Hi Friends,
For as long as I can remember, my mother always asked me “Who do you think you are, the Queen of England?” Usually this followed my wanting something she believed was out of my reach, something I didn’t deserve. My mother grew up very poor in Northern England, and she knew better than to let her desires get the best of her. She came from a world where some were born into luxury as a birthright, and she knew she wasn’t among those with such privileges. And like most of my British family, she was obsessed with the Royal Family. My grandmother displayed a large framed photograph of the Queen in the tiny living room of her subsidized apartment until the day she died.
If my mother were still here, she would be on the phone with her sisters and glued to the television, watching every second of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the death of the Queen and Charles’ succession to the throne. I want to ask my mother where she was during Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. My mother was 14. Was she working at the laundry? Was she at home watching her younger siblings while her parents went out to the pub to celebrate? Was she riding in a celebratory parade down Blackpool’s Golden Mile? I wish I had thought to ask her these questions, among so many others, before she died.
I have seen numerous posts on social media denigrating the Queen. I understand the problem with the monarchy, the way it sets up a hierarchy of humans, asserting that you are either born into greatness or you’re not. That some lives are inherently more valuable. And the long history of imperialism—many people have suffered at the hands of kings and queens. But at the same time, Queen Elizabeth II was a woman