My Queen

I grew up with the Queen looking down on me like god in places where it behooved me to speak quietly, particularly the Post Office in the small northern town where I lived. And because I was not trained formally to believe in god I did believe in the queen because she was so real and ever present. I felt my parents, who had emigrated from Great Britain, were somehow related to her. The young Queen who I encountered behind the Post Office wickets, wore a beautiful blue gown and sash sporting her very lovely yet understated crown, surrounded by a gilt frame covered in a patina of small town dust. She was the Queen of the school I attended, she was always there looking down on me with an expression that was part benevolence part duty. She represented many of the values I was raised with, staying calm, speaking well, tending the garden, wearing rubber boots in spring, thinking sensible thoughts and not showing off, all good stuff I think. As The Royal Wedding approaches and the excitement builds for William and Kate's big day I see the Queen as less of a god and more like a granny who must be terribly proud of her grandson. I bet she feels sad about the Lady Di business, she is after all only human and being British the stiff upper lip does quiver at times. I know mine will on the big day.