliar rural homes we had been evacuated to.
When she was 21 years old, Princess Elizabeth promised, “I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service.” She was indeed working up until the day she died, aged 96. I suspect that before she left the world, she was determined to see the back of Boris Johnson. I hope she realised that the absurd Liz Truss would not last as long as prime minister as a lettuce.
In the last photo of her awaiting their arrival in Balmoral, she looked radiant, despite being obviously weak and probably in pain. In a world where women are doing things to themselves to look like a parody of their younger appearance, she scarcely changed her style in 70 years. In that last photo, she is wearing a nice plaid skirt and long woolly cardigan, with the same hairstyle that she wore since she was 18. Her back is bent, but her eyes are alive and determined. What a massive effort it must have been for this dying woman to get herself ready for her last day’s work.
While his marital history is lamentable, King Charles has proven himself a dedicated monarch, even while receiving treatment for cancer. No time more so than when he addressed the American House of Representatives, as had his mother before him. With immense dignity, he made one of the best political speeches I have ever heard. It completely went over Trump’s head, because it was beautifully written and complex. But there was one line, which hopefully he did understand, when King Charles calmly and quietly said something that was the absolute antithesis of the way Trump conducts himself.
“It is why I believe with all my heart that the essence of our two nations is a generosity of spirit and a duty to foster compassion, to promote peace, to deepen mutual understanding and to value all people of all faiths and of none.”
He was his mother’s son that day.
The Queen seemed a very ordinary woman. It is remarkable that this unflashy, dedicated person met everybody of importance in the world over the last 50 years. There is no one else that can claim that—and all of them seem to have respected and admired her profoundly.
So, Mr Humphrys, I for one miss the Queen’s sensible, caring, dutiful presence. I felt safer when she was around.
The extensive family all went to Balmoral to bid farewell when they realised that she was dying. Poor, confused Harry was left out of all the various flights to Scotland. He eventually hired a plane. When he landed, he heard through the BBC that the Queen had died. He wrote in his book, “Granny was gone.”
The end of an era. Let us hope we think carefully about the next.
