Hearing the news was accidental. I could easily have missed it – I don’t listen to the news much.
My son was sitting next to me – he got a message from a class friend to say that BBC newscasters were wearing black, and had done all morning. Something was up.
“London Bridge” I thought. That’s the project name, for the sequence of events which need to happen the moment the Queen dies.
We switched on the TV. Yes, they were all in black. “Papa will say ‘good’ can we move on now”. The next day was his cousin’s wedding. “Hope he doesn’t say it in public”, said my son.
We have a staunch republican amongst us. Anti-aristocracy, and anti- monarchy.
I, on the other hand, saw the other side as I was growing up in the army. Formality, yes. Protocol, yes. But also, some of the army boys felt a genuine admiration and love, for their monarch. And I had become fond of some of these people, who loved the Queen.
Had I come to love her? That would be too strong. But she was there, throughout.
Visible.
Through the Northern Ireland troubles. Through the 1980s, and the financial crash. Through Trump and the various wars in the Middle East . . .Through it all, she was there.
Charlie’s car crash came and went. Her Christmas message that year felt really poignant. I listened to it alone. It seemed that the Queen was praying for everyone in the nation. I was glad to be a member of her nation.
Three months ago, Boris Johnson was asked by the BBC to talk about the Queen in the past tense, in a documentary they were shooting. He told the commons that he was suddenly in tears at the thought that we were making programmes in anticipation of her death, and had to ask the BBC team to go away. He wasn’t ready to do that. That’s exactly how I felt. She’s not family, but she’s been a constant.
For no real reason, I feel bereft. I know exactly what Johnson felt – he wasn’t ready. Neither am I. I know this feeling will pass of course.
My father was her physician when she came to Germany. The first time he was to meet the queen, we were sent a briefing note about how to address her. The first time, you call her “your royal highness” and then ma’am (to rhyme with “ham”). We all smiled.
We were surprised that they had appointed a civilian, but other than that, it was business as usual. From then on, he was perfectly discreet – this was not a difficulty for my father, who was by nature a clam anyway. But once, he gave himself away – “to rhyme with ‘ham’ ” he muttered, giving his shoes an extra polish one morning. And his driver was not Jones, but someone we didn’t know. From then on, we noticed when someone came in a different, bigger car for the morning pick-up. There was no other indication that anything else was different, however.
He “rhymed with ham” quite a few times during his several years in Germany. Princess Ann was seeing her first husband Mark Phillips at the time.
Once I heard him say “she’s an experienced, well travelled woman – nothing phases her”.
Another time he had come back early, and was talking to my mother. He had just said “she gets the patience prize”. as I came in. I could see that it was about the queen. As soon as he saw me, the conversation stopped, and did a neat pivot. He had just been telling my mother about his day – had I had a good day at school? He believed in “jamais devant les enfants”.
The Queen was an unspoken constant in the camp. We lived next door to a Queens Dragoon Guards captain. We toasted her health before the end of dinners at the officer’s mess, as a matter of course. Her face was in every office, smiling down from the wall.
I never actually met her.
I met and spoke to her mother, twice. She was our University Chancellor, and partly because I lived in an inter-collegiate hall of residence, very close to Senate House, I was in the line up. We shook hands, and I bobbed a curtsey. Her hands were as soft as mine used to be, before I came to England.
She was a gracious old lady, in fabulous jewellery. And she exuded a kind of quiet power. The kind that I had come across before amongst the Rani class in India.
My mother once said “The Queen is her mother’s daughter. Hitler feared the Queen Mother more than anyone else in England, and quite rightly”.
What I came to understand about both mother and daughter was this common trait – Grit. Never wrong-headed about anything. Decisive, and essentially really good hearted.
And what a strong sense of duty the Queen had. Much of what she did was not something which she’d ever consider doing herself. But she unfailingly took an interest. Putting herself second was second nature to her. That in itself is a huge spiritual accomplishment.
And she stayed resolutely with her feet on the ground. Headscarf on, she went for brisk walks in Windsor Great Park – I have seen her – also driving herself, in her land rover. . . no body guards. Just by herself.
A hugely powerful and influential woman who wore it all lightly. And she put in a day’s work right up to the end.
What an example for all women, the world over.
May she rest in peace.