ASSUREDLY I am not remotely senitmental. Also I tend to distrust nostalgia, especially of the maudlin

kind. When it comes to emotion in general I lean towards the belief that as a Briton my upper lip should be regularly starched so that it is ever ‘stiff’.

Yet as I sat watching the television on that fateful Thursday evening, I realised that tears were coming down my cheeks as I absorbed the tidings that a lady I knew, but had never met, had passed away.

Everyone in the land would have known her, of course; way beyond, also, as she was surely the most famous person in the world. All would have been aware that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II had died, with her family around her, aged 96 years at her beloved Balmoral in Scotland.

Now Ann and I are of the generation – a dwindling one and most certainly now very much in the minority in our island – who can recall a time when Her Majesty was not on the throne, which means we have to be around eight decades in longevity to remember the pre-Elizabethan era.

It was an age which began in February 1952. For myself, I was at primary school when the headmistress, clearly upset, came into the classroom to inform us that our highly regarded sovereign, King George VI, had passed away – in contrast to our Queen, at a relatively young age.

A brave dedicated man, he had reigned for 16 years and had gained the admiration – indeed love – of the bulk of the nation largely by virtue of the fact he had steadfastly carried out his duties during the Second World War; also by refusing to allow the blitz to force him from leaving Buckingham Palace – clearly a major target for the Luftwaffe.

His elder daughter was made of similar steel; indeed, early in her life she pledged herself to the service of the nation promising to always follow the paths dictated by the pursuance of duty.

For over seven decades she never faltered or waivered in this and we, throughout the United Kingdom, have been privileged and blessed to have had her as our Head of State.

She, though, has long since moved beyond being the titular leader of our nation; rather it is probably not fanciful to describe her as the mother, grandmother even great grandmother of the British people. In times of crisis – not few – she has broadcast to her people always in positive fashion, so often allaying fears and concerns (Covid being possibly the most recent).

Her Christmas Day addresses have long been an integral thread in the fabric of the yuletide, giving reassurance and a sense of continuity to millions not only in the UK, but throughout the Commonwealth – indeed, across the world.

In her marathon-like reign she would have opened a multitude of hospitals, schools and the like, launched countless ships and visited the majority of towns and cities throughout the four countries which make up the union.

A staunch believer in, and friend of, the Commonwealth, she travelled to virtually all its member countries plus journeying to the four corners of the world to promote our nation and to solidify, or shore up, our relations with numerous states.

She met famed world leaders ranging from Nelson Mandela to John F Kennedy, President de Gaulle to Barack Obama. She also treated with respect, in the line of duty – at the behest of the government at the time – the likes of the despotic Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe and the brutal Nicolae Ceausescu of Romania, which cannot have been easy. Someone calculated that in her lifetime she shook hands with over four million different people; an inexact science, true, but it is very believable.

Then, of course, there were her official duties as Head of State. She will have greeted an army of Ambassadors to the UK as well as so many other officials from far distant lands. Always too, there was her direct work connected with being the titular leader of the country.

Virtually every day since the 1950s she would have had to give attention to her ‘red boxes’ – official documents from government – for her to read and probably sign. Right up until the end of her life she processed these folders, the contents of much of which would often probably have been most tedious.

On the political front, Her Majesty was served in the governance of the nation by 15 Prime Ministers. Her first was the iconic Sir Winston Churchill, born in 1874, her last was Liz Truss, who ‘kissed hands’ just two days before Her Majesty’s demise and who was born in 1975 – a staggering gap of over a century.

This is a mere statistic, of course, but surely it is a signpost to just how significant a figure she has been in the life of our great nation. An iconic lady, her memory will be treasured and most definitely live on for a very long time to come. In the meantime, we look to her son; God bless King Charles III.