Britain loses its lifeline to its past, identity and tradition

Published: 9 September 2022 ~ The death of the Queen the last light out

An email to my family yesterday evening (8 September 2022) regarding the death of the Queen:

Hello Carolyn/Joss

An hour ago, I tuned into the internet and discovered that the Queen had died. My immediate reaction was to feel sad for the Royal Family, but not incredibly sad, after all at the age of 96 the Queen has had a ‘good innings’ and, moreover, in a reign that spanned several decades miraculously survived ~ no thanks to the tabloids, which sought to turn her life and the life of the Royal family into a cheap and tacky soap opera ~ with her dignity and regality intact.

I did feel sorry for mum, however. One of my earliest recollections at the age of four was the framed sampler of the Queen’s Coronation that hung on Nan’s wall between the TV and the ‘chocolate’ cupboard. The Queen was mum’s role model; she idolised her as you idolised the Beatles, I idolised Mel Smith and David and Joss idolised all the wrong people because they were born too late.

Someone commenting on one of the Russian media websites said, echoing my own sentiments, “I suppose if I just confirmed Liz Truss as the new PM, I would give up on life too.” A little harsh, I think, but understandable.

I have never been a Royalist myself, and I have never not been a Royalist either, but, as many commentators have said and written, the Queen was a symbol of the UK’s past, its history, heritage and our ancestral home. To me she was the last living connection among ‘the ruling classes’, who connected us and our country to a time when Britain and its people were proud and united, a time when Britain deserved to be called ‘Great’ Britain. How I mourn the passing of that last great generation of British people, who we were fortunate enough to have known in our lifetime ~ those who lived through World War II. How different it all was then!

The death of the Queen the last light out

When the Titanic was launched in 1911 (something I do not personally remember!), Britain believed it was the dawning of a new era. It was; but not the one envisaged or wanted. I cannot help feeling, with the foreboding that comes from hindsight, that the death of the Queen draws ominous parallels with the opening years of the twentieth century, and that history is about to repeat itself.

Our poor old country: ‘Whither Goest Thou?’

I never thought after all those years of ducking and dodging the Queen’s Christmas Speech when we were young that I would shed tears on hearing that the Queen had passed away. But I did.

Yet consolation has a habit of springing from the most unlikely of sources. I remember when I was a teenager asking Uncle Son why he never accompanied us on our visits to England’s stately homes, a question to which he replied with typical brusque level-headedness:

“They [the royalty/aristocracy] wouldn’t pay to look round my house, so why should I pay to look round theirs?”

He’s absolutely right, of course. Dry eyes and stiff upper wotsits. Anything else at a time like this simply would not be English!

Goodnight and xxxxx to you all

Mick

PS: Thank you to my friends in Russia who offered their condolences regarding the death of our Queen.

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