Swearing my oath of allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II all those years ago was, at the time, a purely symbolic act; the rite of passage into my previous career as a cop. At the conclusion of this pledge I became a servant of the Crown. This heavyweight commitment was memorable for a unique reason – the absurdity of having to conduct this solemn declaration simultaneously with about forty other budding bobbies standing in a lecture theatre at the police training centre. Some years previously, as a cub scout, I had similarly made a promise to do my duty to the Queen. On neither occasion had I pondered what this meant, nor did I ever really understand its significance until I had completed my qualifying law degree several years later. However, the pivotal moment when I truly began to grasp my relationship with Her Majesty occurred only a few days ago when she died at Balmoral Castle, Scotland.
The suddenness of her departure was, and still is, difficult to grasp. On the 6th of September she met the new leader of the governing Conservative Party, Liz Truss, and invited her to form a new Government. As a law graduate, I had often wondered if the Monarch could exercise their right of conscience and refuse to entertain such a preposterous enterprise, especially in the case of Truss who was elected by around 0.25% of the population. However, the UK’s unwritten constitution is pretty much based on convention, custom, decency, and good common sense. Her Majesty had no equal in this arena. Looking a little frail, she was nonetheless her radiant self. Two days later she was dead.
A total innings of 96 years for any human being would be cause for celebration, and death would hardly be surprising. But Her Majesty’s passing didn’t invoke this reasoning in me. I had never known another Monarch. In a bizarre way, and as utterly stupid as it sounds, I kind of thought she would be around forever. Immortal. Yet, as the ultimate Queen of Contradictions, she left outright public ownership as she had entered it. Resting her head on the pillow at The Treetops hotel in Kenya in February 1952 as a Princess, she awoke the next day as a Queen, following the death of her father King George VI. In death she was as matter of fact. No fuss. No drama. Yet this has made it even more poignant – for me at least – as an obvious and reported decline in her health would have perhaps lessened the emptiness I suddenly felt when I heard our loss confirmed on the radio as I drove home. But that was never Her Majesty’s style.
She was undoubtedly privileged and wealthy beyond the wildest of dreams, but would I have wanted her life? Examined, scrutinised, and reported upon with unceasing enquiry. Hell no! Maybe the only way she could experience what the rest of us take for granted was to lose herself regularly in the expanse of her Balmoral estate; however, I cannot ignore the huge paradoxes of her status when compared to the general populous. In the mental fight that wages within me between Republicanism and Monarchism Her Majesty was always my convincing winner.
Queen Elizabeth II embodied the very essence of Britishness: duty, diligence, compassion, fairness, and stoicism. She had lived through incredible episodes of overwhelming change, and as the United Kingdom hurtles perilously towards fracture brought about by the odious deeds of members of our elected Government, and especially former Prime Minister Boris Johnson, she stood above the carnage, deceit, and disarray ─ shining brightly as a reminder of who we really are and how the rest of the world see this diminutive island nation. Even when she was lied to about the prorogation of Parliament, her dignity was unimpeached and she didn’t waver from her constitutional obligations to the rule of law. Global Britain was personified by Her Majesty and upon receipt of news of her passing the Earth momentarily slowed its spin as vast swathes of humanity looked at the many images of her iconic features displayed upon the symbols of their individual nations.
Her family life was dysfunctional; at times sad, empty, and lonely. All the harshness felt in typical homes across the country; none more so then when Her Majesty addressed the nation following the death of her daughter-in-law Diana, Princess of Wales on 31st August 1997. I was totally broken when my wife died and it took all my strength to hold it together at the funeral. Her Majesty publicly shared her family’s grief on national television. Her reserves of inner strength were incredible, yet at that moment our nation needed that fortitude, even if hidden within, Her Majesty was undoubtedly hurting beyond comprehension. She described Diana as an exceptional and gifted human being, but on reflection I so wanted her to have said that she loved her son’s wife too; yet the Queen of Contradictions always timed it to perfection and remained the Head of State – unwavering, strong and the ultimate spirit of Rule, Britannia!
We Brits are renowned for our sense of humour, and goodness we have needed this, especially since 2016 and the well documented and divisive referendum that jeopardises Her Majesty’s precious United Kingdom. Queen Elizabeth II was the undisputed flag bearer of the unique British trait of self-deprecation. The most brilliant spoof with 007 secret agent James Bond (played immaculately by Daniel Craig) in the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympic Games will forever symbolise our most precious national characteristics: irreverent, incredibly idiotic, and ingenious; but the most beautiful comedy moment has to be Her Majesty’s afternoon tea with Paddington Bear during her Platinum Jubilee celebrations.
As a good friend of mine wrote in one of the many books of remembrance – “The world feels less safe without you, your wisdom, humour and love.”
As I moved amongst the floral tributes at the Long Walk in Windsor, Berkshire, my emotions flipped from pride to despair, often within the blink of a tearful eye.
I never met her, yet there was a hitherto intrinsic bond that had suddenly been cruelly severed ─ but that is the essence of life and, had she been present, Her Majesty would simply have reminded us of that, and also our collective duty ─ to hold those we love close, and to be a friend to those who need our reserves of compassion, even if we don’t share their opinions; and, most importantly, to always remember those who have left us ─ important amongst those for me, my wife Theresa, who had the pleasure of meeting Her Majesty when she visited her hometown of Bracknell on 12th of July 1978.
I am confident in the assertion that I will shed even more tears as Her Majesty’s funeral approaches, and beyond. She was undoubtedly the Queen of Contradictions, but she was our Queen. A part of what it is to be British died on 8th of September 2022. I will miss her.
© Ian Kirke 2022 & all uncredited photographs
@ianjkirke