GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

Dedicated to G.K. Chesterton

Two hours into the dinner party and not one word had been mentioned regarding the Queen's Platinum Jubilee celebrations which were taking place up and down the country over the extended four day bank holiday weekend. It was as if almost all of the guests in attendance were conspiratorially staging some form of silent protest by refusing to acknowledge this historic occassion, finding any other topic but that of Her Majesty's unprecedented 70 year reign to discuss.

Or perhaps they really were oblivious to all the pomp, circumstance and merry making.

But their host suspected this was not the case.

Watching from the head of the dining table, Sebastian Taylor strangely enjoyed the repressed atmopshere his guests had created through their mutually shared republican angst. He knew exactly what they were all thinking and even indulged their collective denial of the celebrations happening out on the nearby city streets by finding his own deflective topics to engage them, including the old tried and tested theme of the erratic and inclement British weather in June.

But deep down he knew it was only a matter of time before someone snapped. The proverbial elephant in his dining room wasn't going anywhere and he, part time malcontent that he could be, was secretly enjoying the strained atmopshere it had created in his home. The elephant in this instance was the Queen who was symbolically anathema to the guests' ethos, an ethos born out of a rebellion against traditions that had existed since long before they were born. These were what Sebastian had come to learn were "nowhere people" men and women who wanted to belong to anywhere but Britain.  

Sebastian was a somewhere person, one who very much cherished the sceptered isle where he lived and who appreciated its historical complexities as well as the nation's often simple, stereotypical characteristics that were so routinely lampooned across the globe: complaining about the weather, bumbling self deprecation and politeness to a point of near sadism.  

His Britain was one of contradictions, of perilous uncertainty and occasional confidence bordering on beligerance, not unlike the Royal Family itself. He saw the monarchy of the kingdom as being like that of a daemon, reflecting the flaws and virtues of the nation in equal measure.

But for his guests, he knew that was far too nuanced a position for them to accommodate.

He did wonder how he'd managed to acquire quite so many anti-royalists as friends, but he also saw it as an indication of his social open mindedness that he so well tolerated these miserablists. The altruistic side of him saw it as a challenge perhaps, infusing their dour, anti-British mentality with his sunny, passive aggressive patriotic optimism.

But even he naively thought they might for once just soften this historic weekend. He had underestimated their granite-like absolutism regarding the Queen and the Royal Family. All Sebastian saw sat round his table were a lot of people creating more stress for their minds and bodies by carrying and internalising so much anger against something that didn't warrant any substantial grievance, at least to his way of thinking. In his experience of humanity across the full societal spectrum he knew that privilege could bring as much misery as poverty. The human condition didn't spare someone misery simply because they were born into a monarchy. He had known suicidal aristocrats and ebullient bin men.

And then it happened ...

"I just need to say something."

Clara, CEO of a scented candle company, stood up to address everyone sat round the table.

"What is it Clara?" enquired Sebastian, knowing full well what was about to come.

"Queenie can fuck right off!"

A roar of approval from the guests sat around the table brought the place to life.

"Absolutely!" said Andrew, a political cartoonist of several well established publications. "Lizard mother to a nonce of royal proportions."

"The paedo prince of Epstein island!" Clara's sister Jenny added. "After her royal advisor Jimmy Saville died, old Andy's really maintained the lineage of sexual depravity."

"Nature abhors a vaccum!"  

"Hey. Wait a minute. I've got something. E-LIZARDbeth the 2nd!" offered Andrew still riffing on the lizard motif.

More clapping, except for Sebastian, who simply observed their riot of resentment unleash itself in barbed quips with quiet amusement.

The outpouring of anti-royal bile reached its crescendo with an alternatve version of the national anthem sung by the guests with the original words replaced with expletives and any chance of harmonic unity deliberately wrecked by wilful, discordant screeching.

After the guests had emptied themselves of all their anger and rage, Sebastian rewarded them with a warm round of applause.

"That was quite something."

Topping up their glasses with wine, the guests seems noticably more relaxed following their outpouring.

Until the sudden sound of Sebastian's old fashioned doorbell put them on edge.

"Are you expecting someone, Seb?"

The host checked the time on his watch. It was 10:30 precisely.

"I am actually. One moment."

The guests all looked at each other, curious as to which of Sebastian's friends would be so late to a dinner party.

"Who do you think?" whispered Clara.

"Maybe Ben?"

"I think he moved to France," replied Andrew.

At which point Sebastian returned with a dozen fresh faced looking young people in their 20's.

"Everyone, please welcome the musicians. All hand picked from the London Royal College of Music I believe."

The guests all politely said hello to the young musicians as Sebastian gently indicated where they could set up their instruments and music stands.

They assembled in the lower hallway facing the guests in the dining room.

"What's this all about?" asked a bemused Andrew.  

"What we have here is basically the uber equivalent of classical music. I think it's very innovative," Sebastian explained to his guests, who were even more curious than ever as to just what was happening in the hallway.

"Now everyone. Please rise."

"Rise?"

But before Sebastian could explain, the sound of the string quintet with six or seven singers began a majestic, albeit reduced, orchestral rendition of Benjamin Britten's arrangement of God Save The Queen.

As the music rose in volume and increasing conviction by the young performers, all eight of Sebastian's guests found themselves suddenly conflicted.

On one hand, they couldn't believe Sebastian was sincere in his gesture. They assumed it had to be irony.

Until that was he placed his hand on his heart area and closed his eyes, whispering the words of the national anthem as if it was a religous hymn.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Clara was the first to leave, followed by Jenny, then Andrew, followed by the rest.

Whatever Sebastian's intention, his guests were so triggered by this consumate performance of God Save The Queen that it was like garlic would be to vampires.

When the beautiful performance ended, Sebastian opened his eyes, only to find his entire dining room was now empty with the exception of one unexpectedly loyal remaining guest.

"Jeremy. You surprise me."

"Well, I thought it would be rude to just leave. After all, she's my Queen too."

Happy to find a fellow rogue royalist, Sebastian grabbed a decanter of port and two small glasses.

"Long may she reign."

Sebastian turned to the small troop of musicians and requested they perform the national anthem just one more time for him and his guest. They all happily agreed, amused by the strange circumstances they all found themselves in.

As the music filled the room once again, both Sebastian and Jeremy sat in quiet contemplation, sipping from their glasses of port with a deep and profound gratitude for Queen Elizabeth II and her unprecedented longevity as monarch.