DEYSI, JIMBORED AND OUR ENCOUNTERS WITH THE QUEEN – 2000

Our leisure time in Scotland was spent travelling about and soaking in as many of the sights, sounds and smells as we could. For the most part, Ange accompanied us, however she was also, in the path of her mentor Ron, growing weary of our weekend travels, She was now in her mid teens, and had, far better things to do, than to spend her free hours, pretending she liked to look at her 100th castle. Deysi never got tired of touring and almost every weekend had a site picked out for us to explore. For myself, being a history buff, many of the sights we visited and things we saw, were a part of my school studies and dreams.

It might create some loud howls of protest, however much of Canadian history was based on British history. Canada, in there old days, when I attended school, was still a relatively young country. We had not, as yet, generated enough of our own history to keep the children engaged, for 12 years, studying it. This meant that after covering Canadian history in the first couple of years, we then studied British history, a smattering of European events and a little bit of the USA. Many of us could name far more, English, Scottish and American historical figures, than we could name Canadian ones. Because of this, when we arrived in Scotland, I was full of places and things, that I wanted to see.

My mother was a rabid, royalist and followed every movement made by the Royal Family and especially the Queen. In her mind the Queen set the standards for the world and she was happy to fall under her rule, even as a citizen of Canada. You dare not say anything disparaging about the monarch, in our house. If you did, you would find yourself in a major scrap with a dervish in a wheelchair. I can remember once, shortly after my return from Peru, when I, innocently, suggested that the Royal Navy needed to get their asses out of The Falklands. Geezus, almost lost my head over that one. I was afraid to eat her food for a week.

It transpired that during our weekend trips around the UK, we had occasion to cross paths with Her Royal Highness. Maybe, crossing paths, implies a little too much closeness. But at least we were in the same county as she was. My memories of these distant encounters, to this day, are more vivid than, some up close and personal memories from the past. I’m not sure whether she had heard that we were attending certain events, and that is why she attended. Or if our attendance was merely random and coincidental. I like to think she appeared, in order to catch a glimpse of a real live, Canadian hillbilly.

The first encounter was in the town of Braemar, near Balmoral Castle in early September 1999. Deysi decided we should go and because it was a sporting event, I was falling over myself with excitment. One fine Saturday morning, well it was drizzling a bit, but still fine for Scotland, we piled in the car and headed north from Edinburgh. We were pumped, but not so much Ange. She was resigned, and travelled with that look of “come on let’s just get it over with” on her face. I had heard quite a lot about Highland Games, so I expected quite a spectacle. There were probably a few thousand fans, seated in bleachers, surrounding a field with a rail circling it. We settled in for some action.

At this point, I might say I was a little disappointed by the turnout. I was expecting tens of thousands, not just a mere few thousand. However, that soon proved to be an advantage. There was not one, bad seat in the house. We sat on wood bleachers, a few meters away from the action. The ceremonies started with a huge contingent of bagpipes. I think this may have been my first time, up and personal, with the bagpipes. Geezus! What a noise they produced. It reminded me of a bag full of squalling cats, fighting over a mouse. It did not make me feel like standing up and “busting” a dance move.

After a few speeches and some welcome comments, none of which I could hear, the games began. It started very sedately with about 20 of the biggest Scots they could find. These big boys, were divided into two teams, each pulling on one end of a heavy rope, to see if they could drag the other team around the field. I think it was at this point where I told the girls that tradition says, none of the Scots wore anything under their kilts (nada, nothing). This seemed to stir a bit of interest from them, and I noticed they both leaned slightly forward in their seats. Both teams proceeded to snort, grunt and blow, until finally one of them gave up and were pulled through a mud pit in the centre.

There were all sorts of events. At one point a few big, Scottish louts, came out, grabbed onto telephone poles and tossed them about for a while. These were not the sort of guys you wanted to pick a fight with in the pub on a Friday night. Then a few more, big boys, took a chain (big enough to anchor the Queen Mary), that had a cannon ball welded to the end. This they twirled around their heads a few times and then threw it as far as they could. A few races took place, a Wrestling match or two. All of this done by men in full kilts, and NOT a DONGLE to be seen. Suddenly the crowd went quiet. The big event of the day was coming.

The screeching, howling and squawking of the bagpipes proceeded a cavalcade of black cars into the field. The crowd was hushed and then, polite, quiet, clapping broke out. The Queen had arrived. Everyone stood and sang the song. The few Brits in the crowd were loud and enthusiastic, the Scots were somewhat more subdued. Some even looked like they didn’t want to sing. You think? The Queen and her entourage, circled the field. She stopped to make a small speech and then retired to a private box, to watch the rest of the games. It was kind of magical. This legend had just appeared, circled once, gave us the Royal Wave and settled down to watch the games like the rest of us.

The day passed very pleasantly. I could not, but help to think of my mom. She would have fluttered into a faint, if she only knew, that her boy was “this close” to the Queen. It would have made headlines, in the Red Deer Alberta daily newspaper. She would have given out interviews for months. The silver tea set, for sure, would have been busted out. My dad would have just shook his head and sucked it up. He might have had to put on his jacket and tie for “high tea” with mom after exciting news like that. Unfortunately, by this time she had already passed and had no idea, how famous I might have become.

Our next encounter with royalty happened about one year later, when Deysi and I attended the last day of THE ROYAL ASCOT for the year 2000. Each year, a week of races were held here, which I understand were/are the Queen’s favorite. It is said that often she has a horse (or more) of her own, entered in some of the races. For the event that year Deysi and I had been invited to attend as guests of one of the “box owners” at Ascot. I knew this was a very famous week of races, but had no idea, just how famous. Until one day, I mentioned it to a local, who immediately thought I was lying! I studied it a bit, the tradition, the history and the people. Needless to say, like a little kid, I was near peeing myself by the time the event neared.

After what seemed like months, game day arrived. There we were, a Canadian hillbilly and an Inca Princess, in Windsor, across from the castle waiting to mingle with the rich and famous. In accordance with custom, we were dressed in the formal wear, required of the event. That being, formal, full length dress and coat, for Deysi, with the mandatory, wide brim, floppy hat. I must say she was elegant, even though the sombrero looking hat, did bring out her Latino roots. With myself donning, once again, formal attire, we prepared to embark. To say this was an elegant affair was an understatement. Each of the women present tried to outdo the others with their splendour.

We arrive at the racecourse and are escorted to our “box”. This was one of the most affluent displays of idleness, that I had seen to this point. The box was private, catered and held about 20 guests. You could even make your wagers right outside the entrance to the box. We sat on comfortable chairs, looking out over the racetrack thru tinted windows. There was a full buffet of exotic foods laid out for our pleasure. Of course the champagne, was flowing. We ate a little, chatted, made some bets, watched some people and sometimes glanced up to catch a horse race. It was pretty special. I think Deysi enjoyed it more than anyone. She had that look of “YES, I have finally arrived!” on her face.

There was a lot of pomp and ceremony, preceding each race. And each race meant something special to one group or another in attendance. Many of the horses were owned by very famous people, and ridden by very famous jockeys. If you are a race horse owner, trainer or jockey, then your life’s goals were set to competing in a race at the Royal Ascot. As I stated earlier, the Queen often had one or two of her best horses running, throughout the week. There was a definite “atmosphere” around this event. The ladies were resplendent in their hats, and the men very reserved and proper.

Now for the part you have been waiting for. You are probably asking, by this time, “so how did you cross paths with the Queen?” Well it happened like this. In similar manner to our encounter at the Highland games, when the Queen and her consort arrived, everything stopped, a hushed murmur went thru the crowd and immediately “God Save The Queen” was played. We all sang our little hearts out. The most avid royalists had tears in their eyes. “Do you seer her, Do you see her”, prompted Deysi, while elbowing my ribs. Well I didn’t quite know, but in the general direction she was pointing, and front and centre of the bleachers, in a glassed in area, I see people.

I responded with, “I think so, isn’t she the one that kinda looks like a little blue ant from here?” And then an amazing thing happened, she appeared to gaze up in our direction, and with a raised hand gave me a little wave. “Geezus,” I gasp out, “I do see her and she just waved to me!” Deysi gives me that old, patient, it’s time for a nap look, and pries my glass of bubbly from my fingers. I am on cloud nine and quickly go out and lay my five quid on a trifecta bet, which included the horse, that I understood to be from the Royal Stables.

I clasped my tickets and returned to the box to watch the race unfold. I want to say that I won millions, however, I didn’t. But I did win about 300 pound sterling, which quickly disappeared into Deysi’s money bag. This experience was one of our best, in a lifetime of experiences. However, all too quickly it ended and I was back to work. Over time I have tried to explain this experience to others, but am mostly met with that “Bullshit”, look. It was somehow surreal and a bit unbelievable to a prairie “hill billy” from Canada. If my mom had known that the Queen and I shared a little wave, she would have fainted dead away.

EDITORS NOTE: PLEASE IGNORE THE CAMERA “DATING” OF PHOTOGRAPHS, IT APPEARS “SOMEONE” FORGOT TO SET UP THE DATE STAMP PROPERLY