I knew my mother for 38 years. When I was very little, I would see her face, and the world was all right. She had a silken shawl that I liked to fondle. There was a face printed on that soft and cool cloth. “That is the Queen of England”, mother told me. The Coronation shawl had prints of cathedrals and palaces and was good entertainment when I asked what all the buildings and statues were.
Norway had not had a queen since Queen Maud died before the war. After the war, Norway would not get a queen until 1991. Queen Elizabeth the second of England was the only queen of my realm until then. That Coronation shawl was how I would look to England. It was not the tales of war or racing cars, football stars or spies. It was the two faces, my mother, and the queen, floating next to each other, sometimes blending into the same.
After mother had died and I looked into her history someone said that “Your mother was born in England”. That was sensational since mother was born in Reykjavik, Iceland.
For all the right psychological reasons I see that royalty does not get any better than my queen, QE2 of England. It was always about England, never Scotland nor the northern tip of Ireland, not Wales. The UK is not fair. Now is the time for the union to become a republic, in honour of the Queen, the Commonwealth matriarch.