The Queen Mother, my Brush with Greatness
It was summer in 1983; I was 17 years old. I traveled to England on a six-week-long extended vacation with an English family living in the United States. We traipsed across England, visiting their family and working in sightseeing excursions for me. I was ready for the trip of a lifetime, to see a foreign land as a local would experience it. As our time in London was dictated by me, a tourist, the day started with us planning on a visit to Buckingham Palace and The Mall. This was cut short due to a horrific accident while we were at Buckingham Palace gates out front by The Queen Victoria Memorial, so we walked away down the regal red road. Headed north on The Mall. We maneuvered to a tranquil park on our right with lush green grass with surprisingly few denizens. It danced with a kaleidoscope of green colors. Green trees with abundant foliage on either side of the road opened to beautiful St. James Park to our right and additional royal buildings to our left with slender yet sturdy vertical black iron fencing separating the commoner from the royalty. As we strolled towards Clarence House to our left, an iron gate began to open. I saw a luxurious car, a limousine. It was burgundy and black. Moving slowly from a distance, I was drawn to it. As the gates fully opened, I walked in, not thinking about where I was. By the time the car traveled to me, I was about 50 yards in. The car stopped, and a rear window facing me rolled down.
An impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed gray-haired lady with a veiled pastel hat caught my gaze. Her diamond-encrusted earrings sparkled through her veil. A three-strand pearl necklace draped her neck. A large brooch with an enormous center pearl surrounded by diamonds like confetti rested on her collar bone. She looked at me with bright eyes, smiling pink lips, and said. “How are you love? Having a lovely day?” Stupid me had no idea what to do or say, and obviously, at this moment, I realized that I was being spoken to by royalty. I said, “Yes, ma’am, it’s a lovely day indeed.” Oh, the confusion in my eyes must have been noticed. I bent down in a half courtesy stance as I spoke through a crackling voice. She was very gracious, gentle, and somewhat curious with the dear standing by her motorcar.
She seemed not bothered by the ill-manneredness of me and my presents; it was clear she wanted to talk. The moments of silence that fell between us were peaceful, calming.
Her reply was telling as she stated, “You gave your nationality away, darling.” It was comforting to have her continue the conversation. I was calmed by her rapport, “Consider it my gift to you,” was my confident replied. Still not knowing how to address the royalty in front of me, I continued the conversation by advising her to not exit right, which would steer her car clear of a horrific accident as a taxi had hit a pedestrian at the Queen Victoria Memorial. “My, indeed, that was the reason for the blues and twos. I’ve heard the MPS is there now.” “I’m just nipping about.” was her response. To this, my mind whirled straight to (how does she know this? and right back to she does have people and connections). She might have seen those gears working in my head written all over my face.
She changed the subject by complimenting my dress, saying it was “smart.” It was a red and white striped cotton mini dress that fit me closer to an above-knee line dress. The collar caught her eye as she exclaimed, “Your cape collar is almost Elizabethan.” I bantered right back, “I could stand it up for you!”. As I said those words, I moved my hands quickly up and grabbed under the white-collar to stand it up behind my head. I thought I was clever, but I totally missed her joke. “No, No, Dear, not necessary,” I said. “I chose the dress over pants today. Walking so much, pants might have been a better option.” Her face lit up with a snappy stifled giggle under a broad smile. Recovering quickly to note my Mary Janes by registering my choice was spot on for fashion and comfortability. She raised her hand, gave a quick flick of her wrist directed at the chauffeur, and with finality exclaimed, “How very pleasant!” Off they ambled while she waved farewell with her window still open.
I found the only picture I have from the meeting. The family I was traveling with did not enter the gates with me. They sat gobsmacked on the curb while trying to be reverent and simultaneously trying to hand gesture me to get out of the property. During this encounter, the car slowly strolled as I walked back towards the gate to exit alongside. I noticed the family motioning me to get my camera, which I had totally forgotten was in my pocket. After her last words with me, I got it out, snapped this shot, and ran over to them. They informed me that I had been chatting it up with the Queen Mother. I was famous for the remainder of our trip.
I met the Queen Mother, and all I have to show for it is a blurry picture of her arm.
