Jubilee reflections

Although over the weekend Chez Nous was somewhat dominated by weather considerations – we had two what would normally be regarded as serious “yellow triangle” Thunderstorm Warnings that in the event failed to materialise – by choice I still took the opportunity to dip in and out of the BBC’s coverage of the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations out of a personal mix of curiosity and genuine interest.

Having a degree of ancestral family connection with the military and an interest in WW1 battlefield research, I quite enjoy watching the annual Trooping of the Colour on occasions when I am doing nothing in particular and notice that it is being covered on the box.

Probably because my teenage years were in the late Sixties (1967’s “Summer of Love” etc.), when “rebellion” against anything traditional or worthy was fashionable, I never personal considered a career in uniform though I had several contemporaries who joined the Army.

Subsequently, looking back – although I never regretted my own decision – I have succumbed at various points in my life to a slight feeling of envy of those who went into the Army because of the “sense of purpose” that I assumed governed their lives in a manner denied the rest of us.

I remember once describing this phenomenon thus.

Harry, one of my closest school chums, ended his Army career as a colonel. When we were both in our late thirties with young families and his name came up at a dinner party, I announced that – in another life – I wouldn’t have minded being one of his children. Asked to elaborate, I responded “Let me put it this way. I am a non-religious agnostic and don’t know whether God exists or not. But Harry’s kids do. Because Harry has told them which it is … and that’s the end of that subject. If you think about it, Life is so much simpler the more certainties you have in it.”

Anyway. I thoroughly enjoyed this year’s Trooping of the Colour – the build-up, the “back story” little pieces on some of the participants – whether they be bandsmen, private soldiers or senior officers, members of long-standing military families or former immigrants from Caribbean or African countries, or even Seamus (the Irish wolfhound mascot of the Irish Guards) – and the sheer scale of the preparation that had gone into making the whole “work” on the day, as indeed it did last Thursday morning.

I once attended the Trooping of the Colour as a guest and frankly found the day as a whole tedious in the extreme, largely because one viewed it for what felt like about a quarter of a mile away.

I suppose that I should mention this in the context of the Great Rust “Is it better to attend a sporting occasion … or watch it on television?” Debate.

Next up, for my sins, I watched the “Concert at Buckingham Palace” that was mounted on Saturday evening from about 8.00pm.

This opened with the rock/pop group Queen – from whose ranks guitarist Brian May was famous for performing a version of the National Anthem from the roof of Buckingham Palace at one of the Queen’s previous Jubilee celebrations – performing some of its greatest hits in bright sunshine to the massed stands of supposed VIPs and the tens of thousands of tourists and “ordinary folk” who took up positions on or alongside the Mall.

The fact that Queen’s leading light – singer Freddie Mercury – died aged 45 some thirty years ago and his deputising replacement (the American Adam Lambert) was certainly no Freddie left a weird impression – as did the sight of a phalanx of slightly puzzled Royals sitting in their allotted places in the main stand waving Union Jacks.

And so the evening continued.

I had no idea who many of the performers were and – of those I did recognise – few seemed on top form. Elton John’s contribution – a version of his ditty Your Song “recorded”, as he announced, in a room at Windsor Castle – was projected onto the outside of the Palace, an inelegant juxtaposition as it turned out because (as we all knew, having been told by the BBC presenters) on the night Her Majesty The Queen wasn’t in the live audience at all but instead was allegedly watching it all on television from a different room at Windsor Castle.

Rod Stewart was poor.

His performance went off at half-cock and he was hamstrung by having to sing – as one of his tunes on the night – Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond.

He wasn’t comfortable doing this (it had apparently been specifically requested by the BBC) and it showed.

Yesterday, having first attended an afternoon Jubilee Picnic Party in a field, afterwards we drove down to Selsey in West Sussex in order to watch a widely-advertised display by Spitfire aeroplanes.

Having joined a sizeable crowd and waited more than fifteen minutes past the advertised start-time in blustery conditions, word came along the beach-top that the event had been cancelled due to the deteriorating weather and so we all trudged back to our vehicles and thence to our homes.

My evening ended with a stiff gin & tonic in front of the television, after which I fell fast asleep, was woken and then ordered to bed.