R1418

R1418 (Male aged 90: widower ret. decorator: Derby) Saturday June 2nd. At 7.30 on this first morning of the Diamond Jubilee, I pulled aside the bedroom curtains to face a grey, damp outlook and of a garden calling out for attention. A depressing start to what I fear is to be a depressing week-end ahead– both in weather and the over-indulgences from a curtsying media, especially the BBC. When turning on the kitchen radio, it already had its heavy Royalist guns, so to speak, trained on such miserable old Republicans as me grumbling over “expensive bloody nonsense”. Turning my attention to preparing my frugal breakfast of a fried mushroom with a tomato, I let the praising voices on the radio babble on and gave thought to past Royal occasions allied to poor weather. The Silver Jubilee in this same month of 1977 had plans for the lighting of beacons throughout the country a re-enactment, I believe, of warnings of the approach of the Spanish Amada. After breakfast I went upstairs to check with my diary for that year, and there it was... Monday June 6th...Bank Holiday and Jubilee Day combined – been another dull and miserable day weather-wise. T and I on the Beaconsfield Club coach trip this evening to see the lighting of the beacon on Alport Height. Anticipating a boozy end to the evening ahead, we took a taxi to the Beaconsfield and had time there for a couple of drinks with C and B and the rest of the coach party before setting off into the drizzle. When the coach did arrive at Alport Height it was not only raining but the limited space seemingly teeming with other coaches and goodness knows how many cars. It was raw and cold and proved to be something of a non-event. So many others there we could not get near to the action but around 10.30 a muted cheer told of the lighting of the beacon, so we began the searching out of our coach. It took an hour and a half for our driver to extricate his coach and us from the chaos of the traffic and in the process had to reverse for something like a mile along a narrow lane. 12.30 am when we regained the Beaconsfield, disgruntled and envious of those who had had the sense to stay put and enjoy the buffet and dance, none of the buffet left when we were back. We did go up to the dance in the Concert Room but did not stay because of the crush. Lovely feeling to be getting into bed around 2.30 am. That awful weather, as I remember was equally as poor on the day of the Queen’s Coronation in 1953; and further back to 1937, I can recall the rain spoiling street parties at the Coronation of George V1. I can go as far back as the Silver Jubilee of King George V in 1935 when we schoolchildren were presented with a beaker decorated with pictures of the Royal Couple. I wonder what happened to mine... I haven’t heard of any Jubilee street parties being organised in this immediate area; and the only bunting and plastic flags were those I noticed in my local last night, The Rowditch – and that a half-hearted effort. A normal Friday night but with fewer customers than expected - and among my drinking companions no Jubilee comment that I could catch above the thumping of the piano. When I did try to stir things up by suggesting a lack of enthusiasm, the response was, “Can you bloody wonder at it? Country’s bloody finished anyway.” 11 am: Completed my weekly household chores – mopping, hovering and that sort of thing and now having a rewarding vegetarian Oxo before giving thought to shopping list for daughter J to collect. Then have to think about lunch but that shouldn’t be too taxing, another Spartan affair of tinned soup and a crusty cob, thought having to be given only to the filling of the cob, and have more or less decided on a fried egg. 2 pm: Lunch (it was an egg cob) over and now after a doze in my chair, I am now back in ‘my room’ sometimes called ‘my office’, the spare bedroom housing my computer and where on this summer afternoon I feel the need to switch on the electric heater. Though I find I have nothing of worth to write about, I don’t mind sitting here at my desk surrounded by my books and untidiness, my wireless is tuned to R3 and I’m enveloped in a sense of cosiness because of the rain and wondering if people are already making for the banks of the Thames to face hours of discomfort in order to gain prime positions merely to catch a glimpse of the Queen’s Barge. Good luck to them, I know where I want to be. 7.30 pm: Have bathed, shaved and prepared for Saturday night. This cold March-like evening and onset of an early dusk does not turn one’s mind towards celebrating. Although the temptation to stay in my chair has become more difficult to resist these days, I dare say I shall be carrying out my Saturday routine of spending a couple of hours in my local pub. My evening meal of home-cooked fish and chips, the washing-up and the rest of it finished with, I took a cup of coffee into the living room to partly read through the local paper. I am now making these notes with the drivel on TV sharing my attention. 11.30 pm: This unremarkable day is nearing its end – and for me hardly distinguishable from any other Saturday. I did get to my local and pleased to find a couple of my cronies there, other tables occupied by strangers. Conversation predictable and nothing to do with the Jubilee and though some of the jokes were stale, it was a change to laugh with others and far better than having a grumble all to myself. I now have a CD playing ‘my sort of music’ and close by my chair rests a glass of whisky - my solace and compensation for the emptiness of spent hours. Sunday June 3rd As on every morning after drawing aside curtains, I turned on the wireless in the kitchen tuned to R4 and, as expected, posh voices were discussing the advantages of Royalty, as opposed to Republicanism. The main event of the day apparently is to be the thousand-boat procession on the Thames. Along with the Royal Barge, and others carrying aristocratic guests and what-not; the London Symphony Orchestra will be among the procession as well as a choir, the music including Handel of course, makes it worthwhile for a look-in now and then. The gloomy morning and the rain force me to turn on the kitchen light. 11.30 am: At the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a piece of Dundee cake while making these notes. Desert Island Discs coming from the wireless and true to BBC style, the guest is a friend of Royalty whose name I did not catch but apparently was a bridesmaid at the Queen and Prince Philip’s wedding. 1.30 pm: Back in the house after the short walk from the Kings Highway. Built some twenty-five years ago, it is large and in the style of its time to be more of a restaurant than a pub. It is especially popular during Sunday lunchtimes because of its carvery at which long queues form and from where loaded plates are carried back to tables. I can normally find a secluded corner to watch the proceedings with interest and to relax for an hour or so with my two pints of Pedigree. To mark the Jubilee week-end, the place was festooned with rather depressing rows of plastic flags. I noted that none of its customers marked this special occasion by the wearing of Union Jack hats or anything of that sort. The majority were in jeans as appears to be the fashion these days for both sexes – and at the same time, in complete disregard of rotund and unsuitable figures. I now have to prepare my midday cob with a filling of cheese. My main Sunday meal of vegetables and roast potatoes I will sit down to around five o’ clock. 6.45 pm: It has rained for most of this day and continues to do so. Afternoon prior to the cooking and eating of my evening was partly spent as normal for Sunday listening to the wireless and dozing. In the interests of this directive, I then watched part of the Water Pageant on the Thames through the misty gloom of an English summer. Well carried out and well organised as it was, I did not find it riveting television. There were many shots of the Queen and the opulence of the Royal Barge and I must say that I had to admire the way she stuck it out and apparently stayed on her feet for the whole of the proceedings. 11 pm: Back upstairs and at my desk to write the concluding observation to this day and not an altogether successful one at that. An evening divided between my computer in this room and the television in the living room. Many were my glances towards the clock urging it on to 9.15 signalling the ending of a self-imposed rule not to fetch my can of beer and glass of whisky from the kitchen until that time. I cannot now recall anything of worth on the television tonight with the possible exception of a programme on the history of Lord Elgin and the marbles he purloined from Athenaeum at the start of the 19th century. But does it matter? It will not affect tomorrow. I will likely be here in my room until my normal bedtime of midnight after another unremarkable day; it now occurs to me the only person I have spoken to today has been the barmaid at the Kings Highway. Monday June 4th 9 am: Although unseasonably cool there is a welcome sight of the sun this morning. I have switched on the wireless in the kitchen and have been able to catch a piece on the lighting of Jubilee Beacons as part of the celebrations. In a way this reminder of my experiences of 35 years ago pleases me. This present occasion is to include the commonwealth as well as this country and timed to begin, as it did then, at 10 pm local times and that means at different moments in different countries. The number of beacons is given as 4,200 and that compares to the 2000 of 1977. Well all right, content though I am, I doubt I shall be found anywhere near to Alport Height at 10 pm. 6.20 pm: Hours belonging to this day and now spent have not up to now produced any event worth a place in this record. My going shopping this afternoon has no relevance to this Jubilee diary. But that’s what I did, driving the two miles or so to the Iceland stores and afterwards called on an old friend who is now more or less housebound and suffers from a form of mild dementia. It is not often my presence can bring pleasure to others but that was so this afternoon. Although impaired memory made conversation difficult, I could see I had contributed to somebody’s day and that made my guilt the more when I had to take my leave. After evening meal of fish cake and ‘bubble and squeak’, I relaxed with coffee and the evening paper. Most of it, to be expected, was taken up with reports of local street parties in the drizzle yesterday, none of which was of interest to me and in less than fifteen minutes, including giving up on the crossword, I was casting the paper aside. In this part of the country the sun makes intermittent appearances, and so is the case for London according to the news and where tonight there is to be a picnic in the grounds of Buckingham Palace. Hearing that came the lugubrious thought, “I wonder how many of those loyal but slightly dotty subjects who braved the rain yesterday are on the invite list.” Also note there is to be a concert lasting about three hours, I might just watch some of that, I’ll see. 11.45: Did pay brief visit to BBC 1 and the concert – and brief it was – a couple of minutes of Elton John was enough to convince it wasn’t for me. Another day about gone, but what of it? Tuesday June 5th Well, it’s over and I’ll not be seeing another – but what of that as well? My contribution to this Jubilee project has been as I had expected it would be, not amounting to much, but how then could it have been any other way? I did not expect to be invited to any parties or to join in any other form of celebration; from my position on the sidelines I can’t say that at any time have I sensed elation or any desire to wave a flag. Any feelings that way have been long lost in the betrayal of this country by successive governments since the war.