Only once did I curtsy before her, but this republican grieves the Queen

It’s a strange thing to feel true grief about the death of someone you do not know but I – born in the Republic of Italy, raised in Australia and republican in spirit – felt viscerally the moment of the Queen’s demise.

On Thursday afternoon, as the full, ominous import of the Palace’s “doctors are concerned” statement sank in and the BBC suspended normal programming, the entire nation seemed to be holding its breath in a mix of disbelief and raw sadness.

The Queen was impressed by the corgi-in-a-crown outfit worn by Kathy Lette during a royal reception for Australians living in the UK in 2011.Credit: PA/Getty

Tiny, fragile, and yet smiling and seemingly in good spirits, the Queen had been seen on the country’s TV screens just 48 hours earlier as she invited Liz Truss, the 15th prime minister of her reign, to form a government.

At 6.30pm, when the unfathomable and yet inevitable announcement had to be made formally to the nation, the BBC’s unflappable Huw Edwards breathed deeply and paused, as if in doubt, before swallowing the lump in his throat.

When I landed in London 14 years ago to become this newspaper’s Europe correspondent, I decided quickly that republican personal beliefs should not be allowed to colour my observations of my adopted home. To truly understand and report the UK, I felt the need to be open-minded enough to view and examine the monarchy in the context of a societal and political system in place for a thousand years.

The British monarchy has outlasted most of its European counterparts and this Queen, thrust onto the throne aged just 25, has spent almost 70 years bridging past and present while enjoying huge support and favourability ratings of 75 per cent and more.

I seem to remember that it was Neville Wran, some 30 years ago now, who first warned that the Queen was the republican movement’s biggest problem because “everybody loves her”.

I have also long felt that the sense of continuity and the long thread of history is more palpable in Great Britain than many other European nations, Italy and France included. Its palaces and great estates are not mere shells or museums but are lived in, animated and, whether you like it or not, the millions of tourists who pour through London, peer through Buckingham Palace gates, walk past St James Palace or Kensington House, do so because there’s the slightest chance they will see a living royal.

Tourism is one of the UK’s fastest-growing sectors, predicted to be worth £257 billion ($436 billion) by 2025 and, let’s face it, the capital’s great palaces are enormous drawcards. Would they be as interesting without their residents?

Over the years, luck, accident and a pinch of journalistic tenacity allowed me to observe this antiquated, absurd and yet unfailingly fascinating institution more closely than I could ever have expected. In October 2011, I was among a number of Australians invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen and will never forget waiting nervously in line to curtsy behind novelist Kathy Lette, who had chosen to wear a suit emblazoned with corgis – much to the Duke of Edinburgh’s amusement.

I later met Prince Charles when he gave the keynote address about the environment for the Foreign Press Association at media awards in London. And I found myself the only Australian journalist, sitting in Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey, to report the marriage of William and Kate.

However, the strangest and most unexpected moment was during my first shift as a volunteer vaccinator with St John’s Ambulance at a COVID clinic in Westminster when Prince William and Kate arrived to offer encouragement and mark a minute’s silence 12 months into the pandemic.

Chatting with a future King of England who had yet to receive his vaccine, as his age group had not yet been called up, was probably one of the most surreal moments of my life.

Over the years, I have also attended many Operation London Bridge briefings, the codename for the plethora of secret protocols assigned to the military, police, media, transport services and royal parks, set in place since the 1960s in case of the monarch’s death. (The phrase “London Bridge is Down” was to be used to communicate the death of the Queen to the prime minister and key staff to set the plan in motion.)

Britain has been through a period of inordinate political and societal upheaval – the horrors of COVID, more than 205,000 deaths, a national health system on its knees, an economy pounded by Brexit, and all this exacerbated under a prime minister disgraced and finally ousted after months of lies, scandal, impropriety and ignominy.

For many, Queen Elizabeth – the woman herself, not the monarchy – seemed to be the last British institution that hadn’t fallen apart, riven by mistrust and disregard. The reality is that nobody, republican or monarchist, felt remotely ready for her loss.

Paola Totaro is the former Europe correspondent for The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age.

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