The Royal Treatment

I flew to Ireland the day Queen Elizabeth died. It goes without saying that the Irish aren't universally grieving. The long relationship between Ireland and the Brits is complex and plenty fraught. The Shamrock Rovers fans (and a few other football crowds with similar displays) aside - on the night QEII died, they chanted "Lizzie's in a Box" at a soccer match in Dublin - I'd say that the average citizen of the Republic had at least a modest degree of respect for Elizabeth, if not much Capital-A affection. She was old. Really old. She was plucky. She was a gamer. She loved corgis. 

Having greeted incoming PM Liz Truss two days before she died, you can sure say she almost died with her pumps on.

So, there's plenty there to like/admire. (Not perfect, mind you: Not allowing her sister to marry a divorced man. Not allowing Charles to marry the woman he loved (that would be Camilla). Forcing everyone's hand on Charles' marriage to Diana. The overall treatment off that poor girl.)

Plus the Irish love a good tabloid gossip as much as their cousins across the Irish Sea do. And if there's one thing the British royals are, they're fabulous contributors to tabloid gossip. 

Not The Queen, mind you, but a lot of her kids and grandkids manage to punch well above their tabloid fodder weight. 

As I said, the relationship between Ireland and England/Great Britain/the UK (pick one) is complex.

Given that for the better part of two centuries, Ireland's biggest export was its people, there are a ton of folks of Irish descent living in the UK. (It's estimated that 10% of the UK's population has at least one Irish grandparent.)

But the Brits also spent centuries brutalizing the Irish, stealing their land, exploiting their labor, starving them outright, refusing them an education, suppressing their religion and language. (Admittedly, turning the Irish into English speakers turned out to be a good thing, especially for the millions of Irish spilling into the English-speaking diaspora.)

So, football fans chanting "Lizzie in a Box" isn't all that much of a surprise. And it's safe to say that, when it comes to the royals and the Irish, there's little love lost. 

(I was in a pub in Ireland shortly after Princess Di died. Elton John's tribute song, "Goodbye English Rose/Candle in the Wind" came on the radio. The bartender rolled his eyes and snapped the radio off.)

For the British, of course, the death of their queen is another story entirely. 

Still, the national paroxysm of grief has been something to observe. And being in Ireland for a week, we did get to observe it via the obsessional coverage on BBC TV. (BBC TV was quickly dubbed "Mourn Hub" by media wags.)

It's difficult for this American to fully understand the impact of the monarchy on the British people, how interwoven it is to their identity. Even the younger people who, in survey after survey, indicate they want to jettison the royals and become a normal republic, are out in the streets moaning that they feel like they've lost their own granny. 

People - even rich and famous ones like David Beckham - are standing in a five mile line for up to 20+ hours (I think Beckham waited 14 hours) so they can walk by the queen's draped coffin,

I can see myself trying to watch the hearse pass by. But poking along, in the dark and the cold, for 20 hours? Ummmm, no.

But I guess for the Brits it's all wound up with history and tradition, combined with the more modern impulse for over-the-top public displays of emotion. Diana's death ripped the lid of whatever container contained the Brits' famous stiff upper lip, and it apparently never got put back on. 

Then there's the other impulse for every event to have to be a scene where you need to see and be seen. (Personally, I liked the Boston Marathon when it wasn't a big deal that closed the city down, where you could walk up to the finish line at the last moment, and pop into the Elliot Lounge for a beer and see Bill Rodgers there wearing his laurel wreath.)

It'll be interesting to see if the British monarchy continues to survive.

The Queen was such a special case...And the fact that she's directly tied to what was pretty much the last of British greatness (i.e., World War II, when then Princess Elizabeth served her country in uniform).

I'm guessing that some of the nations that make up the British Commonwealth - the agglomeration of countries that were once part of the mighty and ubiquitous (and racist and violent and exploitive) British Empire - will want out. 

I'm also guessing that there'll be pressure on to stop funding the royal family to quite the tune they are now, which is nearly $120M, even though the key royals are billionaires, thanks to all the property they've scooped up over the years.

Charles is not his mother. If nothing else, she was the Queen of Aplomb - a living, breathing instance of "Keep Calm and Carry On." Charles is something of a wanker. Someone squeezes his toothpaste for him. Someone irons his shoelaces. His idea of a love letter was telling Camilla he wanted to be her tampon. 

The Brits will no doubt cut him some slack, but in the age of social media, every little petulant fit he throws - as when, the other day, he imperiously motioned to some lackey to move an inkpot out of his way - will be magnified. 

It's painful to watch him. He always seems so pained.

But it'll be interesting. 

I'm just happy to be on this side of the pond, where our dynasties don't seem to last forever. 

Remember the Kennedys? Fuggedaboutit! Joe Kennedy the Whatever couldn't win the Democratic primary for senator in Massachusetts in 2020. And in Texas, George Bush the Whatever, even though he pretzeled himself into a Trumpist, couldn't win the primary for AG last spring.

Today's Her Majesty's funeral, and, if the spirit moves me, I will get up and watch some of the event on TV. To give myself a bit of the royal treatment, I even bought a scone for the occasion. The tea I'm drinking, however, will be Irish. There's royal treatment and then there's royal treatment.