In theory, give or take a few centuries, I should have been sent to the Tower of London for the mistake I once committed in the presence of the soon-to-be-crowned King Charles III.
As a young reporter for the Press Association in London, my news editor had forgotten to task anyone to attend an official event at Asprey, the famous royal-warranted jewellers in Mayfair. “Get there now!” he shrieked in panic.
After a stressful ride in a black taxi cab, I then ran through heavy rain, making it through the door just in front of the arrival of the then Prince of Wales and his security team.
A media badge was slapped on my soaked jacket and I quickly took my place in a group of what I presumed to be fellow royal rota reporters.
I turned to my right and a suited Charles was suddenly walking towards me with his hand outstretched. I wasn’t in the media pen as it turned out, I was in the official line-up.
There was no time to escape, but enough time for a shallow and jittery curtsey, my bedraggled hair dripping down my back.
“Lovely to meet you,” he said with a wry smile, glancing at my badge and clearly clocking the farcical error.
“And you,” I said smiling, trying to gain my composure.
He then chuckled and moved on along the line, warmly chatting to artist friends who had accompanied him on a water-colour painting trip. He was just shy of 50 years old. Princess Diana had died just over a year before. His popularity at that point was rocky, to say the least.
From that day onwards, whenever I saw him at events, he was always jovial, kind, funny and adept at putting people at ease, even if they were reduced to gibbering jellies in the presence of royal company. It has been observed by many that he has the ability of making people feel seen and understood, and for a brief moment important and valued.
Just a fellow human being
Seeing him, the most famous person I’d ever met in the flesh at such a young age, was a good lesson; he was just a fellow human being with human frailties.
An individual with immense privilege and global status of course, but I struggled to compute that all the headlines and hysteria over his personal life, that I’d read during my upbringing in England, was related to the same man.
It was all noise, let alone humiliation, when you consider the “Camillagate tapes” and the rest.
Humiliation the 74-year-old has had to survive and cope with his entire life, again and again, becoming a real-life caricature for books, TV and films, served on a silver platter for the entire world to gaze upon, laugh at and judge.
Runaway royal Prince Harry made the indiscreet point in his infamous Oprah interview last year that was harsh but true; he described his father, and brother William, as “trapped”.
And they are.
They are the heirs, not the lucky spare who was able turn away from the gilded cage of royal life and flee to the mean streets of Montecito, to mix with billionaire neighbours instead of cutting ribbons at hospitals.
The new King never had that choice, not one he’d ever take anyway, such is his personal commitment to duty, his late mother, faith and the Commonwealth. Where could he ever escape to where nobody could hear him scream?
Outdated?
Is the whole monarchy outdated and should Australia become a republic? Maybe yes, hence why this Saturday will be a hugely contrary and complex scene to witness for millions, and for many uncomfortably so.
I don’t disagree with many of the arguments why the institution is increasingly irreverent to Australia, with its shameful links to the colonial atrocities that decimated the lives and culture of First Nations people.
The time for another referendum is surely due, unless Anthony Albanese has a change of heart while sitting in his first-class seat in Westminster Abbey on Saturday.
But should one feel ashamed to be looking forward to the coronation itself?
I don’t think so. Life isn’t black and white. Indeed, on Saturday it will be magnificently gold – carriages, orbs and cloths included. It’s all going to shine so brightly it will be hard to look away.
As a golden cloth is placed over the monarch’s head for the anointing of consecrated oil in the form of a cross on his hands, head and heart it will also be a highly personal symbol of survival in my view.
As St Edward’s Crown is then reverently placed on his head and the guests cry three times in the abbey, “God Save the King”, it will be his Everest moment, having gasped for oxygen en route to the summit, with others in his family such as Prince Andrew having fallen off the mountain in disgrace.
This is what makes watching the coronation so compelling; the beginning of the end of a never-ending chapter book complete with the soundtrack of choirs, church bells and gun salutes.
Sentimental element
And yes, there is a sentimental element at stake here too; a coronation with its elaborate rituals embedded in the past is a tangible, emotional bridge to our own childhoods and memories – reminding many of us of our late relatives who would have witnessed and celebrated the Queen’s coronation in June 1953.
A bridge that stretches more than 1000 years, across tumultuous social, geographical and political change since King Edgar’s coronation at Bath Abbey in 973AD.
It’s important to note that contrary to media headlines, nobody is obliged to swear allegiance to the King during the coronation ceremony.
“In church services it’s very normal that congregations are asked to respond, bog standard every day,” said Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in an interview with Sky News UK this week.
“You find it all in all services and this is simply extending the hospitality of that.
“And not everyone answers. They are not being told to, they are being invited to. Join in if you want. If you don’t want that’s fine.”
The archbishop also revealed that the ceremony, while deeply Christian, will aim to reflect all faiths and the diversity of a nation and world that has changed so profoundly since the late Queen was crowned.
“It’s a moment that says we are going to draw on our tradition, reflect the country as it is now. We are going to look forward with hope and draw people together,” the archbishop said.
Like many of the one million homesick British expats living in Australia, I will be watching with my friends and tweens on Saturday evening.
And if my children want to swear allegiance to the new sovereign when the time comes during the broadcast, well, I’ll leave that to them. One day they may get to cast their own vote on the matter.
For now, my only advice will be to avoid standing in official royal line-ups, unless invited.
Lucie Morris-Marr is a Walkley-winning freelance investigative journalist and author
