The real lesson I learned the night we met the King

It’s three hundred and nineteen days since my husband and I met the King at Buckingham Palace and I’ve probably thought about it at least once every day since. I knew it would be unforgettable, I knew it would be exciting but what I didn’t know is it would change my whole perspective on, well, life.

It all began as we approached the gates.

I could only think two thoughts.

One, why did I wear my winter tights and boots (everyone else approaching was in glamorous spring heels)?

The other - I wonder what my grandmothers would have made of it all?

It’s hard, I think, not to think of your own family as you stand in front of a family home like that. I mean it’s the family home, isn’t it? Centuries of history all under one roof, the lives lived in front of all of our eyes for years. It’s seen more ups and downs, been centre stage and welcomed more guests than most. It’s the family home all of us have known for most of our lives and here we were, waiting to go in.

I never knew my grandmothers, but as in all families, their stories and memories had been passed on to me. I’ve always felt an enormous bond with them even though we’ve never met. I’m named after them both, so perhaps it’s that. I suspect it’s because my mum and dad loved them both so much.

They lived a few miles from where I was standing – one in White City, the other in Acton, a little further down the road. I know they were hard-working women doing their best for their families. Neither of them had it easy I can appreciate now, but all they both ever really wanted to do was love.

I wondered then what they would think if they could see me now – the grand-daughter they’d never met about to step inside.

We were there for an evening to celebrate regional news, my husband and I are both regional television journalists. I can do this I thought, as we stepped in line. But I cannot lie; I was braced for snootiness and an inferior feeling, of less than and not quite good enough.

By the time we got to the armed police officer who was letting us in, I felt in such a spin I hadn’t noticed we needed ID. While my husband (of course) had his ready, I started rummaging through my purse. The police officer watched as I pulled out Boots Avantage cards, coffee rewards from the local deli and a National Trust pass circa 2022. I expected the police officer to be stern but instead he smiled. “Don’t worry Ellie,” he said, “just go in and have a wonderful time.” He didn’t look irritated in the slightest, instead he looked bemused.

“It’s like being in the Crown.” I said to my husband as we walked along what looked like the set. But it wasn’t the set, it was the real-life place and everyone we met had the same look as that police officer. Bemused. The guards who greeted us, the ladies who gently, but firmly asked us to give in our phones, the people who stood in the long red carpeted corridors. “Have a wonderful time, enjoy the champagne, don’t worry about a thing.” They said, all the time looking bemused.

I thought of all the people who’d walked along these corridors and I couldn’t imagine even the most famous, richest, most powerful not feeling humbled in some way. By the time we reached the reception room the feeling like we were somewhere nowhere else in the world was overwhelming. Someone next to us even fainted, and while staff rallied to check she was okay, they acted too as if it wasn’t unusual. And still everyone looked bemused.

There was no snootiness, no looking down, just warm, inviting people making us all feel at home. Then there was a hush, a whisper running through the crowd. The King had arrived. Surely now it was all about to change.

Even in his own lounge of his house, he was mobbed. His team around him kept the path clear as he made his way through. I wondered if he would look bored, a little distant, tired even? But when I saw him, this man I’d seen in photos and on TV all of my life, I realised he too looked… bemused.

As I watched people flock around him, I asked a member of his team, “is it always like this?”

“Everywhere we go. It doesn’t matter where we are. The tiniest remote island, anywhere in the world, everyone acts the same.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I watched him greet each person. It was a moment that person would never forget and he did everything he could to make it last. When we met him, he was the same, as if it he was doing this for the first time. He shook our hands, made us feel like we were the first guests he’d greeted in his home, then went on his way. I wondered if deep down he wanted to be in his jim-jams watching telly instead. But if he did, it didn’t show.

It was as I waited in the corridor for my husband and looked up at the portraits looking down, I got it. My history (I apologise) is terrible. But there they all were lined up, generations of the same family, frozen in a moment of time as the artist had captured them, all of them with that faint look of bemused.  Today, every day there's another headline for the outside world to know, but here they were, where they’ve been long before the days of twenty-four hour news and social media. I suspect they’ve seen it all before.

It was in that moment that it hit me. 

Nobody escapes being human on this planet, whoever we are, wherever we are. Even a life of so-called privilege comes with a tax of duty and the freedom of anonymity. Each generation tries their best, making the best of what they have. They are equally helpless over others, suffer heartbreak and grief and learn their own lessons. Then they pass on the baton, hoping the next generation will do a little better. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t, the baton passes and the cycle begins again.

The next day we heard The King had to go to hospital, so I suspect he really did want to be in his jim-jams, but that night you would never have known. Even after a lifetime of meeting strangers in his front room, he understood what he’d been trusted with. The man we saw was a man doing his best, getting it right, getting it wrong. The warmth and welcome that came from not just him but every single one of his staff made us all feel the love that lived in that house.

So when I saw Acton and White City on the tube line on the way home, I thought about my grandmothers again. The ones who also loved their family, who were just doing their best, who got it right and I suspect sometimes wrong, but who turned up when life was hard and made everyone feel at home. Then they’d passed their lessons to their children who had passed them to me. They helped create a world where their granddaughter they’d never met, could even dream she was capable of getting a job on TV.

I wondered what they would have made of it all, if they’d seen what I’d just seen. 

 That those lessons, those thoughts, those anecdotes they never knew mattered, would be guiding me today. 

If I could tell them about the woman fainting, the crowds and that no-one even looked at my tights. 

If I could tell them it wasn't snobby, it was wonderful and it was just like you see on the TV.

If I told them everything I'd learned that night and the role that they still played, I suspect they would have told me I should never have worried about my tights and suspect they’d look bemused.