My jubilee
Jeffrey Bernard
Thank God that's all over. Not a vintage year for me, I can tell you. It must have been fun for the Queen though, although I, personally, wouldn't like to be reminded that I'd been in the same job for twenty-five years. Oddly enough the onl i Ring about her jubilee that made me feel uneasy was that it kept reminding me of what I was doing in 1952 and that wasn't a vintage year either. Tulyar Won the Derby —1 backed the fourth horse, Shikampur — and I got the losing wherewithal from one of the most ghastly jobs I've ever .perforined. I was working in a paper factory of all things in Winehcombe in Gloucestershire of all places and I spent all day cooking rags in caustic soda in a boiler that I then had to climb into and empty after each session. The smell was fantastic. Not nice. What money that was left over after disastrous events like Tulyar's Derby was spent in a pub run by Tom Graveney the famous local and England batsman, and while the Queen was mounting her throne I Was being pushed off mine. I was living with an extremely hefty girl who was working as a milkmaid at the time and the events that led to my abdication were quite trivial really. A matter of cowardice, that's all It was during the week of the coronation that a bumble • bee found its way inside her jersey. She was standing in the kitchen at the time and when she announced with a scream what had happened I fled closing the door behind me. I really am terrified of insects that sting and I was cashiered as you might say.
Anyway, you can see why I never really wanted to be reminded of 1952. And looking back on 1977 is something I shall try and avoid in the hereafter. Here, in Marylebone High Street, they went to great lengths to celebrate the jubilee. They must, by all accounts, have had one of the only street parties in the country that was actually posh. I opted out of it knowing how fearfully priggish they are on my manor and I went to one in Battersea at the invitation of a friend who lives there. That was an extraordinary party. There were tressel tables down the length of the street and they were covered in fish paste sandwiches. 1 hadn't seen a fish paste sandwich since I left school and it was odd to be reminded of just how bleak they are.
The party started splendidly with everyone patting the kids on their heads and waving union jacks and there was dance music coming over loud speakers and dancing in the streets in fact. Then someone announced that the beer had run out so we all went to the local and bought bottles of whisky. One must, 1 suppose, be thankful that the Queen was not around half an hour later to witness the behaviour of her loyal subjects.
The family at No 12 had a really wonderful punch-up with the family at No 14 and as I cheered on the No 14 mob, a girl from No 13 ripped my shirt off. The children watched from the comparative safety of their front gardens, their faces wreathed in smiles and covered with jam and fish paste and their parents knocked hell out of each other. Well, I suppose it must be comforting for Her Majesty to know that her subjects aren't all that averse to a fight and never have been, but they'd never do that in Maryle bone.
It was all very different the first time I witnessed a royal occasion. That was in 1936 when I was a four-year-old and watched the coronation procession of King George VI from my father's office in Park Lane. Even so, they gave me a glass of champagne — perhaps it was cider — and I've often wondered if that was when the rot set in. Coincidentally, Tulyar's jockey, Charlie Smirke„ won the Derby that year too on Mahmoud, but I presume it too was a ghastly year since I've managed to suppress all recollection of it.
But the jubilee apart, what else? The summer stank and I never got it together to have a holiday. The bailiff called so frequently that we're now on christian name terms. Grouch() Marx died and I 'had some dreadful days at the races. Miss Right continued to elude me and all of my suits wore out at the same time. The landlord managed to get my rent put up to what he calls a 'reasonable' amount and I spent half of August in hospital. Looking back, there were some bright spots though 1 suppose. It was nice to have tea one afternoon with Lester Piggott and I did enjoy renewing my acquaintance with fish paste.
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