Our benevolent ruler

Mourning a Queen and all she represented

I was listening to the radio last week while preparing some ingredients for a meal. I do not remember what the ingredients were, or what the meal was. But I do remember hearing a well-known UK journalist describing how he almost had to choke down his tears as he reported on the Queen’s death.

He admitted on air that he was no monarchist or royalist — far from it. A child of The Enlightenment, he has in the past been known to be a Trotskyite and a Liberal Globalist. He has edited and written for newspapers that would ridicule and scoff at the personal beliefs held by her late Majesty. As a broadcaster with the BBC (and others) he has tacitly supported the ideas and fruits of the French Revolution, which hold no truck with the idea of a medieval hierarchical society.

So why did the death of Elizabeth II affect him to the point of almost losing his poise on air? Surely the news should have been reported by him in a matter-of-fact, although grave, manner?

This got me thinking.

In London over the past few days, images have been beamed around the world of masses of people queuing for hours and hours to have 30 seconds next the the Queen’s coffin in Westminster Hall. At one point on Friday evening the estimated waiting time to see the coffin was 22 hours. Why have people been so moved to do this?

Of course, they would say that they are in mourning for the Queen. They wish to pay their respects. As do so many world leaders who will attend her late Majesty’s funeral tomorrow.

Elizabeth II had to bear much sorrow as a mother and grandmother. The Royal Family has unfortunately been in the headlines for being largely dysfunctional and broken during my lifetime, at least. Some would argue that she also presided over the slow decline of her own country, economically, socially and spiritually. Not that she would have been able to reverse any of the attitudes, events, and movements that she watched emerge during her time on the throne. I wonder what she made of it all.

What she did show, at least in public, was a gallant stoicism. And a love of duty, to her country and her subjects.

We would see politicians come and go, dangers appear and fade away, but the Queen would always be there, smiling an easy smile, waving, chatting, listening. Ruling a land in her own limited, but seemingly gentle way.

Perhaps that is why many are so upset, or feel a deep sense of loss.

They may well also be clinging onto ideas of hierarchy, of order, stability, tradition, familiarity. Maybe they fear that these things will go, now that the Queen is no longer here. Or maybe they had already gone a long time ago and they have now, in their mourning, realised it.

But could it be that they we are all, subconsciously, holding onto something even deeper?

The feeling within us that we have lost someone who really did appear to love us.

Who patiently bore all the slights against the throne and what it embodies.

Who watched over us.

Who only wanted the very best for us.

Who will now be our benevolent ruler?