TEARS FOR A CROWN

 

I’ve always loved diamonds - the Crown Jewels and royal tiaras have long fascinated me.

So, when the opportunity arrived to see the Accession Exhibition at Buckingham Palace, I jumped at the chance to go and see them close up. “I’m not interested in tiaras” grumbled my husband.

“But we can see the State Rooms, all nineteen of them,” I pleaded “and make a day of it.”

On Thursday September 8 we took the train to London, with no inkling of the momentous event which would transpire later that day.

After queuing for about twenty minutes, we went through airport-style security, and entered the magnificent palace. Awestruck, I looked around at the hundred odd other visitors of different nationalities.

This, my first experience of visiting such a historical venue, gave me insight and understanding of why people from all over the world would make the effort to come to pay homage.

Up the gilt-bronze balustrade on the Grand Staircase, past the lavish silk damask on the walls of the Green Drawing Room, we were dazzled by the royal splendour of the Throne Room with its gilded ceiling and glittering chandeliers. It struck me at the time how forlorn the two small thrones, monogrammed for the Queen and Prince Philip, looked standing empty on the dais. 

Finally, we entered the Exhibition itself, showcasing portraits of Queen Elizabeth taken shortly after she was crowned in 1952. Also on display was the personal jewellery that she wore.

First on show was a small, simple gold crown and a cream dress with purple robe that the 11-year-old future Queen wore at her parents’ coronation.

I gazed at the glittering diamonds of the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Tiara, longed for my personal favourite, the Vladimir Tiara with its teardrop cabochon emerald pendants. Matching that was the Delhi Durbar Necklace, platinum with sparkling diamonds, emeralds and the marquise-cut CullinanV11. I noticed how slender the Queen’s neck was to accommodate these wonderful jewels.

Until I saw Dorothy Wilding’s portraits close up, I had not realised how beautiful Elizabeth was in her youth. She really looked happy and glorious, with a wonderful profile, perfect for stamps.

Pleased that we had made the effort and delighted by what we had seen, we eventually caught the train back home. I think it was at around 4pm that the news feeds came through our phones. The sense of foreboding grew stronger as we kept checking our screens. Family rushing up to Balmoral, the BBC clearing its schedules and news announcers donning black ties told its own story.

Through tears which I did not quite understand I followed the proceedings and the news updates on all channels for the next few days.

I am glad that I have been to the palace and seen the moving pictures of the young Queen. It feels strange, almost like a pilgrimage before the event.

The Imperial State Crown, resplendent with its diamonds, sapphires, pearls, emeralds and rubies lies on The Royal Standard cloth. Next to it is the Sovereign’s Sceptre with Cross, bearing the Cullinan 1, the world’s largest diamond.

But the real treasure lies not on the catafalque but inside the coffin.

Queen Elizabeth II truly was the greatest jewel in the crown.

Dancing To The Covid Waltz

 

Definition of a waltz: a dance in triple time performed by a couple, who turn rhythmically round and round. The waltz (from German Walzer [ˈvalt͡sɐ̯]), meaning "to roll or revolve"

“Now that Covid’s on the way out, let’s rebook that trip to Vienna, cancelled in 2020, when the whole damn world was locked down.”

So we did, in September.

“It’ll be relaxing, all that lovely architecture, jolly Christmas markets, chocolate cake and Wiener Schnitzel -we’ll book a concert and chill out to Strauss.

 Relaxing moment No 1

This fx!! online doc won’t let me in. Refused entry on a form requiring double vaccination, which nevertheless accepted that I had already been, triple time, with booster!

Jabbing phone numbers for Austrian Airlines and Austrian government; hanging on the telephone listening to endless Strauss; enough to put you off 19th century dance music for life. As for chatbots…. guaranteed to drive you insane.

Tuesday, forced to drive to Heathrow two days before the flight, the airport supervisor, looking at my vacc documents, passport and nein,nein nein notifications on smartphone, declared “This is silly, just going round and round.”

I love powerful men who can manually override a “computer says no” system to let me in.     

 Thursday. Relaxing moment No 2 

Quaking in the queue for the damned who have not got the requisite PPf2 masks,(NHS standard number illegal in Austria). Nice Austrian guy stemmed my mounting hysteria “don’t worry, they will give you a mask at the desk “and they did!

Finally, in Vienna, we had a lovely time wandering around the Christmas markets, seeing the Titian exhibition in the Historical Art Museum and doing various Viennese type things, cake, Schnitzel and a concert at the  Palais Schoenborn. Wait, those black PPf2 masks some are wearing remind me of…? The lights dimmed; performance began. First violinist, how shall I put this without being cancelled, was not exactly a raving beauty; her bilingual delivery, through owlish glasses, was flat in contrast to her sparkly frock. But then, when she wielded her violin bow, WOW, her duracell battery kicked in and she was energised. Oh Himmlischer Fahrt!. Spell-bound, we thrilled to the music.

Relaxing moment No 3

News announcement.

 Compulsory vaccinations, another lockdown, this time for all, in two days’ time. Uproar from people deprived of their civil liberties. Police cars, ambulances and throngs of people tooting horns and waving placards all over the place. Thousands of them, a veritable red sea of demonstrators opposite the Hofburg Palace. We had to cross. And then, behold, a burly young Moses with two young companions parted the waves and we scurried in their wake, grinning meekly at the throng.

Then I realised what the masks reminded me of – the horrific black gas mask erupting from the throat of Richard Wilson in “the Empty Child” episode of Dr Who, set in the Blitz.

On Monday, the Christmas stalls, hotels, restaurants musical venues etc would all be closed, due to the resurgence of Covid. Poor Viennese!

 

 

 

Coronovirus, like some Danse Macabre, evolves, resurges. How long do we have to keep revolving, and twirling to its nefarious ever changing tune.

 

I leave you, in hope, with some lines from T.S Eliot

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.