When John and I planned a trip to our ‘mother country’ last month, I told myself it was because our very culture is embedded in England — our history, language, literature, entertainment… I soon realized my agenda had been pre-programmed.
As a child, I heard so much about the British royal family, I thought we were related. Why else would Grandma speak of them with such affection, or become so agitated at the mention of Edward, Prince of Wales? I never questioned her fascination. Our ancestors were English and Irish after all; she had told me many times.
Born during the reign of Queen Victoria, my grandmother lived through five monarchies. She could recite them all, with dates! That this humble little woman in a fishing village in the Northern Neck of Virginia would develop a passion for kings and queens a world away, is probably not remarkable.
Grandma Daisy had spent her days like most other wives in Fleeton — caring for six children, a modest frame house without plumbing, a large vegetable garden and a flock of Rhode Island Reds. English royalty lived in castles and palaces with servants. Glittering crowns, ornate thrones… It was the stuff of dreams. Yet, despite a lifestyle of privilege, they were real people — often heroic, sometimes flawed, and occasionally embroiled in scandal…
Grandma devoured newspapers and magazines, delighting in the pageantry of Elizabeth’s wedding and coronation, and rejoicing with the arrival of television. She spoke of princes and dukes, princesses and the queen mother, while shelling butter beans on the back porch swing, or watching for my grandfather’s fish boat to round the bend in the river by the lighthouse.
I felt Daisy’s presence as I exclaimed over the crown jewels in the Tower of London, marveled at the golden carriage that had carried Queen Elizabeth II to her coronation, and the open carriage used in the weddings of Charles and Diana as well as William and Kate.
Grandma, with her cherubic face encircled with long gray braids, did not accompany us everywhere, fortunately. She’d have been shocked at the prices in Fortnum & Mason, and Harrods. And she might not have understood John’s banter at the ‘speaker’s corner’ in Hyde Park. She certainly would not have seen the humorous side to the drunken sports fans on the Tube late one night.
At no place did I feel my grandmother’s presence more strongly than at Windsor Palace for the pomp and circumstance of the ‘changing of the guard’ ceremony. Later she was probably as overwhelmed as her granddaughter when the queen’s red-clad guards mounted on black horses passed in front of Buckingham Palace, near the memorial to Queen Victoria.
In the tea rooms, I was reminded of a dark green teapot all those years ago, and endless cups of tea (with plenty of cream and sugar,) served with cookies from a colorful biscuit tin with Prince Philip’s picture…
Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma Daisy. Next year we’re taking you to Ireland with us. Hold onto your braids; John is driving. On the left side of the street…
8 Comments
Just another wonderful story from your past. I so glad you had a great time. I’m sure the scenery was beautiful. Let me know when you are going to Ireland. I’m reading Jan Karon’s last book based in Ireland. Wonderful writer. If you haven’t read her books, the series of books start with “At Home in Mitford”. Another interesting blog. Keep up it up. Pat from Auburn
Thank you so for the stories of your grandma. Takes me back once again to the memories of my gram. I can even remember the
‘outhouse’ and hearing her story of the half moon. Each time I
read your blog, my mind goes back to the past and the parallel
we share of that time. Look forward to reading more.
Again, wonderfully written. I enjoy your blogs so much. Thank you. Sounds like you had a wonderful life growing up. Not hard to understand being an extraordinay mother. Hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day yourself.
Mrs. Rowe, this was a charming tribute to Grandma Daisy. How wonderful to learn your personal family history and that of the Royal Family from your beloved Grandma. You are carrying on a family tradition and making memories with your story-telling. Happy travels to Ireland next year!
My English grandmother was obsessed with the royalty too, I remember listening to her tell stories about them, always with a glowing familiarity that made it feel like we were one big family. I don’t know if it is because of her stories or what but London is my favorite foreign city to visit, it is not particularly stunning but I always feel so comfortable there, the locals treat me like a long lost cousin who has finally found my way back for a visit, perhaps I am.
Did you try the scones in Harrod’s Tea Room? Best in the world.
Enjoy your blogs immensely, as always.
Beautiful as always! Happy Mother’s Day Mrs. Rowe!
Peggy,
I can somewhat relate to your story. My grandmother left Austria with two small children, to sail to America to join her husband. She left all of her family, including many sisters and brothers, never to see them again. I am sure she would love to see the Austria of today, as I have been priviledged to do. I have also seen many of the things you saw on your trip. Such great memories to have!