The Queen Lived Long
At about 2pm on Thursday, September 8, 2022, I was on Scotland’s Isle of Skye. I don’t usually do this, but I pulled out my cell phone to catch an update from Memphis, my daughter’s adopted hometown, after two separate tragedies there that week. But at the top of the news was word that the royal family had been summoned to Balmoral Castle out of concern for the Queen’s health.
“I don’t think the Queen is doing well,” I said to my travel partners a few minutes later. It was just intuitive. Why else would there be such urgency? By 6:30pm, the news was rocketing around the world that she had died at 3:10pm.
The beautiful Queensferry bridge, Edinburgh
With English genetics (my paternal grandfather emigrated from England, among other ties) and a shared affinity for both horses and the year 1953 (she was crowned, I was born), I have always admired Queen Elizabeth II. Say what you want about the monarchy, the woman herself was truly special. Her reign of seventy-plus years included giving birth to four children while (oh by the way) serving an Empire. Time and world events pressed in constantly, but somehow she maintained steady, reliable composure in the face of innumerable governmental, personal and social conflicts. Impressive.
The crowd along Edinburgh’s Royal Mile
My early heads-up felt like being in on a brief secret soon to be a major global event. Queen Elizabeth II was, after all, 96 years young. Her place in world history was firmly etched. Of course the funeral for the longest reigning monarch in history was already well-planned, including contingencies for wherever in the world she happened to die. That playbook was opened immediately. Because both she and I were in Scotland when it happened and my trip would also lead me south to England, I had an excellent close-in view, including witnessing the enormous logistics placed in motion and impeccably executed in just ten days.
The Queen’s final journey began with a six-hour cortege from her beloved Balmoral Castle south to Edinburgh, where she lay in state for several days. Our trip was scheduled to arrive in Edinburgh that day, too. The highway signs (“Today: Heavy Traffic. Expect Delays”) were unsurprising, but our crossing of the Firth of Forth just two hours ahead of the Queen was untroubled.
We skirted the swelling crowds since we only had that afternoon to explore Scotland’s biggest city. It was impressive how, in two short days, barriers had been erected the length of the Royal Mile that runs from the castle to the palace. People were lined up sometimes 8-10 deep along the way. Then, just as we happened to come through an archway from a side street to the Royal Mile, the cortege went by. What luck! It was emotional, to be so unexpectedly part of that brief encounter with history.
The Long Mile looking toward Windsor Castle
Looking the other way
While the Queen lay in state in Edinburgh before going to London, and while people across the planet made arrangements to attend the funeral, I made my way south. My pre-existing plan that week was to visit my brother and cousins who live in England. The rhythm of our days was distracted by the documentaries and remembrances airing practically non-stop on the BBC. I collected newspapers and other media. Everyone was getting used to the idea that she was actually gone. In spite of her age, she had somehow always seemed so...ageless.
I think I always loved the quiet way she did her job. The way people looked forward to her Christmas messages. The way she seemed to really love her husband through it all. That tear on her cheek when Covid rules had her sitting alone at his funeral? Heart-breaking. As the saying goes: “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” She wasn’t overtly groomed to be Queen while growing up, because it wasn’t a likely thing until her uncle abdicated. When events shifted, the woman known as Lilibeth in childhood took those reins and matter-of-factly faced her duties head-on.
My brother and I had made hotel reservations at a London Heathrow hotel long before Sept. 18 became the “day before the funeral.” That afternoon, we drove to Eton and Windsor from Glastonbury, where our cousins live. We wandered before our reservation at a restaurant overlooking the Thames River. The general vibe in the crowd was calm and kind. We joined the one-way flow that led out to a security checkpoint on the famous Long Walk, a straight, 2.5 mile road. Double-lined by then with barriers, the route led back to the gates of Windsor Castle. I marveled once again at the enormous logistical challenge that was being so well met. We witnessed the piles of flowers, chatted with strangers, took photos. There was a sweetness in being part of the scene that makes for a treasured memory.
The troops on the procession to the church service.
The next day, September 19, 2022, the pomp and circumstance of the funeral went off magnificently. Sure, some people predictably groused about the whole thing, but most, I think, could appreciate why honoring this amazing woman mattered. I bade farewell to my brother, who headed home to his south England home, and passed through Heathrow security in time to seek out a quiet place on Concourse D. Until my flight boarded I watched the whole event on my phone from only about 12 miles away. We slipped seamlessly through airspaces that within hours would be crammed with people headed home.
To me, the crown on her coffin seemed to include a wise owl.
What an historical experience, at the heart of the unfolding events. In one of her early broadcasts while still a teenager, Elizabeth once said, “I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and to the service of our great imperial family, to which we all belong.” That sense of duty extended through 15 Prime Ministers, the first (Winston Churchill) being born 101 years before the last (Liz Truss). In the end, thank goodness, she lived long. In many ways, we all benefitted. RIP, Lilibeth.
