Borderline royal
I can vividly remember watching the wedding of Charles and Diana as a kid. All of the girls my age were crazy about that in the summer of 1981, and we talked about it, and read the magazines and newspapers, even if the prince looked and acted like a guy we’d never consider marrying. There were books hastily written about the courtship and marriage, and when the bloom fell off the rose (which in reality, happened about three nanoseconds after the “I dos”) we couldn’t believe what a cad Charles was to cheat on Di, innocent lamb that she was.
As I grew older, the woes of the House of Windsor seemed further away from my life. On my first trip to England, in the fall of 1996, the queen was going to the state opening of parliament. Somehow, Americans never got that pomp and circumstance right, and the opening of parliament, held every year, is when the queen shows up in carriage at parliament, wearing the big-time bling, and says things that sound strange like, “my government will do the following…”
The last day we were in England, was the opening of parliament, and it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see royalty in person. On this gorgeous mild October day, my friend planned to go to Windsor to um, Legoland, and I was going to walk about a half mile down the street to where I could see the carriages of royal family members pass by. Unfortunately for me, the day before, in Paris, I’d mildly twisted my ankle and thought nothing of it, until the next morning in London, when I could not walk more than a few steps and fall in pain, with my foot and ankle hideously swollen. I couldn’t put on my shoes, and I certainly wasn’t going to even make it down the street to get a taxi, let alone stand. So, with my foot propped up and on a bag of ice, I watched the event live on our little hotel room TV. Little did I know it would be the last time Diana, Princess of Wales, would appear with the royal family. Bummer.
In November 1997, I returned, and the grass around Kensington Palace was still just a muddy patch, surrounded by protective fence, to let it recover from the millions of bouquets left by the public following her death at the end of August, a few months earlier. Unintentionally, I bought my boxed lunch from the same Marks and Spencer store Diana frequented to buy her snacks, and as I walked to Hyde Park, I watched an Irish TV station, filming through the gates of Kensington Palace, but I didn’t get close enough to hear. There were other foreigners walking around, snapping photos of the muddy patches and the palace. Strangely, I felt nothing, and was more interested in continuing into the park and finding a bench to eat my lunch rather than stop and remember something that never really was as we thought it should be.
Poor Diana Spencer, I think, was what her daughter-in-law Kate Middleton isn’t: not too bright and without a plan. Middleton, the daughter of self-made millionaires, has avoided working (too much) and grew up in a united home, with loving parents. She didn’t have the family problems her late mother-in-law had to deal with. Diana was a Sloane Ranger, the British equivalent of a Valley Girl, and no one would call Kate that, even though she’s lived in privilege. She’s known from the beginning what she’s wanted, and has been willing to wait years for it. She’s also, I think, a classic throwback to what her new grandmother wanted—aloofness and a bit of class.
The British royal family fascinates us. I think today’s modern society secretly wishes we’d lost a few battles in the Revolutionary War, and maybe we’d have a crack at marrying royalty. Most of my British friends and virtually every conversation I’ve ever had in a bus, train or pub has usually included the phrase, “You Americans like them better than we do; you should just take them.” To be fair, as one friend pointed out, the queen and most of her family has worked hard to not only take taxpayer pounds, but also work for them. Face it, people go to England not because of the weather. They go because of the royal mystique, and its heritage.
The royals aren’t necessarily the best ambassadors for the United Kingdom. With the exception of Princess Anne, often called the Princess Royal, the queen, Prince Edward and his nephew Prince William, the royal family ain’t much of a brain trust. They’ve not had to be. They just had to be, well, royal. The antiquated style of doing things worked well, until Diana came on the scene, and she didn’t do what royal advisors or the queen had hoped she would do: have kids and just look pretty. Her death nearly destroyed the monarchy. The movie The Queen takes a few dramatic liberties, but in reality, has been considered a fairly accurate portrayal of a few days in August and September of 1997, when a 1,000-year-old institution was brought to its knees by technology of the Internet and a rare display of public outcry. They wanted emotion, they wanted grieving and they wanted the aloof royals to beg forgiveness for being unfeeling stoic idiots.
When Queen Elizabeth dies, I would predict the funeral and grief will be something we’ve not seen in our lifetimes, with the exception of her estranged daughter-in-law or the Sept. 11 attacks. I’m serious. Her impact as the longest-serving monarch in Britain’s history and the one who led the nation through the Northern Ireland crisis, Diana, economic hardships, and most importantly, the dismantling of the one-great British empire, is unprecedented. No world leader of the past 250 years, elected or anointed by birth, has seen so much change and been a part of it. Despite the idiocy of her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, and the follies of her children, the queen has maintained the quintessential stiff upper lip and the love of most of her people. Besides all of that, her EIIR stamp is on every mailbox, manhole cover, money, and countless signs. Replacing those alone will be monumental.
Keeping a royal family is taxing, costing hundreds of millions of pounds and the wedding itself will place a burden on an overcrowded island facing economic hardships. The queen will pick up some of the tab; she can, because she’s a gazillionaire and no one can accurately measure her own personal wealth. Royals are allotted a salary, based on their importance, and expected to go to hundreds, if not thousands, of public events every year. So as my friend mentioned, they do earn it. However, as many a hard-working person in a pub has lamented, so do those who can’t find a job or feed their family. I can see both points.
For a while, though, Britain is basking in the wedding hoopla, which will smoothly (one hopes) transition into the 2012 London Olympics hoopla. The country needs the money, the self-esteem boost, and job creation. Through it all, the queen will be the dominant figure and symbol of a nation, whether or not they look to her for their identity.