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Fisher Lavell’s Working Words Blog


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All things working-class. My thoughts on working-class writing, writing in general, and A Seven Year Ache in particular. Book and Movie Responses. Dogs That Saved Me. Country Songs That Made Me. And True Story, tales of actual working-class life to curl your hair, warm your heart, raise your brow, or make your blood boil. 

true story: a private audience with the queen

9/11/2022

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NOTE: THIS IS A TRUE STORY OF WORKING CLASS LIFE
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Only rare people get a private audience with Her Majesty the Queen. But the great lady granted one to my best friend Caroline in 1970 . . . though not by design.

That was the year of Manitoba’s centennial and for several days in July, the Queen and her family travelled across Manitoba by train, stopping over briefly at many a town and village. And our little town, Swan River, was lucky enough to be one of them.

This caused a great stir uptown, as all the town leaders got busy trying to put together a plan that would wow the Royal Family, something worthy we could present to them, a unique something our little town had to offer. It made sense that they came up with a little specialty rodeo, as the big summer event that always came later in July was the Northwest Roundup and Exhibition.

​Our whole town is a little horse-crazy, rich and poor alike.

All the important people of the town were vying for optimal seating at the event, and vying to get their daughters introduced to the very eligible Prince of Wales.

Down at our end of the tracks, we laboured under no such illusions. The one-hour rodeo was too rich for our blood. We were pretty poor and so lacking in prestige or influence that, even in the seventies (as to this very day), our roads were not paved and the town did not supply either waterworks or sewer services. The closest any of us would get to royalty was when the Queen and Prince Phillip and their two eldest children were to do a walking tour down Main Street to the Fair Grounds. The streets en route would be lined with adoring fans.

My dad did tease me though. “Don’t ya wanna get up there with the bigwigs and meet the Queen? Try to make googly eyes at young Prince Charles there? I hear he’s lookin’ for a wife.”

“As if!” I giggled, wrinkling my nose.

I would actually have dearly loved to go, but I had already agreed to babysit four kids for my regular lady so she could go and see them walk by. I sighed and accepted that I would miss the whole thing. 

And I did miss out on seeing the Queen that day. But my friend, Caroline, didn't. She got a private audience instead. 

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Queen Elizabeth visits with crowd in Swan River, Manitoba, with James Richardson, MP, in the background, July 12, 1970

Caroline was a different kind of girl, she didn’t even care about seeing the Queen. She was a tough girl who lived in jeans and would always rather be out somewhere on God’s green earth, not crowded in with a bunch of preening girls, trying to get seen.

So when she told me the next day that, actually, she had met the Queen and they had a nice visit, I just thought, “Well, that figures!”

She said that in the evening after the town’s big deal, she was with her then-boyfriend, Roe, riding horses on the path between Railroad Avenue and the tracks. They had Flicka, the big black work horse, and that beautiful palomino mare, Dolly.

And suddenly, running down the tracks towards them, flashing badges, was about twenty guys in suits.

We didn’t, and don’t, get a whole lot of guys in suits down our end of town.

So then, they didn’t know what was going on, Caroline and Roe, and they got down from the horses as  told, nervous, surrounded by this sea of suits, and wondering what the heck was going on. Were they in some kind of trouble?

And then, the sea of suits parted and some lady and this young guy come walking up to them. And it was the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales, no kidding, wearing boots and pants and she's wearing a kerchief on her head and he’s got on, like, a little birding cap or something.

And they just come right up to Caroline and Roe, and start chatting with them. Asking like, how old the horses are, what their breeding is, what is their feed, normal stuff. And the queen actually comes in by Dolly, and says, “May I?” and Caroline says, “Sure.”

And the Queen takes hold of her bridle and strokes Dolly’s cheek, she’s just a natural with the mare, and she smiles up and coos to the horse, a look of pure, soft delight on her face. “Now aren’t you a beautiful girl?” she says.

And they continue to chat a little, quietly, just casual, like when you meet any other human being along the path on a Manitoba evening. And then the Royals leave and go walking back up the track to their train.

And this is a true story. This really happened in July, 1970. My friend Caroline met up with the Queen of England on a path by a gravel road. Completely unrehearsed.

And she just seemed like a really nice lady, except for being the Queen.

And she knew a beautiful horse when she saw one. 
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    FISHER LAVELL IS A WORKING-CLASS WRITER. HER FIRST NOVEL, A SEVEN YEAR ACHE, IS A TALE OF LOSS, UPHEAVAL, AND LONGING.

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