When Alby met the Queen

Last Thursday was a big day for the family.  For the past five months Mark has been working on an event.  No, not just an event.  The Event.  Alongside two other crazy committed and dangerously dedicated soldiers he has been putting his heart, soul, mind and time into pulling off a day of celebrations to mark the 300^th anniversary of the Royal Artillery. 

21 Gun salute

He has been a stranger in the house, regularly working until midnight (in fact for the past three weeks, always working until midnight) plus weekends.  I wish I could claim that I was simply the dedicated and supported wife throughout but I’m not quite that exceptional a woman and the absence, compounded by the knowledge that three days after The Event he would be living away from home took its toll on my tolerance and understanding every now and then.  For that I apologise.

The Kings Troop

However, I digress. This isn't about me and my self-claimed guilt but about my amazing boys. 

A ride in the new car

Stepping onto the Square on Thursday morning I was overcome with pride for my husband and his team.  It was amazing.  The best tribute one could imagine pulled off brilliantly. And so it continued throughout the day. We spoke to re-enactors, at Alby’s request we asked a World War Two veteran to talk us through the medals on his chest (five from the Second World War, one from Korea plus a selection of others for service), we heard the 21 gun salute, admired the processions (Alby pointing to the soldiers dressed in their snow camo shouted “Look, it’s Darth Vader’s soldiers), loved the horses galloping past and, at the end of the day, we ate ice cream, drank Pimms, turned Trouble Monkey into a Ninja Turtle and watched him show off his ninja moves with two balloon swords on the bouncy castle.  It was just the best of days. One of those events which runs so seamlessly you fail to appreciate the endless work that went into it, it was just spectacular and I couldn’t be more pleased for Mark and his team.  Bloody good show chaps.

Guns saluting the Queen

I’ve waffled on enough already and I haven’t event mentioned the highlight of the day, the reason Mark stayed in the office until twelve instead of coming home at ten, the reason he is now sporting a handful of grey hairs (so he says, I can’t see them) is that Her Royal Highness herself was in attendance.  It’s her 90^th birthday this year and despite the actual birthday taking place a good few weeks ago now most of Britain seems to have taken the position that we shall be celebrating this milestone for the whole year.  So, despite this officially being the 300^th Anniversary of her Royal Artillery the day seemed to be regarded more as the chance for the Royal Artillery to celebrate her.  She doesn’t do many long appearances but she visited Wiltshire for three hours so this wasn’t just a big deal.  This was mega.  And amazingly, almost unbelievably but certainly in tribute to the brilliance that is Mark, we were able to be a part of the day.  Or more precisely Alby was.

Stormtroopers

Pretty much everywhere the Queen goes she gets presented with flowers and RA 300 was to be no exception.  The posey giving was discussed ages back and a throw away comment was made that Alby could do it.  Mark and I didn’t give it much thought.  Things change every six minutes in the army and no doubt they would come across a far more deserving family with a young child to do the flower giving instead.  But they didn’t.  It’s been sold as a tribute to the phenomenal effort Mark put into the event though I can’t shrug the feeling it may also be down to a bit of poor admin amongst the bigger chaos.  Whatever the true cause Alby was chosen as official flower boy on the day. 

A suit was bought.  A (dodgy) haircut took place.  New shoes were found (very last minute – thanks mum).  We practiced at home.  We practiced with others.  We witnessed a bored and underwhelmed four year old in action.  And then the day itself came.

It was a hot day.  It was a long day.  And it was a day where amongst the nerves and excitement lots of people forgot how to talk to and generally be around four year olds.  Three days of being told what an important job he was doing, three days of having to hand flowers over to an assortment of random people in very smart uniform, three days of being told to walk forward, chin up, smile and walk back, maybe shake hands, maybe not, maybe say something, maybe not, more heat, more waiting took its toll and by the time the Queen made it to the chapel Alby was fed up.  But Alby is a superstar and despite wanting nothing more than to be sitting on the sofa, watching telly in his pants, with his bottom lip almost out he told us “when it’s my turn I’m going to do it perfectly mummy.”  Many may not have believed him.  Mark and I did and we were right to.  

I have to give a special shout out to my dad here who was standing on the bank, about 50 feet away, behind the crowd of school children, waving his arms, jumping up and down and pulling funny faces.  That is what a four year old needs.  That got Alby smiling.  

My superstar

Getting over the near-teary state he was in, held his head high, walked forward nicely, handed over the flowers and paused.  I think the question mark over shaking hands or not, saying something or not threw him slightly.  And so he stood there.  I think for three seconds, maybe five but it felt like five minutes.  The Queen asked “Are these for me” and he nodded and said “yes” and then he paused for another 3 seconds, maybe four, and we called him back.  “Okay Alby, back now” Mark said kindly.

And he walked back, and held my hand, and the Queen continued forward, asking us as she went “How old?” Being a fool I replied with a simple “He’s four” whilst my cultured/sychophantic husband replied with “He’s four years old Ma’m” (Ma’m as in ham not Ma’m as in harm).  To which my beautiful, perfect little Man said, loudly and clearly, “Actually I’m four and a half.”  And everyone laughed, including the Queen and with that line the whole thing to me changed from a very stilted, staged, anonymous experience to a lovely moment,  A truly lovely moment. 

My memory is that I replied with “Sorry Alby, that half is very important” and the Queen said something along the lines of “Well yes, quite” or “Oh yes, of course”.  I don’t know.  It’s a happy blur.  Then she said her goodbyes and got into the car. 

Mark, sadly, just out of shot

As she stepped into the car Alby said “Mummy, I can see her Magic shoes.”  A reference to the day before when one of Mark’s colleagues had told Alby that the Queen had magic shoes because whenever she steps out of her helicopter gunfire goes off.  Bless him for remembering.

And then it was off for ice cream and bouncy castles and sitting in the shade as by then we were all a bit too red around the edges. And on the way home my friend texted to say “Check out the Daily Mail” and I did, and there was Alby, looking amazing.  And I swelled with happiness and pride for him.  For the wonder of my beautiful boy.  And it suddenly seemed much grander and more important than it actually had by the chapel. And I spent the rest of the day (actually the rest of the next two days) constantly referring back to the photo (and any other photo I could find) and smiling.  Not just at Alby’s picture but all of them.  Googling “Royal Artillery 300” to see which papers had written about it.  Because for my family it was the whole day that was important and my smile wasn’t reserved to my little Man but my big one too.  My heroes.  My superstars.  My loves.