Tea and Scones

My opinions of the British Monarchy come courtesy of the Sex Pistols.

It was 1977, Axtell Park Junior High, Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The upper classes in journalism cranked out a regular mimeographed newsletter - I forget the name of it - and tossed copies into a wooden rack in the library. So us poor schlubs stuck there 7th period have something to read. Thanks.

I only remember one article. It was on punk rock. It described in horror how angry British kids had taken over record companies and starting cranking out violent, f-bomb-laden songs.

These groups did not know how to play their instruments, but ... get this ... they didn't care!

In hindsight, it was funny how disparaging the article was. It didn't occur to these budding journalists that these soulmates across the pond - youths growing up in a changing, stagflated economy with diminishing hopes of good jobs - were just like them. They were angry, just like every kid is angry. I would've thought they'd be more sympathetic, or at least more curious, about this new, exciting brand of music.

I have my suspicions that the adults wrote the article. Or at least dictated it.

Anyway, there was no way I could verify this article. There was very little hope of scoring a Sex Pistols album in the only record outlet in Sioux Falls - Musicland at the Western Mall.

Fortunately a few years later, my family moved to the comparatively progressive city of Lincoln, Nebraska. And the Sex Pistols were all over the place. All of my compatriots had worshipped at the punk altar, and my friend Susan let me borrow Never Mind the Bollocks. I played it ... very, very softly in the record player in my room, so as not to draw the ire of my parents.

I learned of the Queen. Her fascist regime. She ain't no human bein'.

It was a revelation!

The Symbol

I had my suspicions about the monarchy. Fairy Tales dropped hints of Kings that would tax people until they starved, and send off scores of men to fight in pointless wars. The Queens would find some poor virtuous and beautiful girl, then torture them or put them to sleep in a petty misuse of power. Royalty were the original narcissists, back before that word was in vogue.

They perpetuated unfairness. And to this 12 year old, who was was just becoming aware of the world's unfairness, no sin could be more offensive. It is not fair that, through the accident of lineage, you get a big mansion and a wait staff and your peers do not.

If you're royalty, you get a big ass yacht called the Royal Britannia.

I was staring at it right now, some 45 years after the Sex Pistols. And yeah, I felt a little righteous indignation percolate up.

Human beings demand symbols, and that the royalty is a symbol of steadfastness, of tradition, of keeping a boat on course through the choppy waves of fickle human history. That's why the recent Coronation Ceremony of King Charles III drew millions and millions of viewers. Like it or not, it was a moment that English citizens could share and have an opinion on.

I'm no different. I demand a symbol for unearned privilege, so I can whack at it like a pinata.

Except for one thing. People are not symbols.

This has been a slow lesson for me to learn. It goescontrary to the human brain, which is forever trying to simplify the messiness of people through pattern recognition. In its ugliest form, pattern recognition manifests itself as bigotry and intolerance. But even the most justifiable simplifications, like the Sex Pistols' "God Save The Queen", are untrue by definition. Like a Procrustean Bed, they left some of the crucial details on the floor.

The Royal Britannia is the boat that the Queen gave up. Supposedly it was costing too much taxpayer money. If royalty is a symbol of privilege, if millions of Brits are willing to shell out millions of pounds for Coronation Souvenir Plates, surely they would pay for this monstrosity of a boat, as they have similar vessels over the last 200 years or so. How could she do this?

Because the Queen was a messy human being. She once said, "Britannia is the one place where I can truly relax." To find that kind of solace somewhere and give it up ... that sounds admirable. Maybe she just was just guilted out of it. I don't know.

Welp. Here I was standing on the deck of a ship that I could never, ever have been invited on just 30 years prior. I had not earned my place on it.

But it's not fair either.

Why am I here, and people that I loved and cared for, who would've loved strolling around on the deck taking in the sea ... are not?

If the Queen will cut me some slack, I will do the same.

What We Know

So what did I learn on the Royal Britannia? When was it built? How large was it? How much did it cost to run? How many people could the state dinner seat?

Beats me. I wasn't paying attention. As usual, I learned stuff in this floating museum ... but all the wrong stuff. For instance:

The Queen Played Operation. I found this on the royal deck in the family room:

The Royal Britannia had a pretty elaborate sick bay where the Queen could practice the real thing too!

Legend has it she cured the King of Sweden's Lumbago here.

The Queen Allowed, even Condoned, the Torture of Stuffed Animals. The crew of the Royal Britannia had huge swaths of down time. As they waited for Queen to do the royal waving and speechmaking on shore, they amused themselves with various pastimes in the Wardroom. They would throw a furry stuffed mastodon up into the blades of the ceiling fan, then race to catch it as shot out the other end:

One day the game ended in tragedy, necessitating an emergency operation in Sick Bay:

The Queen Was Kinda OCD About Laundry

Are your kids are throwing their underwear in with their Easter Sunday suit? You're not alone:

To be fair, the crew had to change their uniforms up to 6 times a day. One had to keep this from devolving into chaos.

I think this is where the late QE and Amy had a real bonding moment. I mean look at this setup!

Afternoon Tea

In her honor, all of the clocks on the Royal Britannia are stopped at 3:02, the time HRH last stepped off the boat.

OK, I don't think any human being deserves that much respect. But I guess we will all disagree on the appropriate manner and degree of all this pomp and circumstance. Some find it infinitely comforting. Others hate it. Some, like me, find it amusing in my old age.

We are sitting on the middle deck, with the best view of the Firth of Forth, the surface of the water calm but constantly moving. I ask Amy, "If you were born into the Queenship, would you abdicate?"

"Oh no way." Amy said, definitively. "What about you?"

"Mmmm, I'd abdicate. Then abolish the monarchy," I said. "But I'd grab a box of these scones on the way out!"

Yup. They were that good.