Writing Through Listening - The Grand Day

It was a beautiful spring morning in London, England during the early 1960s. For once, the sun, just visible above the horizon, was shining, the only moisture on the ground the early morning dew on the grass. All across the city the atmosphere was bright, joyous, and festive.

            Police officers sat atop their horses, watching for any signs of trouble and conduction traffic, some even blocking off a few of the streets. People of all ages gathered along both sides of the street, jittering excitedly; young mothers held on to their childrens’ hands, trying to keep them from running off and getting lost in the midst of the excited bustling, elderly couples strolled hand in hand down the busy streets.

            People everywhere were being pushed into each other, but the event was so grand, not a single child – on – Christmas – morning smile disappeared from anyone’s face. Cheerful chatter could be heard for miles around as people anticipated that final moment. At last it came, and the first streets grew silent before cheers erupted like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Even the usually loud chime of the eight o’clock church bells was only a distant buzz, audible only to those standing just under the church tower itself.

            When the carriage passed, the on looking bystanders could only stare at the beauty that passed before them. The queen, in her exquisite lavender gown, was led down the busy streets in a white carriage, pulled by two white horses, whose manes and tails were freshly groomed. Glued to the queen’s face, just like on those of her admirers, was that child – on – Christmas – morning smile. Today was her birthday, and the entire country had gathered to rejoice the day with their kind, beautiful leading lady.