A Look On The Lighter Side: Not exactly grace under pressure

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A Look On The Lighter Side:  Not exactly grace under pressure

 

It could have happened to anyone. Well, at least to anyone signing the royal visitor’s book in Belfast, Northern Ireland. 

To be more specific: Prince Charles — I mean, His Majesty Charles the Third, by the Grace of God, King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland — was signing a guest book as part of a visit to Northern Ireland, five days after his mother, Queen Elizabeth II, had died. And the pen he was using had leaked on him — as fountain pens are wont to do.

“Oh God, I hate this,” Charles exclaims. As he gets up, away from the desk, he hands the evil thing to his wife, Queen Consort Camilla, who takes it but calmly remarks that the ink “is going everywhere.”

The king then stands in front of his wife, going through his pockets and looking for all the world like he is about to give her a handkerchief.

Indeed, he finds one — and proceeds to wipe off his own hand. Nothing for Camilla until another aide comes up and relieves her of the disastrous pen. She sits down and calmly signs her name in the book (with a different pen), while Charles continues to fulminate in the background: “I can’t bear this bloody thing, (it’s) what they do, every stinking time.” Then he exits the room, leaving his wife to her fate at the hands of the replacement “bloody thing.”

If you think I spent far too much time playing and replaying this tiny bit of video on my computer, you are absolutely right, but I was fascinated. By Charles, yes — because it looked, every time, as if he were going to help his wife, and yet he never did.

But mostly, I was drawn in by his complaint that “it’s what they do, every stinking time.” Those evil fountain pens, lurking, just lying in wait for the chance to leak all over your fingers.

Because he’s right, if unforgivably rude. Fountain pens do love to leak on people. In fact, everyone in my fourth-grade class came home with those same ink-stained fingers. But  most of us didn’t mind because it meant we were learning to write script, or what the teachers called “cursive.” (Now I realize where the cursing comes in.)

Still. You’d think that a King who hates fountain pens would just carry around his own ball-point. Or create a “First Equerry of the Ball Point” to carry one for him.

More generally, I could not believe the utter peevishness of this 73-year-old man. “I would make a better king,” I exclaimed.

“Oh really? For one thing, you wouldn’t be a king, you’d be a queen,” corrected my child, who was visiting for the holidays.

“Try telling that to Viola Davis, whose newest movie is titled ‘The Woman King,’” I replied. “I’m sure I could call myself king if I had the chance. Besides,” I continued, “I’d be a lovely king. I would never be so rude or so imperious. Hey, that can’t go here!” I said, interrupting my own thought as I tripped over something in the living room.

“What did you just trip over?” asked my son.

“This blasted box — of books, or something,” I snapped. “Who put that there, anyway?”

“Why you did, Mom, just the other day. I asked you if maybe I should take it upstairs, but you said, ‘Just leave it there.’” So I did.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks for the offer,” I said. If I’d ever had a plan for that box, I’d forgotten it.

“But why are these stupid suitcases all over the floor?” I asked my husband, as I tried to keep walking.

“Well, you said you were too tired after our trip to bring them upstairs, and asked me to leave them there.”

“Humph,” was all I could say. I was still thinking about Prince Charles. Er, King Charles.

Because here’s the thing. If anyone could set a good example for how to behave with a pen leaking all over him, it’s my husband. I still remember how his favorite pen exploded in his shirt pocket on our one and only trip to Disney World. He was very sad about that pen — it was his favorite — but he said very little at the time. I didn’t find out till later that the pen had been a casualty of his wrestling our then-baby’s car seat into the middle-seat seat belt on the plane. It gave him quite a fight, and when it finally succumbed, it took his Pilot-tip with it, smashing it into inky shards.

But did he swear ? Bluster all over the plane? Curse all car seats as damnable? He did not, because he didn’t want to wake the baby. If a mere middle-class dad can keep his cool in such a stressful situation, I think the King of England could manage a leaky pen.

If not, my husband and I are available to switch jobs with Charles and Camilla. I would even furnish the ball points.

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1 COMMENT

  1. I wonder if the provider-of-the-pen retains the title of “Purveyor to the Crown.” And thank you for another example of social class having little correlation with actual “class,” eg: contrasting a royal guy with (in this case) a Royal Pain

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