No going back

Freedom is never voluntarily given by
the oppressor; it must be demanded
by the oppressed. 
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

I walked with the rest of them, down the path, away from the river. It was over. I had whiled away the morning waiting for the Queen of England. I hadn’t meant to. I wouldn’t call myself a royalist and I am definitely not British. I just happened to stumble across the festivities.

I can hear you laugh.  Yes, there were road closures. Yes, I had seen it advertised. It wasn’t as if I was living in a black hole. I had chosen to ignore it all. It was what I did best.

That Sunday morning when Tomasz drove his fist into my stomach, I ran. Out on to the street. I took the tube as far Central as it would take me. I managed to get out at Blackfriars and then unexpectedly I was caught up in this mass of people – all gathered to see the Queen. I tried to hide from myself in the crowd and watched the boats pass by. I saw couples holding hands and happy families celebrating together. I wanted a family too except I had none; an orphan child with an abusive lover.

I should have been angry. I should have been upset. But I wasn’t. Somehow here I was, caught in the celebration enjoying it for what it was. I realised then that it was the first time I had smiled in ages. The smile made me feel something inside - deep within. It was then that I decided I wanted to be free - I wasn’t going back. 

Liquid History

Water is the driving force of all nature.
~ Leonard da Vinci

A life source on its own - I look with admiration at the water that flows against the mossy green embankment. The crowd pushes gently but I stand my ground. A lady dressed head to toe in red, white and blue spills beer on her half eaten pork pie. But she does not mind; she continues to munch on the pastry and ground meat.  There is chatter all around me, excitement, boredom, anticipation. When will the flotilla arrive? I look at my watch – it is only two. I know we have at least another two hours to wait, the Queen is still to get on to her boat at Battersea.

Others are with family and friends - I am on my own. I don’t mind. The river is my company. I search the waters surface but I see nothing. No roach, no bream, no perch yet I know it carries more than this.  I envision the deep, below the murky depths: eels playing with plastic bags. 

The two hours feel like days, finally my watch tells me it’s almost four o’clock. Suddenly a trout jumps into the air as if it knows. The crowd cheers and I smile.  Any minute now the Queen on her Royal Barge will pass along this part of the river; sailing over 346 kilometres of Liquid History. 

Proud to be British

However British you may be, I am more British still.
~ Henry Thomas

We caught the ferry the night before and arrived in good time. Marcus wanted to camp outside. I said to him it was never going to happen, not in this weather.

We slept on the floor of Simon’s apartment that night. Four of us on the hard wood floor, up until two in the morning, drinking Jack and reminiscing about our university days. At eleven the next morning, we arrived at Embankment.

As we stepped off the bus the rain started. “A typical bank holiday then,” Ciara said and I shrugged.

It was impossible to get a good view of the Thames. I cursed Simon for not booking a riverboat. But looking around me, I knew that we were not the only ones who couldn’t see and that made me feel better. We walked from Embankment past the Strand and Somerset House down to Blackfriars. I envied the crowds standing on riverside apartment balconies, overlooking the Thames. I envied those dining in the Oxo Tower.

At noon, with still no place to stand, we found somewhere for lunch. Just a burger joint. But they gave us hats like crowns and free cups of hot tea. The Jubilee spirit was in the air, everywhere around us. As we headed back towards the river we could see that the crowd had swelled. The atmosphere was electric. We were pretty far off when the Spirit of Chartwell carrying its royal guests passed us by. We were cold and we were wet but we were proud to be British. 

King for a day

He wanted to be King. I frowned.

“There is no harm in a five  year old wearing a red velvet cape and a gold paper crown from Burger King is there?” my mother said.

“I suppose not.” I conceded. I pursed my lips looking at the joyous child.

“We are going to see the Queen, mummy. And I am going to be King.”

I raised my eyebrows.

All happiness unto my lord the King!
~ William Shakespeare

Josh stuck out his bottom lip.

I knew it was going to be cold and wet. I didn’t really want him with me. Yes it was a once in a life time experience, but one I doubted Josh would remember.  He would just get tired and cranky. He would slow me down.

In that moment I pined for his father. It would have been different if we could have gone as a family; if Mark was there to help me.

“You know Josh…” I started in my sweetest voice. My mother shot me a look.

“Okay you can come as a king.” I said and then he gave me that irresistible smile.

The Sunday came quicker than a flash. Together, we walked down the Strand, and in that crowd, without Mark, I was glad of his company.

Then as the rain started to fall, I held out my umbrella for Josh. After all he was King. 

About the photo: This photo was taken below Tower Bridge, at the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Celebrations on a soggy Sunday afternoon.