The envelope felt heavy in my hands. Lifting it to my nose and turning it over, the smell of woody parchment and sandalwood combined with the silky feel of good quality paper to cause my heart to beat a tiny bit faster. It was an invitation to go on a train journey.
The carriage had velvet curtains and in the place of usual seats, a long table, set with a confusing amount of silverware on a white linen tablecloth. Water had been served in heavy glasses. Odd table decorations in the shape of Prince Andrew blocked the view to then end of the table.
“Do we have to do this?” My colleague hissed at me.”It is the holidays. I’m starving.”
The train pulled into a station.
“I’m going to see if I can get a KitKat from a vending machine,” she said and hopped off.
The next thing I knew the train was about to leave and I was standing on the platform. I couldn’t find my carriage but noticed the silver and purple livery said that it was the Queen’s train. I ran along, beside as it started to move and reached the carriage just in time, to open the door and fling myself inside, landing at the feet of the Queen, Prince Charles and Camilla.
A man with very white gloves helped me to my feet and led me back to my seat. The hush in the carriage was deafening. My shame was compounded by someone I knew saying, “You can’t take her anywhere! Do you think that’s treason?”
The dog cried and I woke up.
What an oddly specific dream.
This term, I have been working with the 5-7 year olds in school to write a song for the Queen. They have worried , occasionally.
“We’ve said her age in the song. Might she be upset?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But my mum says you shouldn’t mention a lady’s age.”
“That can be true but I think when you get over a certain age people are proud of living to be old.”
“But she is VERY old.”
“Yes, I think it will be OK. I don’t think it’s treason.”
They learnt a new word.
Once our song was finished we decided to send it as a card and so they wrote messages and drew pictures. I love the emergent portraits that young children draw. Arms springing from heads, ears that are like dinner plates and grimaces that are supposed to be smiles all featured heavily. One portrait wouldn’t have been out of place in Tate Modern, entitled, ‘Queen as Penis’
One child handed me their drawing and said, “I’m a bit worried about treason”
Despite the words being on the board, most still wrote lovely jubly, or even tubly as they reversed their letters.
Yesterday, I finally put the card in the post, which contained a QR code to a video of the children singing their song.
I have the obligatory end of term cold (not Covid. Still one line) and so managed to go back to sleep after the Long Suffering Husband let the dog in the garden.
The man with the white gloves, who had shown me back to my seat on the train was standing in front of me.
“I don’t understand,” I said to him.
“It’s simple, Her Majesty would like the children to sing at the celebration.”
My mouth flapped open.
“I thought… Well, the train.”
His eyes sparkled.
“They liked you. It made them laugh and Charles appreciated the KitKat you threw at him.”
“But what..No..I can’t. We were just hoping for a letter. We thought we’d committed treason.”
The dog whined again, saving me from not being able to breathe.
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