Happy Plantinum Jubliee Her Majesty
My dear old mum used to keep a set of fine china cups and saucers in a glass cabinet in the corner of the living room.
Occasionally, I saw them gently washed, cautiously dried and delicately re- arranged in the exact same order on the same middle shelf. But I never ever saw anyone ever drink from them.
I was probably still in short trousers when I must have asked her when we would ever use them.
“I’m keeping them for when The Queen comes for tea . . .” she replied.
And, needless to say, she passed away with her wedding china in as mint condition as the day it was unveiled - probably at some postwar “show of presents” in a miner’s row at Drumley.
That memory has been with me for over 60 years. But her words came flooding back to me last week when a pub discussion turned to this weekend’s Royal Platinum Jubilee celebrations.
Somebody, asked the question “Hey, when was the last time The Queen was in Ayr?”
After a few blank looks, the followup question was “Hey, has The Queen EVER been to Ayr?”
After more blank looks, they turned to me, the arbitrator, conciliator, justice of the pub peace and general authority on everything that’s happened since the dinosaurs left.
“Er . . . don’t look at me, guys, I haven’t a scooby doo on that one!”
And six days on, after some very amateurish searching on the internet, that’s still where I’m at!
There was a glint of hope when somebody said they’d seen a photograph of her in an opentopped car on Prestwick Road. But that was written off as being President Eisenhower! My searches have got Her Majesty at Ardrossan, Largs and - if 2014 is recent - her most recent Ayrshire experience was opening the Queen Elizabeth Garden at Dumfries House in 2014.
But have the Royal feet ever touched the Royal Burgh of Ayr? I honestly don’t know the answer. But I have a feeling several people out there do know – and I can’t wait for them to tell me!
I mean, where’s that Lord Lieutenant of Ayrshire when you really need them? Anyway, The Queen might have never made it my house . . . but I have made it to hers!
Back in the day, Buckingham Palace decided to open its doors to the public - and Her Majesty’s press were given the opportunity of a sneak preview.
After endless form-filling, security checks and the issue of some grand looking accreditation badges – I was finally off to the Palace.
Hopes of getting a “Who Goes There?” from a bloke with a bearskin and a bayonet, at the grand main gates, were short lived.
I went in via the same side entrance that the royal wheely bins come out! We got the full guided tour – sweeping staircases, gilded cornices an magnificent oil paintings hanging from the walls of endless, carpeted corridors At the end, the assembled journalists were asked if there was anything they’d like to see – but hadn’t. “Excluding the private Royal apartments and certain security areas, we’d be happy to show you anything within reason,” said the Palace Press secretary.
As the toff Royal correspondents from The Times and the Telegraph shuffled nervously, I stuck my hand up. “The wine cellar, sir?”
You could have heard a cork pop at a hundred paces. “I’m sorry. Did you say . . . wine cellar?”
“Yes, I understand Her Majesty has a considerable and enviable collection of vintages. I’m sure it would be most interesting”.
The other hacks didn’t get it. Somewhere beneath our feet was one of the most prized collections of swally in the world. I wasn’t getting this close without trying to get a butchers at it. I might even get a wee guzzle of a Montrachet - left over from last night’ dinner!
After a phone call, I got my answer. “I’m sorry sir, the Palace wine cellar is presently unable to accept visitors.”
A few minutes later, I was huckled out the same tiny door I came in.
I vowed that the next time I left the Palace – it would be via the famous main gates . . .as Sir Robert Shields.
I think I’m in for a long wait . . .