This isn’t the column I had prepared for today. But it is one I was ready for — one I had thought about — because we all knew, when we saw that last photograph of the Queen, with obvious weight loss, swollen ankles, a bruised hand and a dazzling smile, that she was ready to leave.
Hold tight - we’re checking permissions before loading more content
I have been remembering February 6, 1952, when my mum lifted me on to her knee and gently told me that our King had died. I looked at the photo hanging on our wall of a gentle man with sad eyes — and cried. Then my mother said “But we have a Queen”. I said “Elizabeth” and ran to get my books with pictures of the Princesses. I recovered quickly, as children do; it was okay because Elizabeth was there.
A strange birthday
Last Friday was my birthday and I had a cunning plan. I arranged with my man and our cat that I would sleep in until 9am. My column, for today, was written. I would have a completely relaxing, stress-free day, with that book I was looking forward to. I woke at 9am — so far, so good. Then I checked my voicemail and text messages. I listened to the first voicemail. The voice of an old friend said something like this: “It’s a dreadful day; we’ve lost our beloved Queen. But have a happy birthday, darling.”
Okay! Do I laugh or cry at that? I listened to and read my other messages, texted my ‘thank you’s — with one sentence going through my head. It was a part of the Queen’s message to New York after 9/11: “Grief is the price we pay for love.” I knew I wanted to write a different column. I had things to say. So I did.
Late in the day I turned the television on and realised I was far from the only person to think of those words. Half the world was quoting them! I had neither laughed nor cried so far — but then, watching the start of the football, listening to the silence of 60,000 people and hearing God Save the King — then I cried. It was for 70 years of gratitude, of appreciation and respect. However, by the time my man had said all the comforting things he could think of — and run out of tissues — I was laughing. (Well, I am female!)
I was remembering another football game at the MCG; it was 1970. Richmond played Fitzroy. The Queen and Prince Philip were expected. We were in the second row from the fence and the crowd was standing as the royal car drove into the stadium. Well, most of the crowd! In front of us — very close to where the car would travel, there were three young men, slouching on their seats. I really didn’t want Her Majesty to see that, so I slapped my hand, as hard as I could, on the shoulder of the middle guy, bent over and hollered in his ear: “On your feet! Your Queen is here!”
To my total surprise, they stood up and, as the royal couple approached, one actually bowed his head.
Her greatest triumph?
I know of only four occasions, over the past 70 years, seven months and seven days, when Elizabeth II showed emotion in public. The first was when she said farewell to Britannia (How she loved that yacht!). The fourth was sitting alone in the chapel, when she said ‘goodbye’ to Philip. But the second and third were in Ireland — the trip that, in my opinion, was her greatest triumph.
In 2010 a long-awaited report was released. The Saville Report found that the victims of Bloody Sunday were innocent and unarmed. They were shot by British soldiers. David Cameron, the PM at the time, made a formal apology in Parliament — and the Queen decided it was time for a visit. The last monarch to visit Ireland was George V (Elizabeth’s grandfather) in 1911, when he ruled over it. It has been written that Elizabeth was excited about the trip — and a little anxious. Everyone knew what was possible, but everyone hoped that enough had been done to make it improbable. On the first day of the visit, a pipe bomb was found in a bag, on a bus. Surely that caused a collective shiver?
Over the next three days, what would have been impossible earlier in her reign actually happened. The people of Ireland loved her. After a performance of Irish dancing, our Queen was invited on to the stage and received a thunderous five-minute standing ovation, with cheers and whistles from the 2000-strong audience. Her eyes glinted with the tears she didn’t attempt to hide.
She mingled with thousands of people in Cork, where security had been relaxed; chatted with numerous people, including a fishmonger who amused her so much she later invited him to Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth then visited Croke Park, where in 1920, the British Army had opened fire, killing 14 people, including Michael Hogan, the Tipperary captain. When one of the people accompanying her mentioned that the stand in front of them was named after Michael Hogan, she said nothing for a time; however, the Irish president, Mary McAleese, said later that Her Majesty was very close to tears when she finally replied gently, “I know. I know.”
At the farewell dinner, the Queen wore a gown with 2000 hand-sewn shamrocks. She opened her speech in Gaelic — acknowledging the suppression of the language by the British, and she spoke of “the complexity of our history” and “of being able to bow to the past, but not be bound by it”.
Irish poet Seamus Heaney was seated at a table with Mr Cameron and Prince Philip. Heaney had once penned a verse including ‘Be advised my passport’s green. No glass of ours was ever raised to toast the Queen’. However, Philip passed the evening telling the poet “inappropriate stories”. Heaney later toasted the Queen “as rousingly as everyone else” according to the Prime Minister — to whom he said “Bejaysus! That man’s a card.”
Ms McAleese, who had been one of the recipients of the Queen’s dry wit, said that she had expectations of Queen Elizabeth, “but I didn’t expect her to be so much fun!”
Elizabeth II came — and saw — and, in her own unique way, conquered.
When Mr Cameron congratulated the Queen on the outstanding success of her historic visit, she said, “All I did was decide it was time.”
Goodbye Ma’am
Grief may well be the price we pay for love; however, as we grieve, we must also celebrate and be grateful for a life well-lived — and a promise, made by a 21-year-old girl, well and truly kept:
“I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service.”
Thank you, Elizabeth!
Motor bicycle ablaze
October 15, 1914
Young Stan Baker was off to Bunbartha about 4.30 this afternoon, mounted on Mr H. Canet’s ‘Griffin’ motor bicycle; but had scarcely got out from the rear of the premises in Wyndham St, into Fryers St, when there was a back-fire in the carburettor, and very soon the bicycle was ablaze. The fire bell was rung and a reel was run out; but there was no need for the water, and within about 10 minutes the blaze was subdued.
The machine was a good deal damaged, but it was not ascertainable just then to what extent.
A big crowd gathered from all parts of the town to witness the incident.
My notes
I remember the Irish visit clearly and took notes at the time. However, I found some quotes in a book entitled The Palace Papers written by Tina Brown (2022). If Collins Books has sold out, I’m sure they could get it in for you.
I have had to postpone a couple of things; I wanted to write about our Queen and it was now or never. This week I received two emails regarding Mollie Hill — the info we need to finish her story is available and I know where to get it. There is also the possibility of a small display of her work at the Welsford St museum. (Thanks, Keren and Rae.) However, next week I have a column about Radio Australia — its past, present and possible futures. I think you’ll find it interesting. By the way, it is now Sunday night and I have discarded Friday’s attempt at a column; it was somewhat emotional. I hope this one is better.
I have just heard from Keith Smith, who called from hospital. He says he has extensive memories from the Royal Tour in 1954. We have agreed that I will be in touch after he is discharged — and we can share them with you. In the meantime, Keith — please look after yourself and get well soon.
God bless — and may it be easy, my friends.
Marnie
Email: towntalk@sheppnews.com.au
Letter: Town Talk. Shepparton News. P.O. Box 204. Shepparton 3631.
Phone: Send a text on 0418 962 507. (Note: text only. I will call you back, if you wish)
Town Talk