The Queen
(Editor’s note: First published March 2008 when I was based in London as Ketchum’s European CEO)
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Have you ever seen a ballroom full of nervous grown men and women? I’m talking handwringing, sweat-on-the-upper lip, need to hold a champagne flute with both hands kind of nervous. Over the pending arrival of an 80 year-old woman?
Neither had I. But that was the scene one evening in St. James’s Palace a few months ago. The occasion was the conclusion of the “Full Stop” campaign, a fundraiser for the UK’s National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Her Majesty The Queen and her husband (and “consort”), Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh made a personal appearance to thank the many businesses and individuals who contributed to its success. Ketchum was one of the pro bono contributors, and I was the lucky representative.
With 10 minutes to go (and counting) before the Royal greeting, there was a flurry of pointed questions – and an alarming scarcity of answers. “How does one address a Duke?” Is it “Your Royal Highness? Or Your Majesty?” The senior-most among our jittery group declared that “Sir” was a generally safe bet, so we all nodded our heads in collective, solemn and silent agreement. Then we all looked at our feet.
With 30 seconds to go, voices went up an octave or two as we all did the two-step fidget. Does one extend one’s hand to the Queen? Women curtsy, but do men bow? From the waist? Or just the shoulders? What – what? As we all contemplated and visualized the scene (both the acceptable and the unthinkable – why am I thinking about the High Five at a time like this?), the doors swung open and there they were. Just like the movie. Only I’d say The Queen looked even better than Helen Mirren.
And Prince Philip. What to say, except I’ll never again think of John Wayne as “The Duke.” He asked me what I did for a living. (He didn’t appear to understand my chosen profession any better than my parents.) He laughed uproariously at the fact that we were all standing around with nothing better to do than to stand around and small talk with him. So we all laughed uproariously at ourselves, too. And he looked fantastic – I wish I looked that good now. (He’ll soon be 87, someone told me.) As each of us were introduced to Queen Elizabeth II, she smiled and nodded while clutching her matching blue purse with both hands.
After 5 minutes of well-choreographed chit-chat, they were both gone. Off to meet another ballroom full of nervous, fidgety, giggly, middle-aged adults.
“What’s great about the Royals,” one very proud Englishman told me later, “is that they convey a sense of national continuity. We elect a new Prime Minister, of course, and you Americans have your presidential elections, but there’s nothing like a Royal family to draw out the pride we all have. It’s all bottled up. We don’t know how to express it and, occasionally, we let it spill out. But we don’t like to admit it.”