SRW photo
The individual in the first pew, the one closest to the alter, sat alone. The tiny figure was completely dressed in black: suit, shoes, purse, gloves, mask and trademark fashionable hat. Only the Order of service was white. Sometimes the program was visible in flashes, like a burst of sunlight, but mostly the overhead camera rendered the solitary presence a pool of dark sorrow, grief and aching aloneness.
For 73 years the public around the world has seen Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II with her husband, her consort, His Royal Highness, The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. On this day, as her image was broadcast around the globe, Her Majesty was more than a Queen. She was a woman saying goodbye to her husband, and she seemed to become representative of all people in the world who were grieving and in sorrow. This past year in particular there have been a lot of us.
Prince Philip’s funeral was broadcast on the CBC. I am not necessarily a devotee of pomp and circumstance, but wanted to watch, having met His Royal Highness on two occasions. My husband was the CEO of Woodbine Entertainment, formerly known as the Ontario Jockey Club. In 1860, Queen Victoria began the tradition of providing 50 guineas to the winner of the historic race. Each year a representative of the Crown attends the Queen’s Plate. Typically, the Governor General or the Lieutenant Governor fills in for Her Majesty, who has attended four editions of the race, two while my husband was CEO. It was a big deal.
The amount of planning and protocol that goes into an appearance of this sort is overwhelming and begins more than a year in advance. Her people having thousands of conversations with our people results in a tightly scripted itinerary of the day. My husband’s job was to squire around Her Majesty, and mine was to accompany His Royal Highness Prince Philip.
His reputation preceded him as being outspoken, and he had been accused by British Press of being prone to “gaffes.” He certainly was an iconoclast who pushed traditions into modern times.
On Queen’s Plate Day, it is custom at Woodbine for Directors to wear morning suit and top hat as gentlemen do at Royal Ascot, England’s premier racing event. His Royal Highness wanted nothing to do with formal dress, wanting instead to wear a suit and fedora, and wanted the Directors to do the same. The Directors were not happy about this choice. Management had worked hard over the years to build the brand of the Plate as a day of dressing up and hats—the Kentucky Derby only more stylish. His Royal Highness would not budge. A compromise was reached: Prince Philip would wear whatever he wanted, but the Directors would wear morning suits, while ladies wore dresses that covered their arms, and hats. There would be lots of hats.
On the day when I was on duty, the last thing I was thinking of were suits and dresses. With our itinerary in my gloved hand, his royal Highness at my side, the two of us marched into the overcrowded walking ring at Woodbine. Everyone trying nonchalantly to get as close to Royalty as possible. The Queen, wearing a beautiful aqua blue suit and hat (this will become important later) had her agenda and David was dutifully guiding Her Majesty through it. He was expected to hit all the carefully arranged marks.
Prince Philip had other ideas. His Royal Highness was a keen driver of horses and carriages and loved to race them competitively. The sport of carriage driving is England’s version of the Calgary Stampede with more twists and turns—and water. The sport involves handling a carriage and four horses galloping at full speed around courses designed to test both the driver and the horses. More than once the Prince’s carriage pitched over, the result of a difficult turn.
The Prince had particular problems on courses designed by Robert Black, well known in England, and affectionately named Calamity Bob Black by His Royal Highness. Calamity Bob’s son is Ian Black, a trainer at Woodbine, and long-time manager at our farm, Kinghaven Farms. Prince Philip wanted to find Ian and speak with him. I was able to lead His Royal Highness directly to Ian and his wife Janet. They conversed for quite a while. In the meantime, Her Majesty and David had gone a significant distance away and were just barely visible on the far side of a jammed walking ring.
I was flustered, looked up at Prince Philip and said, “I apologize Sir, it appears that we have gotten way off course.” He smiled and said, “Oh don’t worry. Just follow the blue hat.” Which we did.
Michael Burns Photography
Prince Philip planned every detail of his funeral, right down to the red-topped jar for sugar cubes placed on the seat of his favourite carriage drawn by his Fell Ponies—Balmoral Nevis and Notlaw Storm. The order of the day was a tribute to his involvement in all divisions of the military in England. At the time of his death, Prince Philip was Admiral of the Fleet, Field Marshal, Marshal of the Royal Air Force, Captain General of Royal Marines, among others. Expected attendance in St. George’s Chapel had been 800 but because of COVID-19, was limited to the immediate family, and of course the hundreds of military personnel marching in bands and in formation, firing arms and cannons on the commons outside of Windsor Castle.
In spite of the display, the funeral was somber in an unexpected way, especially once the Royal family entered St. George’s Chapel. Suddenly this very private occasion became much more inclusive. It became a symbol for all funerals that had not been allowed over the past year; for all loved ones that had died alone surrounded by nurses doing their best to provide some small morsel of comfort; for grieving families who wanted so much to be at the bedside of their father, mother, sister, brother, wife, or husband, but could only stand on the grass outside the hospital or nursing home and weep. Souls watching screens all over the globe could project onto this moment of grief, sit virtually in the pew beside the solitary woman, and in their own way commemorate and honour their personal loss as well as hers.
Prince Philip’s coffin was slowly lowered into the Royal Vault. The stooped figure in black rose and walked out of the chapel behind the archbishop. The grieving woman disappeared into the darkness of the side entrance. Eventually she would once again assume the mantle of royalty and duty in a public way. Her Majesty would march on in her life.
Just as we will travel on in ours.