I spend the rest of the evening staring at the tv. Documentaries (made beforehand and stored precisely for this moment) are being screened, back to back, with old footage of the Queen’s reign and interviews with other Royal family members, friends and acquaintances, ladies-in-waiting, peers who actually attended the Coronation in 1953 and members of the public who, over the years, met the Queen. By 11pm, mentally drained, I head to bed.
The following morning, predictably, the national and international newspapers are focused entirely on this story. I switch on Radio 4 and realise that, all over the globe, this is the ‘only subject’ people are discussing. I call my friend in Rome who says the news is dominating the Italian media. The same, I imagine is true, anywhere there is internet.
I decide to take a walk, to see what the mood on the streets is like. My mind is cast back to the death of Diana Princess of Wales, in 1997. Then, I remember shock, anger, an outpouring of grief, people bursting into tears on the underground or outside Kensington Palace.
It was all so very ‘UnBritish’ and that’s why it resonated so much with me at the time - just like Tony Blair, it heralded a whole new zeitgeist in the UK.
This time, there’s a very different feeling.
And, of course, there should be. Diana was beautiful, glamorous, of noble blood, an iconoclast who almost brought down the monarchy in her refusal to ‘go quietly.’
And, at the age of 36, she was in the prime of her life.
Elizabeth II was 96, an impressive age by any standards. Looking good (even radiant, one might say, at her Jubilee celebrations in June), there was no doubt that she was increasingly frail, and struggling with mobility issues. Rationally, it can come as no shock to us that she has died.
And yet, despite the rationale of it all, there’s a sober mood on the streets of London. People are noticeably more quiet, more ‘withdrawn’ as I walk the streets of Whitechapel and Spitafields. Digital adverts at the London bus stops have been replaced with the Queen’s image. There are notices in shop windows, edged in black, offering commiserations. Last night, at Piccadilly Circus, the famous electronic board that usually advertises big brands was illuminated with her image.
I am also aware that I am emotionally fragile at this moment, so it might be harder for me than normal to process my feelings about the monarch’s death because of the passing of my own father. They were both of an era long gone - World War II, followed by rationing and austerity, followed by a gradual ‘breakdown’ in traditional class attitudes, followed by the Swinging Sixties, the Beatles, Mary Quant geometric hairstyling and the famous miniskirt.
They were both of another time.
I am not saying I would have been happy living in such a time, but I’m sure it had its advantages - intelligent radio instead of mindless tv, playing carefree in the park instead of staring for hours at screens, talking to friends instead of texting on a smartphone…and so on.
And I’m just beginning to understand how much change the Queen was witness to, in her lifetime.
When she ascended the throne, both Winston Churchill and Stalin were still in power.
Moreover, as a young woman, she was surrounded by hundreds of aged men, Palace courtiers and politicians, who may well have doubted her capabilities.
And in this respect, she proved them all wrong. She came of age in an era where women were not supposed to wield power (and, let’s face it, but for the Abdication, she would never have been put in this position). She became head of the State and head of the Church of England when women were supposed to know their place.
Thank goodness, I think, she didn’t. But how hard it must have been, being thrown in at the deep end in such difficult circumstances, not just as a woman but as a mother and wife. Juggling family and career, struggling to strike a balance between duty and a personal life, carving out a role in a world where women really weren’t taken very seriously.
And how she did it. She carried out her duties with dignity and grace and, as a constitutional monarch, she was nothing short of outstanding. And how little she complained. For sure, she had riches beyond compare, the use of palaces and private jets, chefs and dressers and drivers and a Household Cavalry! But one thing she didn’t have was privacy. Because she ‘belonged’ to all of us.
It’s only Day One? What will the coming days bring, I wonder?