It’s
our third consecutive dreary, chilly day in Fort Worth and, frankly, I’m ready
for some sunshine. I watched the ceremony for Prince Phillip this morning, and
I think, in a great reversal, it was sunnier in England than in Texas.
I
viewed the funeral with mixed emotions—the music was gorgeous, and I loved the
bagpiper, but then I’m a sucker for the pipes. My Scottish heritage comes out
ever time I hear them. But the church (was it a chapel? Cathedral?) was very
formal and very dark. It was a blessing that no cameras focused on the few
individual mourners—I suppose they were forbidden—but at first, I couldn’t even
tell if there were people seated in the pews. And even at a funeral, I expect
the clergy to bring some life, some lilt to their presentations. These men—three
that I counted—mostly read and mumbled, but then I am not familiar with the
Anglican church. My impression is that much of any service follows a prescribed
ritual, and there is little room for personal embellishment. The prince had
apparently request that there be no eulogy.
Outside,
though, the atmosphere was totally different. As the family walked behind the
casket to the church, you could see both Prince Charles and Wills struggling to
contain their emotions, and as many media sources pointed out, they were no
doubt reliving in their minds that grief-laden walk behind Diana’s casket. But
when they left the church, they walked with more purpose, and this time Wills
and Harry walked together. Of course, there is much speculation about a
reconciliation but there has been no word.
My two
take-aways from the day: I have now seen that picture of the Queen sitting
alone (social distancing), along with many comments about how sad it is, and a
couple of ghoulish comments that she would be joining Phillip soon. Don’t count
on that, and no, I didn’t find it sad. She is an incredibly strong woman,
shaped for years for her position and now having been queen for just shy of sixty-eight
years (if my math is any good). She ascended in 1952. She has lived her life
for her country, from WWII forward, and while, yes, Phillip was her “stay” as
she said, she will carry on with true British grit. And she has family to
support her.
A
friend of mine just lost her husband, also at the age of ninety-nine, and she
wrote a moving essay titled, “He is still here.” By here, she meant the rural
farmhouse they have shared for years. I think Phillip is still in the castle.
The
other take-away made me smile. One of the clergy (forgive me I can’t sort out
which one, but it was a gentleman who apparently knew Phillip well) was later
quoted, discussing Phillip’s own plans for his funeral, to the effect that Phillip
“liked the broad church, the high church or the low, but best of all, he liked
the short church.” And that’s what today’s service was.
Slowly,
we are seeing some pictures of the royal couple in casual moments, and they
reinforce the idea of a great love and a live well lived together. Today I saw
one of the newly crowned queen walking past her husband, she in ceremonial
robes and carrying some ceremonial object and he in uniform, and in that solemn
and formal moment and setting, they were both grinning, with a twinkle in their
eyes. Phillip may have had to walk a pace behind her, but they seem to have
been happy equals in the marriage.
At
their ages (and mine, although they do have a few years on me) I think what we
ask of life is not wonderful new experiences or new loves, but rich and warm
memories. I know have them, and I trust so does the queen.
Beyond
watching the funeral, it hasn’t been much of a day, though I did write another r
profile and almost finished it. Now, it’s nearly seven-thirty, Christian is
grilling steak and burgers, and I have done my best to reawaken some very tired
asparagus. After supper, I think I’ll read. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Maybe sunshine.
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