Dining Out

July 26, 2025 / aggiemurch / 6 Comments

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

I was nervous that he wouldn’t like it – and might get grumpy at the thought of going to Veeraswamy’s Restaurant on Swallow Street, the site of our first date 61 and 1/2 years ago. Veeraswarmy’s has been tucked into this little street, changing ever so slightly but ever so cleverly in style and food for its 99 years and remains the leader in Haute cuisine of Indian food. I need not have worried: he was happy and relaxed as we sipped their modern day cocktails, a Wimbledon Pimms for him, and Kir Royal for me while we enjoyed reading the menu.

“We sat over there,” we remembered, smiling while looking at the little table tucked in a corner while thinking back on that time. And that we had returned for Walter’s 60th birthday party. Now is is just us again, and he is 82.

Veeraswamy’s Restaurant, Swallow Street, Piccadilly

Though we were dining early, the restaurant was filling up. A younger couple was seated beside us and as we smiled at each other I blurted out – because that is what I do – that we had our first date here 61 years ago and we were here for my husband’s Birthday. “Us too” the woman replied. We were both dressed specially for this evening out for our menfolk. She wore a black fitting maxi dress with an assortment of gold necklaces. Her diamonds were expensive and this evening was her treat to him. After our meals were eaten both tables were served with the obligatory delicious chocolate birthday deserts. We smiled again.

“How old are you?” I asked,

“40” He replied and I looked at him again.

“Where are you from?”

“From Florida. She’s on a work trip.” (Not ‘my wife’ but ‘she’.) And again because I truly can’t help it – I laughed and said:

“Florida, I could never go to Florida, the alligators frighten me.” And then even before I had finished speaking, my awareness shifted and my prejudices immediately leapt into my imagination – they are from ‘that’ Florida and ‘She’ is on a reconnaissance trip for the American invasion that is about to happen this summer. I felt my heart freeze. The birthday gentlemen finished their chocolate cake with just the smallest help from the wives. As the last forkful was finished she learnt over to me and said,

“Can I ask you?” Of course, “We have a two-year old at home and apart from Paddington Bear what else could I bring her?” Ah, now I was on home Granny ground and launched into the thrills of “Ant and Bee,” showing her the books on her phone. And even as I explained:

“They are different, but friends, you see.” I wondered if that idea would sit comfortably with her – different but friends. The conversation quickly went to families, they are both from large families with lots of siblings, and were worried about raising an only child. She was hungry for any knowledge she could gleam from this obviously comfortable English Granny – who was also wearing the appropriate amount of bling. I told her which bookshops she could go to and even brought up.

‘Harvesting History while Farming the Flats’ on her phone before wondering if that might not be the wisest thing to have done.

They were staying in Mayfair which helped confirm my imagination of them here to prepare for the American political invasion that is coming to England this summer.

The American President starts his trip in Scotland where security will try to preclude the Mexican marching band that greeted him on his golf course a few years ago.

Paddy Power descended on Glasgow Prestwick Airport (? 2016) to greet US presidential hopeful and golfing entrepreneur Donald Trump with a live performance by a Mexican mariachi band, “Juan Direction”, armed with a wheelbarrow full of bricks

Meanwhile ‘Me too Me too’ cries JD Vance who does’t want to be left at home to take care of America and has taken a holiday home in Chipping Norton for his family and a month long summer break. But who is minding the shop, if DT is in Scotland before spending two nights at Windsor Castle -a stiff nightcap whiskey or two will be needed that weekend – and JD is in the Cotswolds? Security is going to be tight, there will be grumbling down at the pub and it is quite possible that more than one antique Ford Major tractor will trundle along spitting manure off of their tire tracks in front of the large black SUV’s that will incur scratches if they are not careful on those narrow country lanes. This is not going to be a happy time. What of the hidden politicians who take refuge in the Cotswolds? Will David Cameron have JD over for drinks, even Nigel Farrage? Will Boris lumber up from Oxford bringing his brood with him? It doesn’t look good. The country lanes are not the only pathways going to be blocked.

All this on top of June’s embarrassment when a handful of pro-Palestinian activists popped through a preexisting hole in the chain-link fence surrounding the Oxfordshire airbase and sprayed two RAF military planes with red paint. The Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, said it was “disgraceful” and an “act of vandalism”.

Well of course it was. But whose grace was disrespected while the planes remained in working order? Not Palestine’s. Quickly a law was written and passed that support of the Palestine Action organization was now an act of terrorism.

So where does that leave someone like Mill Valley’s John the Waving Man from 2008, and now England’s 83-year-old Reverend Sue Parfitt, and Laura Murton.

John the Waving man to stop war. Mountain Road Mill Valley 2008

Nightly we see pale gruel, with a few floating vegetables scooped from big metal vats into small plastic containers held by old men, women and children while sacks of flour are hoisted onto the backs of young men just still strong enough to carry them as they scurry away zig zagging trying to avoid the bullets fired in panicked fear by young Israeli boy soldiers.

‘Please,’ begs one minister in Parliament ‘Can we acknowledge a Palestinian state while there is still a state to acknowledge?’ Last month, Emmanuel Macron addressed the English Parliament saying again that a two state solution was the only way to build stability in the region. It is unbelievable and heartbreaking that resistance still comes from the British government, though cracks are beginning in the less-united labour party. The UK foreign secretary, David Lammy, told the BBC that he felt appalled and sickened by the scenes of starving Palestinians being shot as they sought food.

“We said we wanted to be part of a process. But we have had no process. What we have had is mayhem and conflict. There has been no process to attach that recognition to.” The Newsnight numbers of dead are now given twofold: those killed by the shootings, and those dying of starvation.

This morning ants are coming into the kitchen through the open window. They have finished their meal of nasturtium-clinging aphids and are searching for fresh compost for dessert. A stray buddlia plant is blooming in the parking lot and a dozen or more butterflies are enjoying its nectar while the bees harvest from our fuchsia blossoms. As I prepare a breakfast of applesauce made with early windfalls from a friend’s country garden, I bow my head in gratitude and sorrow understanding that no windfall is falling yet on Palestine and its people.

This has been A Letter from A. Broad written and Read for you by Muriel Murch.

As always, supported by murchstudio.

Navalny

March 7, 2024 / aggiemurch

Written and Produced for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

The news of Alexei Navalny’s death is confirmed. First offered with a shrug from the Kremlin, for ‘what did you expect? That we would let him live forever?’

This single death takes over my consciousness as I think I can imagine it – while the multiple slaughters are that are occurring in Gaza and on the West Bank leaves me sifting through pictures of rubble, hospitals and carnage, not really knowing who or what I am looking for, or at. Navalny’s death has me remembering the South African Activist Steve Biko. While Wikipedia maintains that his Political Legacy remains ‘a matter of contention’ there is no doubt that he was a forceful presence against apartheid. Wikipedia also tells us that Biko was the twenty-first person to die in a South African prison in twelve months, and the forty-sixth political detainee to die during interrogation since in 1963 the South African government introduced laws permitting imprisonment without trial. Biko and Navalny were both men of their time and place, both political prisoners killed with the direction or approval of the state. It is not uncommon, this singling out of one man whose presence has become more than annoying, but is still only a potential threat to those currently in power.

The English Royal Courts of Justice are wrestling with another moral question ‘Which is the more serious crime: extrajudicial killings, routine torture of prisoners and illegal renditions carried out by a state. Or exposing those actions by publishing illegally leaked details of how, and where, and when and by whom they were committed?’ Now, after ten years, Julian Assange is having his day in court though he is not present. He is reportedly too unwell to even watch his appeal via a video link. Assange has been asking to be able to appeal against the decision to extradite him to the US to face trial under its Espionage Act for his publication of documents, via WikiLeaks. The documents – handed to him by the former US soldier Chelsea Manning – detailed illegal US actions in Afghanistan, Iraq, Guantanamo Bay and elsewhere. While still not having been convicted of any crime he is in his fifth year in high security in Belmash prison. The memory of Daniel Ellsberg who in 1973, was hauled into the legal system for exposing the US government and military activities in Vietnam hovers over this hearing. No-one knows yet what will happen – except that you can bet someone is looking at film rights…

Across the river, the Houses of Parliament are turned upside down with Sir Lindsay Hoyle the Speaker of the House of Commons loosing his cool and his gavel as he tries to control both sides of the aisle. The clamoring from the Labour, Conservative and all parties in between that they want a stop to the bombing and fighting – turns into an uproar for two days – fussing over a breach in protocol that happened due to the rising threats of retaliations to Members of Parliament. It sounds silly – but – we remember the Labour MP, Jo Cox, killed by a Neo-Nazi supremacist in 2016 followed by the conservative MP, Sir David Amess, in 2021 by a Jihadist. Both of these instances occurred during Sir Lindsay’s time in government. Since 1812 only six members of parliament have been killed while in office but the pace of assassination seems to be stepping up in the 21st century. Maybe Sir Lindsay is being super-aware and damning the little rules and regulations – there could be an inquiry – but probability not. Apart from some tut-tutting over the tea cups this will blow over and the government will move onto more important issues as the UK tries again to be relevant and meaningful on the world stage.

But can it? Will the United Kingdom ever accept that, since Brexit, and our disengagement from Europe, nobody is really listening. Last week Zelensky welcomed the leaders of Italy, Canada and Belgium along with the European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen who all stood beside him as he spoke at Kyiv. The US president Joe Biden tuned in by video. Boris Johnson popped over with a few delegates – of what I’m not sure – to wave his tattered flag and tell whoever he was speaking to – that he was sure that Ukraine could beat the Russian forces. But quietly – and maybe not so quietly – much of the rest of the world is not so sure.

Meanwhile Sir David Cameron – how handy is that prefix of Sir – in his role of Foreign Secretary is being a little more serious on the world stage as he speaks up for a two state solution to the war in the Middle East. Just like the Jewish people displaced from Europe in the last two World Wars, he insists Palestinians must have a homeland to call their own.

But Rishi Sunak flew into Wales, so sidestepping the rising concerns of racial bigotry brewing in London. He has hardly rapped Suella Braverman’s knuckles for her racially inflammatory writing and shrugs off Lee Anderson’s remarks about Sadiq Khan, the mayor of London, ‘giving London to his mates’. It’s getting scary – again. Instead Rishi is in Wales standing side-by-side with net zero and climate conspiracy groups of Welsh farmers as he tries to bolster his rural vote. The Welsh Labour government is proposing a new payment scheme in which farmers will have to prove 10% of their land is woodland and 10% of it is quality habitat for wildlife. That’s not so much and in Wales, so full of hills and dales where the sheep roam and get lost all the time.

Rishi Sunak speaking with farmers after he delivered a speech at the Welsh Conservatives conference 2024. Photograph by Peter Byrne

As I write, the home team of Pacific Slope Tree Company is working on my Gertrude Jekyll corner. Jekyll always wrote that we should leave a portion of our gardens to the wilderness and I have stayed true to that. Many years ago – in my naiveté – I planted at least 40 pine trees to provide a windshield and wilderness habitat. The trees grew tall providing a deep shade and soon brambles covering the forest floor. They did create a habitat while over the years the blue jays buried their oak acorns and forgot them. As the pines grew taller and weaker they were harvested for fire wood. Now some of the young oaks are straight and strong, others a little weaker but with more light and air they too could flourish. The last pines will come down now and let the young oaks emerge as a new wilderness.

This has been A Letter from A Broad written and read for you by Muriel Murch.

And always overseen by – beatrice@murchstudio.com

A Dog’s Dinner

November 25, 2023 / aggiemurch / 1 Comment

Written and Produced by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

The dictionary defines A Dog’s Dinner as ‘A situation, event, or piece of work that is chaotic, badly organized, or very untidy.’ Such as when an unschooled dog gallops into the scullery for his bowl of specially formulated dog food moistened with a little water. It is gulped down in a flash, the bowl knocked about noisily until it hits a wall. But then there is a pause as his tummy swells. A burp is followed by a belch before up comes dinner again, now glistening and sticky with saliva and the first tentacles of stomach acid. The dog looks puzzled wondering what happened but then he spies the food, all over the floor and with excited tail wagging, eats it all up again. Only a mop and a big dose of disinfectant can clear the damage away.

This is the image that comes to mind after Suella Braverman’s published remarks that homelessness was a lifestyle choice. As Rishi Sunak sent her back to her kennel he had to reshuffle his cabinet once more. Even the newspapers had to print charts with pictures of who has come and gone and where to. We watched – soon to be Lord – David Cameron stride back into Downing Street, knock on the door of number 10 with his tail wagging as he tucks into the mess of Brexit that he created. It looks to be a dog’s dinner all over again.

On November 14th King Charles celebrated his 75th birthday by popping into a food bank between holding a couple of tea parties for people and organizations that also turned 75 this year. A tea dance was held in Dumfries House and then more tea was served at Highgrove with members of the Caribbean Windrush generation, nurses and midwives from the NHS. This week, The Big Issue, a weekly magazine sold on the streets by homeless vendors, has The King on the cover highlighting his Coronation Food Project, launched on his birthday. The King is quoted – saying that “Food need is as real and urgent a problem as food waste,” …. “If a way could be found to bridge the gap between them, then it would address two problems in one.” It seems to take a football player like young Marcus Rashford of Manchester United and a King like Charles the Third to steer this ship into a clearer lake of fresh water.

On Tuesday, we left for Poland and the Camerimage International Film Festival in Torun. It takes a full day of travel getting to the festival and we were only traveling from London. Cinematographers, manufacturers, filmmakers from other disciplines with films come from around the world. It is a jumble of festival and trade faire, a little glamor and a lot of graft for the craft of cinematography. We gather at breakfast, the same as on a film set, such is the comradery of international filmmakers.

The plane landed in Warsaw and the afternoon light stayed for the first hour of the two-and-a-half hours it takes to drive to Torun. Leaving the city there are single-gauge railway tracks that emerge and disappear in and out of the paved road. They are old, disused but along with the tree-covered mounds of larch, silver birch, and pine that cover the detritus of an ancient war, a chilling reminder of the wars past and present. The city names of old wars are now joined with new place markers that move traveling east into Russia and Ukraine, and then south with the eruptions in Jerusalem, Gaza, and Palestine.

The city disappears giving way to bare winter fields. There is very little green left to harvest, only tall dried-out corn to be cut for livestock. As we pick up speed, the farmhouses appear small, even tiny, most look old and decrepit. There are no lights shining to welcome a farmer home from the plow. As we drive north a storm is crossing Europe and for those moments that we are on the open barrier-less road, the raw wind beats across the motorway making this all-electric German limousine slip and tremble and the windshield wipers pick up speed.

We settle into the hotel with memories that slowly come back to us. Beyond the window the river flows fast, the current pushing and pulling fallen trees into the mud. There is no shipping. The countryside is bleak this far north in November. Even though it maybe earlier in the year than our previous visit winter feels like it is coming sooner.

Walking into the old medieval town we pay homage to the statue of Copernicus. Torun is not a big city but as Copernicus’s birthplace it is rich in history and over two million people come to visit each year. Some come for astronomy, Copernicus, science, and some for this festival. Walter is here to join Professor of Astronomy, Leszek Blaszkiewicz in a moderated discussion on ‘Copernicus, Dreamers, Inspiration and Science.’ Held in the beautiful old Camerimage Cinema, the audience is primed and happy to hear, think, and discuss such things. After the talk is over they linger and some have already brought with them the beautiful Golden Book on Walter’s Golden Ratio exploration that the festival produced. The days are busy although we don’t get to see one film.

Mateusz Józefowicz moderates Walter Murch and Leszek Blaszkiewicz in conversation on Art, Inspiration, Science, and Dreams.

On Saturday as we walk over to the main building for the closing ceremony and awards event, dusk has already busied herself with night and the street lights proclaim it is winter. The big theatre has filled up early and fast. The ceremony begins and is almost all in Polish though there are head-sets for translations and it all goes along easily and quickly. The Golden Frog is the symbol for this festival, with tadpoles for the rising stars of cinematography. Each film festival has its symbol, Berlin has the bear, Locarno a Leopard, Venice a Lion, and of course, it’s Oscar for Hollywood. While the Torun festival celebrates the art of Cinematography it is also a huge trade faire. It is overwhelming to see the equipment. The festival also acknowledges the other disciplines and those who – within their fields – carry a particular understanding and integration of cinematography and their own discipline. Walter brought his frog home in 2015 and it sits sweetly and discreetly on a bookcase shelf here in London.

The last award is given and the festival director returned to the stage for his closing remarks before beckoning a line of assistants to file in behind him, and then another line and another, and – as we rose to our feet – he has assembled everyone who made the festival happen on stage. It is the first time we have seen such an acknowledgment from a festival and it seems fitting that it should occur here where the emphasis has always been on the heavy lifting that it takes to be a cinematographer and to make movies. The yellow-vested stage hands arrive carrying three sofas and the recipients of this year’s gold frogs and tadpoles come to sit alongside those who have made this year’s festival possible and still the full audience is on its feet acknowledging that just as Copernicus wrote in his revolutions, we are all like the stars in the heavens and the universe beyond, elliptically revolving around each other.

Brava and thank you to everyone who made this 31st Camerimage possible.

As we walk back to the hotel we can see our breath and the sky prepares to scatter the first flurries of snow. The final party is going strong but we are too old for that and even in flat shoes my back hurts. At the bar, we sit among those who would rather drink and talk than stand and shout, enjoying a glass of wine and a bowl of Polish soup. The next morning camp is broken and the lobby is full of puffer jackets, wheeled cases, and fond goodbyes. We have barely left the city when a huge owl swoops down across the car, just three feet in front of us, and with wings unfurled for balance, he nails his meal of young bunny on the snow-covered grass beside the road. We drive on past the mistletoe-encrusted trees, the wind turbines emerging from the fog where acres of bare apple and pear fruit trees, red and black currant bushes are already dormant, preparing for the winter ahead. We quietly understand that life in this corner of the world is not easy for those who live here.

This has been A Letter from A. Broad written and read for you by Muriel Murch

The King’s Coronation May 6 2023

May 11, 2023 / aggiemurch / 5 Comments

May 6 2023 Coronation Day.

Written and Produced by Muriel Murch – with WSM by my side.

It was raining – of course it was – with the steadiness that puts up umbrellas and gives rise to the English complexion. It was not cold.

But in the Diamond Jubilee State Coach, the King and Queen looked cold as they emerged from the Buckingham Palace archway driven through the gates and onto the Mall. The coach hangs like Cinderella’s coach. The eight Windsor Gray horses are harnessed with gleaming leather, brass, and heavy blue ribbon braids. The King and Queen are both dressed in white, Camilla wearing a more than striking diamond necklace, and their long ermine trains are tucked up around them. They look almost naked and shy of the mixed reception that could greet them, taking turns nervously waving at the crowds lining the Mall who are wishing them well. Watching the coach leaving the Palace I couldn’t help wondering what was passing through their minds. Their lives together and apart, have been fraught with protocols followed, mistakes made, anguish, remorse and family ripped asunder and patched back up again. Now they are here entering their final chapter of devoting their lives to service.

The Household Cavalry Mounted Band of 48 horses and musicians joined the procession. Either Atlas or Apollo, one of the two drum horses, insistently did a half-pass along the Mall rather than a working walk. But they made it – along the Mall, around Trafalgar Square, and down Whitehall to Westminster Abbey where the first William, Duke of Normandy, was crowned 957 years ago.

Special Bunting on Regent’s Street London as seen from the 88 bus (Photo by Beatrice Murch)

It is perhaps special to see all of this through a child’s eyes. Four days before the coronation Granny took seven-year-old David – and his mother – on the number 88 bus down to the Mall to see the preparations and flags and bunting going up. And we lucked out with a fish and chip lunch at the Admiralty Pub just off of Trafalgar Square. But no desert – as surely – with so many politicians around there would be an ice cream van at every corner on our way to Westminster. But we were wrong. There were far too many policemen and women, barricades going up everywhere and there was not an Ice cream van in site – such was the security already put in place. We had to walk down to the river for our vanilla smoothie with a chocolate stick before getting back onto the number 88 bus and home.

Watching from home – with millions of others. (Photo by Beatrice Murch)

Saturday came – with the rain – and pancakes for breakfast – as we watched along with millions around the world the pageant unfold before us. Some of us remember watching the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953 on a new television set with family and friends and sandwiches in the drawing room. Much has changed in those 70 years and the new King knows it.

‘Give all the money to the people’ say the Americans but lord knows no pounds would reach the people, never improve services in schools and hospitals, only dribble into and linger in the pockets of politicians and bureaucrats. The Monarchy knows this as they keep their enemies close by inviting so many to this day. We caught glimpses of arrivals; the French president Emmanuel Macron and his hatless wife Brigitte, Jill Biden with her granddaughter Finnegan. Jill Biden sat beside Olena Zelenska, the first lady of Ukraine. Two Arab Skeiks seemed a little lost as they looked for their seats.

But then along came the past British Prime Ministers with their partners.

After the beauty and dignity of the Commonwealth, World, and European leaders, they seemed a scurrilous lot. John Major led, looking almost like an elder statesman before being joined by Tony Blair – who took us to war. Gordon Brown, who tried to speak the unpopular truths of our country, stood a little aside of David Cameron, who tossed us out of the European Union. Teresa May was followed closely by the Johnsons – Boris was having another bad hair day – and Liz Truss, who had both ushered the Queen to her death bed.

T. May, B. Johnson, and D. Cameron have their partners and Front Row seats.

The First Minister of Scotland Humza Yousaf arrives with his wife at Westminster.

The sudden departure of Nicola Sturgeon as Scotland’s First Minister left the new Humza Yousaf to scramble a bit for his kit. He came up with a Slanj Asian fusion-style jacket and a mighty sporran bouncing along with his stride all actually quite becoming.

The First Minister of Wales and his wife both looked so very – Welsh. Then the non-working Royals arrived. Prince Harry a little unsteady but carefully flanked fore and aft by his cousins Eugenie and Beatrice whose father Prince Andrew was slipped between an uncle and an aunt. Next came the working royals but the four front chairs were empty. It appeared that the new Prince and Princess of Wales were stuck in traffic! A little rushed they showed up wearing the formal robes of state. Prince George was away helping with Grandpa’s train while Charlotte and Louis were tucked neatly in beside their parents. Beyond the world leaders, the over 2000 guests seated in the Abbey came from the not-so-great but surely the good among the British people. Charity leaders, leaders in conservation, ecology, medicine, science, education, and youth programs.

Finally, the King and Queen arrived at the Great West Door of Westminster Abbey. There was a little robe shaking and adjustment here and there before they were escorted along the nave, through the choir to the sanctuary to take their oaths – swearing to serve the people of The United Kingdom and his territories, whatever they may be in the foreseeable future. It is here that maybe tradition and history serves us best. As godparents, we swear to guide our godchildren into the way of Christian faith – not that I was so good about that. At marriages, we swear in front of our Gods – or the state – family, and friends to ‘plight thee my troth’. And when we say those vows we mean to keep them. The king swore on his Bible that “The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God.” There was a fifty-page ‘order of Service’ to follow to keep everyone on track and explain every moment, every gesture, every act, and there was a lot to get through. The coronation service has evolved over almost a thousand years, changing with each monarch. Today there was music old and new, there were women priests and religious leaders from all faiths in this country.

The king is stripped – very carefully – of his ermine robe and jerkin and left kneeling in a cotton shirt and trousers with what at first appears to be the most incongruous black buckled shoes. It is time for the King to be hidden behind a screen and be anointed. This part of the service is the most sacred time. A King, his God, and oath to that God.

And then comes the crowning. The day before, Friday, the King and Queen had gone to the Abbey with – presumably almost everyone else – from Bishops to choristers and pages – and walked through the service. But still, there are tricky bits. The Saint Edward’s Crown has always been a problem. The new King remembers how his mother – the late Queen – would wear it, coming to kiss him goodnight, as she practiced carrying its 2.25 Kilograms on her head. Physically and metaphorically it is a heavy burden.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown”. William Shakespeare gave these words to King Henry IV in that play, as he ponders and accepts the duties and responsibilities of Kingship.

The Archbishop of Canterbury swears allegiance to the King and the crown. He is followed by Prince William who comes forward, and kneels as he swears his allegiance, kissing the crown and then the king – his father. ‘Amen’ says Charles and it is here that we miss the brother, Harry, to be a part of this – helping support and care for the king and his people.

Now it is the turn of Queen Camilla whose crown was made for Queen Mary in 1911. When the Queen joins the king they are presented, united by their oaths and commitment before God. The Archbishop prays again, telling the monarch to: “Stand firm and hold fast from henceforth.” He will need to.

Those familiar with the Anglican Eucharist Service know we are now on the home stretch. It is time for holy communion, a few more prayers and singing followed by the blessing and procession out of the Abbey and – into more rain. But there are smiles of relief. It has gone well. The King is crowned, the family more or less in one piece, and though the demonstrators can be heard calling ‘Not my King’ the police are using their – new and improved – from their point of view – powers to arrest the leaders.

The King and Queen are helped into the old Gold State Coach, a beautiful but uncomfortable vehicle. They process at a walking pace and it is clear that though the crowds are thrilled, the footmen are getting weary. They will be glad to get those black pumps off of their feet and be out of their heavy tunics. A full pint of beer will go down a treat.

Upstairs in the Palace lunch must be ready but there is still the balcony performance. The police slowly guide the crowds down to Buck House, letting them build around the gates for the balcony appearance showing who is working and who has been retired. But before that happens there is another quiet touch. The soldiers who marched in procession are on parade in the Palace Gardens. They want to play the national anthem, sing God Save the King and give three cheers for His Majesty. And the King wants to see them and by his presence say ‘Thank you.’ It is a small thing, and turns the schedule a little on its heels – lunch may be tea-time sandwiches. But it is of such small things that this monarchy may stand firm and survive.

The Working Family from the official website

This has been A Letter From A. Broad. Written and read for you by Muriel Murch

Fair Winds and Following Seas

April 15, 2021 / aggiemurch / 2 Comments

Recorded and Knit together by WSM

On Friday Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh aged 99, quietly slipped away from his berth on this Earth leaving Her Majesty our Queen alone after 73 years of marriage. The Queen was by his side. But as Princess Anne said, “You know this is coming but you are never fully prepared for it.” Death can do that, arriving punctually at a given time, as we know it must, while remaining an unbelievable mystery. Yet, with an unbounded love, the loved one remains in our hearts and minds while the physical presence is lost to us. We grieve for our Queen, for the loss of her husband. Some of us know this loss and some of us have it yet ahead of us. There is a week of National mourning for the Duke in which to reflect on the effect of his life and work within the Royal Family, as a Prince, Duke, husband, father, grand and great grandfather. That was his job and no other man could have done it as well. He was the best he could be which is what we all strive for. The COVID restrictions that the Palace is adhering to, would actually suit the Duke, wherever his spirit is. He did not want his funeral to be a state occasion, but a ceremonial royal funeral in line with the Queen Mother’s in 2002. His earthly body will be privately interred in the Royal Vault of St George’s Chapel until such time as The Queen joins him. Then they will be laid to rest together, in the medieval manor to which they were born.

Pages have been written about all aspects of The Duke’s royal and private life. Some papers have devoted columns to his life history, his charities, his sports and his gaffes or plain-speaking. Some of which were funny, some were exasperating, a few plain thoughtless, not something he was necessarily proud of. But this quote in 1966 says more than the words when he was speaking with a Hospital matron in the Caribbean, ‘You have mosquitoes, I have the press.’

Meanwhile, not pausing for the Duke’s passing, political shenanigans continue. Past Prime Minister David Cameron, has been caught out with a little private personal lobbying of the Chancellor Rishi Sunak and other members of Parliament, including Health Secretary Matt Hancock, (oh Matty why were you so matey?). Cameron wished to help out with a wee business that was in a spot of bother, owned by his pal, Mr. Greensill. Named the Supply Chain Finance Company – you just know that it must shuffle pounds, shillings and pence around like the ‘Keep your eye on the Ace’ card games set out on street corners to catch out tourists.

When stumping in 2010 to be Prime Minister, Cameron ‘Call me Dave’ gave a speech about lobbying, “We all know how it works.” He said, “The lunches, the hospitality, the quiet word in your ear, the ex-ministers and ex-advisers for hire, helping big business find the right way to get its way. I believe that secret corporate lobbying, like the expenses scandal, goes to the heart of why people are so fed up with politics,’ he said. “It’s an issue that… has tainted our politics for too long, an issue that exposes the far-too-cosy relationship between politics, government, business and money.”

Well, yes it does Dave.

Yesterday a somewhat contrite Cameron admitted, “There have been various charges leveled against me these past weeks, mainly that I made representations to the government on behalf of a company I worked for. I did.” Cameron began working for Greensill two years and one month after leaving office – a month past the legal time period permitted.

The government is to a launch an independent investigation. Prime Minister Johnson could have rubbed his hands with glee catching out his old school-mate as he calls for the review to ensure government is completely transparent about such activities, and that the public can see for themselves if “good value was secured for taxpayers money”. Hang on “Good value for money,” isn’t the issue really was this legal or ethical? ‘Call me Dave’ has responded with:

“Well maybe I should have gone through channels and done this another way. Lessons have been learnt.” But have they, and shouldn’t by now he not need those lessons? It could seem that the lessons that such schools as his and Johnson’s teach is not so much about team spirit as how not to get caught out. This is a class that both of them may have to repeat in the years to come.

Mr. Minn, Myanmar’s UK ambassador locked out of London embassy in a ‘kind of coup’.

Last Wednesday we were able to briefly look over the parapet of The British Isles just down the street to the Myanmar Embassy in London. The Military coup that continues in that country has taken a shot over the prow of its ship. Myanmar’s now ex-ambassador, Mr. Minn, was locked out of his embassy in Mayfair and spent Wednesday night in his car. Staff had been asked to leave the building by Myanmar’s military attaché, and he was dismissed as the country’s representative.

At first the British Foreign Secretary Dominic Raab condemned the “bullying actions,” but quietly the UK has now accepted the change. Will the government offer Mr. Minn diplomatic immunity? For if he returns to Myanmar the Junta will surely arrest him. As Burma became Myanmar, its history is fraught with British interference and political maneuvering. It is no wonder that the country is in an uproar and no wonder that we, in some distant memory, care what happens there.

This has been a Letter from A. Broad.

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch

First aired on Swimming Upstream – KWMR.org.

Web support by murchstudio.com