The Queen and Prince Philip have been married seventy years today. This is an extraordinary achievement by any standard anywhere and unique in the long history of our monarchy. I remember the day. I was 8 years old. I think children were given a day off school, but my school did not join in as there were boarders who would miss out. In 1947 November 20th was a Thursday. So that the boarders could go home for a long weekend we had Friday off instead.
So on the day we assembled in the largest classroom, sitting in rows on benches and listened to the radio, then called the wireless, which had been specially rigged, The BBC broadcast the entire event, from the processions to the service and all of it live. I remember the famous Audrey Russell was one of the commentators. I am sure Richard Dimbleby, father of David and Johnathan, was involved as well, but it is a long time ago.
I do remember there was food, clothing, petrol and coal rationing, people looked threadbare and bomb sites peppered the urban landscape. The summer, now over, had been unusually long and hot, following on from the longest and coldest winter in living memory. The ground had been frozen to such a depth that pneumatic road drills had been used to dig the potato crop. In February I had measles, surrounded by hushed voices and frequent visits from the doctor. In the coming New Year I went down with pneumonia, an even greater crisis before antibiotics, involving kaolin poultices on my chest at night, heated on a Primus stove in the bedroom. I can smell the whole thing still. Again a lot of whispering. Mothers had to be very self sufficient in those days.
There was a darkness in those times. The happy Royal couple shone a warm light upon the country. It shines still.