Almost a breed apart, the Royals, what with their divine right, their big palaces, their huge swathes of land, their savage Corgis etc etc (Excuse my somewhat tongue-in-cheek swipe at the Windsors.)
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| HRH Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother |
I wrote this poem about our lovely Queen Mother (as was) as part of the Visitors In Verse project about famous guests who have stayed at Blackpool's beautiful Imperial (Hydropathic) Hotel.
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| Imperial Hydropathic Hotel, Blackpool |
Royal Descent
Another
world war hardly won,
an
empire crumbling in the sun,
the
King is dead,
long
live the Queen;
a
new Elizabethan age begun,
a
step down for her gracious mum.
While
winds of change
touch
foreign shores,
on
Blackpool’s strand
in
face of time and tide,
we
loyal subjects still enjoy
our
ices and our donkey-rides
or
thrill upon the Pleasure Beach,
tomorrow
safely out of reach.
The
dowager Queen ventures forth
to
this bright jewel of the north
and
it augurs well
for
the Imperial Hydropathic Hotel
that
Her Majesty,
escorted
up by Mr White,
will
repose stately for the night
in
its famous Royal Suite,
freshly
decked in honour of her stay.
Only,
progress is delayed
much
to the Manager’s dismay
when
his lift grinds to untimely halt
between
the floors.
After
a brief but furious flurry of activity,
malfunction
remedied,
and
with his profuse apologies,
Her
Majesty continues on to bed.
At
the appointed hour the following day
Jack
White attends his special guest.
As
she emerges from her rest,
this
last Empress of India
and
‘most dangerous woman in Europe’,
mindful
of the previous evening’s slight delay,
advises
him demurely with a smile:
“I
think I’ll walk down, Mr White.”
He
bows, acceding to her royal wish
and
stealthy feels his neck,
hardly
daring to reflect
on
the price he might have paid
in
a less forgiving age
for
a grain of Blackpool sand in the machine.
Thanks for reading. Have a good week. S :-)
11 comments:
Very enjoyable and good to see you back on form, Steve.
Love your poem.
I knew Jack White and he would often tell that story.
A fascinating blog, Steve. I like the nervous twist at the end of your poem.
Well observed and witty that, thank you :-)
What a beautifully constructed poem. I particularly like that second verse.
My grandmother was invited to have tea with her but alas I think the invite is now lost. It is a long time ago and I think the event took place in the Town Hall.
Good poem/story.
Steve, this was a delight to read. Is it published anywhere? I would love a copy.
It was 1956. I was working at the publicity department.
I've only just found this. What a fascinating blog and well-crafted, witty poem.
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