A royal garden party
Posted: Tuesday, July 31, 2007 2:17 PM
Filed Under:
London, England
By Michele Neubert, NBC News Producer
Just 36 hours after touching down back in gray, rainy London after my assignment to a parched Iraq during the height of the sweltering summer heat there, I stood outside the gates of Buckingham Palace.
Dressed in a red and white polka-dot summer dress, red straw hat and matching handbag, I was part of a long queue of even more dressed up mostly Brits lucky enough to be among the thousands who for several days each summer are invited to mingle with royalty on the verdant lawns of Buck house at one of her Majesty’s Garden Parties.
I was thrilled when I got the news just before leaving Baghdad that my name, along with several others, had been picked in a drawing by the Association of American Correspondents in London – an organization which is given a certain number of tickets a year for the event by the palace. Most of the invites are sent out by the Lord Chamberlain and are by nomination only.
I excitedly plotted with friends on the phone and via e-mail about what to wear, (the dress code for women being "afternoon dress with hat," while men were advised to wear "morning dress, lounge suits or uniforms." I'd managed to grab a hat on sale at the Jordan airport and had figured out the perfect shoes.
Yet suddenly, the transition to this dramatically different world – which I'd jumped at as a welcome antidote to Iraq – was proving somewhat overwhelming.
Feeling a bit silly and very much alone in what seemed line an endless sea of couples – my invite, as a working journalist, was strictly solo – I was already wondering if this was such a good idea. What's more, it looked like rain.
‘Safe’ in the comfort of old England
"Please have your passport and proof of address along with your invitation ready for the security check," said a distinguished looking policeman working the lines of expectant guests. "But most importantly, a smile," he laughed.
Then, a few minutes later, another policeman came running after me, apologizing that because my bag was larger than usual (thanks to the must-have British accessory – an umbrella), he'd have to give it a special check and sticker. "And maybe you can slip a bottle of wine in there on your way out," he joked, looking at my oversized handbag.
After the rigorous and sometimes rough security checks that became routine amid the dangers of Baghdad, I was caught off-guard. The gentle kindness reminded me that, for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.
London, and the royals, might be a prime (if different) terror target. But at that moment, I felt safe in the hands of old England – complete with ladies in hats and afternoon tea served at 4 p.m.
A glimpse of the royals
Settling into this new, unfamiliar world, I was relieved to meet up with another solo journalist from a Dutch newspaper. We got down to the task of reading the program: Queen Elizabeth II, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Earl and Countess of Wessex (that's Edward and Sophie), the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and the Prince and Princess Michael of Kent would all be attending.
We tried to recall who was doing what these days. London-based journalists are supposed to know that information by heart, but we were pretty rusty. Didn't the Queen's son Edward have an unsuccessful business venture? And how many children did his wife, Sophie, have? Princess Michael of Kent, who is quite the looker and the main target for lesser royalty sleaze, would surely make for light-hearted people watching, we enthused.
My new Dutch pal was hoping that the day's headlines in the London Evening Standard, "Camilla doesn't want to be Queen," might prove to be a story and was on the lookout for British color.
But I was more worried about how to address the queen should I encounter her. "You don't have to curtsy if you don't feel like it," explained a republic-loving friend who moves in these circles. "But make sure you don't address her first. She has to address you and you call her ‘Ma’am’ - but it’s pronounced more like ‘Mom.’"
Her Majesty's Garden Party at Buckingham Palace, as it’s called, kicked off with the playing of the national anthem to herald the arrival of the queen. And after a tiny peek of her majesty (head to toe in peach) and the Duke of Edinburgh as they descended toward the lawns, that at least for us, was pretty much our only glimpse of royalty.
According to the program, the queen, the Duke of Edinburgh and the other royals "each take a different route and random presentations are made so that everyone has an equal chance" to meet and greet them. But in retrospect, I think you need to be strategically placed or have an event producer on call if you hope to see anything other than the backs of elaborate hats. The only other time we caught a glimpse of Her Majesty, she was enjoying tea with selected guests in the Royal Tea tent, cordoned off from the rest of us.
Tea was the mainstay of the day for the approximately 8,000 invited guests. Apparently approximately 27,000 cups were served, along with 20,000 dainty sandwiches and 20,000 bite-size, but delicious, pieces of cake for the many British faithful who patiently waited for their turn.
"This isn't really what I'd call a party," my Dutch newspaper pal quipped. "To start with it doesn't have that very British pre-requisite to breaking the ice – alcohol," she observed. It was hard not to agree, but most of the people around me didn’t seem to need any extra intoxication.
A sense of pride
An invite to the event, a royal seal of approval and thanks, was more than enough to sustain many of the guests – from the old ladies in wheelchairs, to the proud ambulance drivers, to the charity workers, the shy school teachers and the dignified local government officials adorned with their gold chain of office. Never mind the jaunty uniforms of the handsome army officers and their glamorous wives that suggested combat zones more reminiscent of Hollywood than Iraq or Afghanistan.
There was a pride in the faces of many of the chosen guests, which for a war-weary, cynical journalist attending by default, was quite humbling.
With no cameras allowed in due to security reasons, I don't have much to document the day.
So, I've decided to order the palace-produced video of the event, if only to remind myself that I was really there – in that part of England where tradition, manners and a sense of pride in serving the nation still matter. A place, which for those few hours, seemed a million light years away, not only from the darkness of Iraq, but from the harsh reality of modern-day England.
