The new King’s mother died.
She was 96, so it shouldn’t have been a shock but it always is. Grief is a bugger. It sends you a bit doolally for a while.
He and the rest of her family have to share their grief with the whole country because she was mother/grandmother to us all. We all have stories and memories and even people who didn’t like her or want a monarchy feel as though they owned her.
Before my dad died I was really worried about how I would feel sharing my grief with so many people that loved him. Although it wasn’t on the Queen’s level of popularity there was an outpouring of love for him that was, in fact, a comfort. Occasionally, though, it got too much.
The death of your second parent is particularly hard. No matter how old you are you suddenly feel cut adrift, lonely and vulnerable. Some ugly minion in the back of your head points out that you are probably next and your natural fear response to death kicks in.
This is a time when most people need a couple of weeks sick leave but the new King has to prove he is up to the biggest job of his life. I hope people will be kind but I doubt it.
Before this happened, I was planning to sing God Save the King with a class who are studying Tudors. It is perfect example of a Galliard a nice hook into the topic about a King, where the children are always amazed that the pronouns can change so easily. I might not. It might be too soon.
I laid awake, worrying about the children and how they will be. I had stared at the telly for too many hours last night, unable to look away, feeling shock and grief and think many kids, too small to fully comprehend, will have done the same. The Long Suffering Husband had an equally disturbed night as he checked the tee times for the golf game at Wentworth he was due to watch tomorrow before bed to discover it had been cancelled as a mark of respect. I can’t help thinking that primary schools are in for a difficult day.
While I was awake I pondered the question: If we have just left the second Elizabethan age what is the third King Charles age called?
Charliean
Charlesean
Chasian
Nope.
Carolean
It’s Latin for Charles apparently.
My daughter always wanted to live through interesting History. I hope the Carolean age isn’t too interesting and that people give him a bit of a break for a while.
My grandfather, as a Grenadier Guard, dressed in full regimental uniform complete with bearskin hat was on duty outside Buckingham Palace when the notice of Princess Elizabeth’s birth was put on the gates. Little did he know then that she would become Queen and be the longest serving monarch. My daughter spent much of her early journalistic career following her around Windsor. Everyone will have something that makes them smile. My favourite moment was when she saw cows at the Windsor Horse show.
The most googled question today is: Will schools be closed after the Queen’s death? The answer is NO, so I’d better stop waffling and get to work.
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