EVEN GROWNUPS NEED A NANNY
“I cannot lead you into battle. I do not give you laws or administer justice, but I can do something else. I can give you my heart.” – ER II
My first memory of The Queen was of receiving a commemorative Silver Jubilee coin by my primary school teacher and then singing God Save The Queen for the first time ever; an anthem whose words Mrs. Brown had written out in chalk on the blackboard. Almost twenty years later, I wrote Her Majesty a letter following her annus horribilis to share a joke (her wicked sense of humour was legendary even then) and to tell her what a marvelous job I thought she was doing, despite reserved duty falling out of fashion with a British public that now wore its feelings on their sleeves. The Queen’s private secretary wrote me back to say how much Her Majesty appreciated my words. I’ve since lost the letter. Shame on me. I might have one day embellished the royal stationary into a dramatic encounter for the grandchildren, if I had only shown more care.
I recall an American friend commenting on the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, saying it was hard not to admire Her Majesty as a person, but that the institution itself was anachronistic and needed to go the way of the Dodo. This is a common view in America, where most can still remember a time when the eternal misery of a drawn-out American election would pivot to the spirit of national unity on the morning of the new president’s swearing in… a welcomed 20th Century reconciliation and source of pride that has little equivalent in the 21st Century.
The distaste expressed for one another by the UK’s politicians is no less vitriolic than that of their American cousins. Nicola Sturgeon and Boris Johnson would likely have attacked each other with broken pint glasses if their aids had ever allowed them to be present in the same room together while Boris was still PM. My money would have been on Nicola, by the way. The difference is that though Britain is also burdened with the occasional lying, cheating, scheming, philandering rascal voted into office because they disingenuously told a populace they could fix the unfixable, destiny has gifted the sceptred isle with a non-partisan head of state.
For many who live in republics, all this translates into is a leader who does not state a political opinion and, thus, does not infuriate half the electorate. Unity by default. But this is only a partial understanding of modern kingship. The talents masterfully executed by The Queen throughout her long life and surely drilled into her from the moment she grasped her own likely destiny can be aptly identified as such: she was trained not just to become the non-political guardian of the nation’s constitution… but also the nanny to her many realms. And such an intimate relationship requires a lengthy courtship.
Several years before the pandemic (strange how all of life now falls into the pre and post pandemic categories), my wife and I found the solution to our dilemma of juggling childcare for our infant – and carrying on with our 9-to-5 careers – in the form of a nanny. It was during this time that I came to understand the benevolent power the nanny wields. A nanny must show patient attention but not spoil, provide compassion but also admonish carelessness. She provides a helping hand, while encouraging those in her care to explore their independence. The good ones are certainly fun, with a twinkle in their eye, yet not sentimental. She does not judge, nor does she complain.
And here is the key: she shows affection and concern, but she does not need us as much as we need her. Therein we acknowledge her authority and recognise her strength. She is there to tell us everything will be okay when we most need to hear that. She makes us feel safe.
The Queen oversaw a transition from empire to soft power, both maintaining and expanding her islands’ cultural pull thanks in large part to her own iconic nature. She proved more captivating than the music and film icons who made the UK a global brand before there was any talk of a post-Brexit Global Britain. A transformation also took place for evangelicals during Queen Elizabeth II’s reign. A compassionate and godly father who dealt out tough love and hard truths softened into the favourite family member who shows up at the weekend bbq for non-alcoholic beers, knows us better than ourselves, shares our political inclinations, and disapproves of those with whom we disagree; the transfiguration of God into divine best mate philosophy.
As head of the Church of England, the Queen represented an older tradition for those of us with either a secular and cultural connection to an ancient faith or a deeper adherence to its organised religious rites. That feeling of security The Queen imparted fed the need embedded within our DNA to receive guidance from a power greater – or at least grander – than ourselves. For as long as there is that guiding influence, we are not orphans.
My wife and I opted for preschool and let our nanny go after two years of blissful constancy, and our household fell apart for a while as a result. For our daughter, it was as if Mary Poppins had abruptly opened her umbrella and flown away.
Today, Britain has a new king, and I’m sure he owns a fine umbrella. May he not fly away for some time.