The death of our Stiff Upper Lip

Right until the very end, Her Maj fulfilled her public duties. Throughout her reign, indeed, one of the essential ingredients was ‘business as usual’, or ‘keep calm and carry on’, whichever you prefer.

It is one of the attributes that made her the monarch whose passing away so many mourn. Yet, in the face of all the cancellations and closures that have been announced, it is a characteristic that many seem to value little.

A couple of weeks ago my grandmother died. Upon trying to arrange a funeral (they are, peculiarly, extremely busy after the supposedly worst pandemic in living memory), we were told that none were to take place for the entire week commencing 19 September. This was ‘out of respect’, of course.

On the day of the Queen’s funeral I could perhaps understand. But the entire week? It seems a bit much to me. Perhaps it is part of the loss of stiff upper lip and the general rise in flamboyant emoting that now defines public life.

Perhaps it is my cynical side, but I worry that the response to the Queen’s death has become another moment of virtue signalling.

I, like anyone who isn’t a scoundrelly republican, felt saddened by Elizabeth II’s death. That seemingly permanent anchor to the past was suddenly torn away, leaving us ever more adrift in a stew of postmodern imbecility.

But as the cancellations came rolling in, I started to wonder what, precisely was being lamented. The last night of the Proms – an opportunity for flag waving, patriotism and of a stirring rendition of the national anthem – cancelled. Parts of the Great North Run stopped, but it’s hard to understand precisely why, other than a nebulous concept of ‘showing respect’.

More absurdly, Center Parcs – the overpriced favourite of many a middle class parent – initially decided to kick everyone out of its accommodation on the day of the Queen’s funeral. Again, a ‘mark of respect’. Perhaps I have forgotten the definition of the word, but ‘hollow gesture’ seems closer to the mark. Nevertheless, realising it was a PR cock-up, they soon reversed course.

GPs, who, it seems, are forever looking for ways to not be doctors, are also cancelling appointments on the day itself. Not that there is a vast backlog of people who are dying amid the heap of unexplained excess deaths.

I instinctively dislike public displays of excessive emotion. Each pot and pan banged for the NHS during lockdown made me wince. The desire to show that one’s grief is more genuine than the next’s brings to my mind the funeral of Kim Jong-il, with each North Korean wailing louder than the last, lest a commissar spot their indifference.

I am a monarchist, but it is in the institution of the monarchy within our constitutional settlement that I place my faith, not in the person of the monarch. The problem with doing otherwise is that once a crap king turns up (hypothetically – let’s give Charles III a chance), the temptation to do away with them is too great. It turns the monarchy into a tawdry popularity contest, with future claimants perhaps one day decided by an X-Factor-type competition. For this reason, the immediate transition between monarchs is so crucial: The Queen is dead. Long live the King!

Let us all mourn it in our own individual way the passing of a remarkable woman and the figurehead of our nation. But, for God’s sake, let’s try and maintain some emotional continence as we do so, rather than keeping one eye on our neighbour as we weep to see whether their outpourings are as ostentatious.