I was born in England six months after Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen and like most English children, I was raised with a reverence for the Royal family.
On this sad day, I would like to resurrect a story from my childhood memories to share with you.

One day, when I was about eight or nine years old, we heard that the Queen was going to visit Chatham (Kent), just a short bus ride away and I begged to be allowed to go and see her. It was during the school holidays, but Mum would be working at the post office that day and we were to be minded by Mrs Roberston.

Mrs Robertson was a dour Scotswoman. She had no love for our Queen and scoffed at the idea of taking us to see her. However, luck was on my side. Dad was reading the Sunday paper and realised that Her Majesty would be coming much closer. She was leaving by plane from Rochester airport, which was right beside our own estate. I could walk there.

I spent the week before her visit planning everything down to the finest detail. I picked out my nicest frock and my best shoes to wear. Dad had taught me to spit and polish the way they did in the army so although my shoes were not so new anymore, they would look their very best.

Each night I would go to bed dreaming of the day. She would be coming down the main road in her carriage, wearing her flowing dress and tiara and I would be standing by myself at the side of the road, waving as she passed. When she saw me she would tell them to stop and she would come over to talk to me. She would say “What lovely shiny shoes you have” and I would say “My dad taught me to spit and polish so they would shine for you” but then I thought, “Are you allowed to say ‘spit’ to the Queen?” I asked Mum who told me if I said that; the Queen would think my shoes were grubby the rest of the time so it would be better to just say “thank you ma’am” and curtsy.

The big day finally arrived and I took a bag containing my dress and shoes with me to Mrs Robertson’s. I don’t think Mrs Robertson liked children very much, as soon as Mum left she would send us outside into the back garden and we wouldn’t see her until lunchtime when she would bring out our sandwiches and let us use the loo. Then it was straight back outside until Mum picked us up.

Dad had told me that the Queen would be arriving at the airport about 2pm so I left my clothes and shoes inside Mrs Robertson’s house with the sandwiches.

Unfortunately, that day, my little sister, Janet, needed the loo about 11.30 so Mrs Robertson made us all go at the same time, I never thought to get my bag then.
At lunchtime, Mrs Robertson brought the sandwiches out and went back inside, locking the door behind her as usual. With the sandwiches eaten, I knocked at the door to get my bag….no answer.
I called out to her, I begged and pleaded to get the bag but she wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. I didn’t have a watch but I knew time was getting on and I was terrified I would miss the royal visit.
I hammered on the door til it almost broke, crying and yelling at the top of my voice. Finally, I realised that there was no way I was going to get my dress and shoes, from the silence and lack of response I had a pretty good idea that Mrs Robertson wasn’t even in the house anymore.

So, not knowing whether she was still there to look after them, and despite being told to go on my own, I took my two brothers and my sister with me and we went up to the main road. There was already a crowd gathering along the roadside, and policemen were making sure they all stayed well back.

Suddenly John, my baby brother, aged three, made a run for it and I went after him.

A policeman scooped him up before he reached the traffic but the policeman noticed my red eyes and tear stained face and wanted to know the reason. I told him the whole sorry story of how I had had to come to see the Queen in my play clothes and Wellington boots.
When I had finished, he said, “Come with me”, and still carrying John, he took the four of us over the main road and behind the wooden rail fence that bordered the airport. “Stand on the rails” he said “ and you’ll be able to see the Queen but she won’t be able to see very much of your clothes and boots, and this little tyke will be safe from the road”.

We were the only ones on that side of the road and he made us promise to stay there until he returned afterwards to take us safely back across.

A little while later, a cheer went up and everyone began waving flags. Oh the shame of it all. My one and only chance to see the Royal Family and I was wearing Wellington boots. I stood on the fence and waved madly and hoped she wouldn’t see the ugly things adorning my feet. The cars went past slowly, I saw a lady wearing a coat and hat turn to look in our direction. She saw us and smiled and waved and we politely waved back..

Then they were gone. I looked down the road…where was the carriage? Where was the Queen?
The policeman came back to get us and asked if I had seen Her Majesty, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so”, I said.

I never really knew whether I saw the Queen or not that day. At least I was spared the ultimate indignity of curtsying in my Wellington boots.

 

[Ezzy]

Oh I'm proud of the good the bad and the ugly. It makes us who we are today

Love your style.

 

[RTS]

I was born in England six months after Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen and like most English children, I was raised with a reverence for the Royal family.
On this sad day, I would like to resurrect a story from my childhood memories to share with you.

One day, when I was about eight or nine years old, we heard that the Queen was going to visit Chatham (Kent), just a short bus ride away and I begged to be allowed to go and see her. It was during the school holidays, but Mum would be working at the post office that day and we were to be minded by Mrs Roberston.

Mrs Robertson was a dour Scotswoman. She had no love for our Queen and scoffed at the idea of taking us to see her. However, luck was on my side. Dad was reading the Sunday paper and realised that Her Majesty would be coming much closer. She was leaving by plane from Rochester airport, which was right beside our own estate. I could walk there.

I spent the week before her visit planning everything down to the finest detail. I picked out my nicest frock and my best shoes to wear. Dad had taught me to spit and polish the way they did in the army so although my shoes were not so new anymore, they would look their very best.

Each night I would go to bed dreaming of the day. She would be coming down the main road in her carriage, wearing her flowing dress and tiara and I would be standing by myself at the side of the road, waving as she passed. When she saw me she would tell them to stop and she would come over to talk to me. She would say “What lovely shiny shoes you have” and I would say “My dad taught me to spit and polish so they would shine for you” but then I thought, “Are you allowed to say ‘spit’ to the Queen?” I asked Mum who told me if I said that; the Queen would think my shoes were grubby the rest of the time so it would be better to just say “thank you ma’am” and curtsy.

The big day finally arrived and I took a bag containing my dress and shoes with me to Mrs Robertson’s. I don’t think Mrs Robertson liked children very much, as soon as Mum left she would send us outside into the back garden and we wouldn’t see her until lunchtime when she would bring out our sandwiches and let us use the loo. Then it was straight back outside until Mum picked us up.

Dad had told me that the Queen would be arriving at the airport about 2pm so I left my clothes and shoes inside Mrs Robertson’s house with the sandwiches.

Unfortunately, that day, my little sister, Janet, needed the loo about 11.30 so Mrs Robertson made us all go at the same time, I never thought to get my bag then.
At lunchtime, Mrs Robertson brought the sandwiches out and went back inside, locking the door behind her as usual. With the sandwiches eaten, I knocked at the door to get my bag….no answer.
I called out to her, I begged and pleaded to get the bag but she wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. I didn’t have a watch but I knew time was getting on and I was terrified I would miss the royal visit.
I hammered on the door til it almost broke, crying and yelling at the top of my voice. Finally, I realised that there was no way I was going to get my dress and shoes, from the silence and lack of response I had a pretty good idea that Mrs Robertson wasn’t even in the house anymore.

So, not knowing whether she was still there to look after them, and despite being told to go on my own, I took my two brothers and my sister with me and we went up to the main road. There was already a crowd gathering along the roadside, and policemen were making sure they all stayed well back.

Suddenly John, my baby brother, aged three, made a run for it and I went after him.

A policeman scooped him up before he reached the traffic but the policeman noticed my red eyes and tear stained face and wanted to know the reason. I told him the whole sorry story of how I had had to come to see the Queen in my play clothes and Wellington boots.
When I had finished, he said, “Come with me”, and still carrying John, he took the four of us over the main road and behind the wooden rail fence that bordered the airport. “Stand on the rails” he said “ and you’ll be able to see the Queen but she won’t be able to see very much of your clothes and boots, and this little tyke will be safe from the road”.

We were the only ones on that side of the road and he made us promise to stay there until he returned afterwards to take us safely back across.

A little while later, a cheer went up and everyone began waving flags. Oh the shame of it all. My one and only chance to see the Royal Family and I was wearing Wellington boots. I stood on the fence and waved madly and hoped she wouldn’t see the ugly things adorning my feet. The cars went past slowly, I saw a lady wearing a coat and hat turn to look in our direction. She saw us and smiled and waved and we politely waved back..

Then they were gone. I looked down the road…where was the carriage? Where was the Queen?
The policeman came back to get us and asked if I had seen Her Majesty, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so”, I said.

I never really knew whether I saw the Queen or not that day. At least I was spared the ultimate indignity of curtsying in my Wellington boots.

I always thought the Queen would appear in tiara and ballgown too. When she came to Australia it was a disappointment to see an ordinary mum.

 

[Isabell]

I was born in England six months after Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen and like most English children, I was raised with a reverence for the Royal family.
On this sad day, I would like to resurrect a story from my childhood memories to share with you.

One day, when I was about eight or nine years old, we heard that the Queen was going to visit Chatham (Kent), just a short bus ride away and I begged to be allowed to go and see her. It was during the school holidays, but Mum would be working at the post office that day and we were to be minded by Mrs Roberston.

Mrs Robertson was a dour Scotswoman. She had no love for our Queen and scoffed at the idea of taking us to see her. However, luck was on my side. Dad was reading the Sunday paper and realised that Her Majesty would be coming much closer. She was leaving by plane from Rochester airport, which was right beside our own estate. I could walk there.

I spent the week before her visit planning everything down to the finest detail. I picked out my nicest frock and my best shoes to wear. Dad had taught me to spit and polish the way they did in the army so although my shoes were not so new anymore, they would look their very best.

Each night I would go to bed dreaming of the day. She would be coming down the main road in her carriage, wearing her flowing dress and tiara and I would be standing by myself at the side of the road, waving as she passed. When she saw me she would tell them to stop and she would come over to talk to me. She would say “What lovely shiny shoes you have” and I would say “My dad taught me to spit and polish so they would shine for you” but then I thought, “Are you allowed to say ‘spit’ to the Queen?” I asked Mum who told me if I said that; the Queen would think my shoes were grubby the rest of the time so it would be better to just say “thank you ma’am” and curtsy.

The big day finally arrived and I took a bag containing my dress and shoes with me to Mrs Robertson’s. I don’t think Mrs Robertson liked children very much, as soon as Mum left she would send us outside into the back garden and we wouldn’t see her until lunchtime when she would bring out our sandwiches and let us use the loo. Then it was straight back outside until Mum picked us up.

Dad had told me that the Queen would be arriving at the airport about 2pm so I left my clothes and shoes inside Mrs Robertson’s house with the sandwiches.

Unfortunately, that day, my little sister, Janet, needed the loo about 11.30 so Mrs Robertson made us all go at the same time, I never thought to get my bag then.
At lunchtime, Mrs Robertson brought the sandwiches out and went back inside, locking the door behind her as usual. With the sandwiches eaten, I knocked at the door to get my bag….no answer.
I called out to her, I begged and pleaded to get the bag but she wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. I didn’t have a watch but I knew time was getting on and I was terrified I would miss the royal visit.
I hammered on the door til it almost broke, crying and yelling at the top of my voice. Finally, I realised that there was no way I was going to get my dress and shoes, from the silence and lack of response I had a pretty good idea that Mrs Robertson wasn’t even in the house anymore.

So, not knowing whether she was still there to look after them, and despite being told to go on my own, I took my two brothers and my sister with me and we went up to the main road. There was already a crowd gathering along the roadside, and policemen were making sure they all stayed well back.

Suddenly John, my baby brother, aged three, made a run for it and I went after him.

A policeman scooped him up before he reached the traffic but the policeman noticed my red eyes and tear stained face and wanted to know the reason. I told him the whole sorry story of how I had had to come to see the Queen in my play clothes and Wellington boots.
When I had finished, he said, “Come with me”, and still carrying John, he took the four of us over the main road and behind the wooden rail fence that bordered the airport. “Stand on the rails” he said “ and you’ll be able to see the Queen but she won’t be able to see very much of your clothes and boots, and this little tyke will be safe from the road”.

We were the only ones on that side of the road and he made us promise to stay there until he returned afterwards to take us safely back across.

A little while later, a cheer went up and everyone began waving flags. Oh the shame of it all. My one and only chance to see the Royal Family and I was wearing Wellington boots. I stood on the fence and waved madly and hoped she wouldn’t see the ugly things adorning my feet. The cars went past slowly, I saw a lady wearing a coat and hat turn to look in our direction. She saw us and smiled and waved and we politely waved back..

Then they were gone. I looked down the road…where was the carriage? Where was the Queen?
The policeman came back to get us and asked if I had seen Her Majesty, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so”, I said.

I never really knew whether I saw the Queen or not that day. At least I was spared the ultimate indignity of curtsying in my Wellington boots.

Oh I loved your story! You really conveyed a child’s perspective so well! Thank you!

 

[Poppy1111]

I was born in England six months after Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen and like most English children, I was raised with a reverence for the Royal family.
On this sad day, I would like to resurrect a story from my childhood memories to share with you.

One day, when I was about eight or nine years old, we heard that the Queen was going to visit Chatham (Kent), just a short bus ride away and I begged to be allowed to go and see her. It was during the school holidays, but Mum would be working at the post office that day and we were to be minded by Mrs Roberston.

Mrs Robertson was a dour Scotswoman. She had no love for our Queen and scoffed at the idea of taking us to see her. However, luck was on my side. Dad was reading the Sunday paper and realised that Her Majesty would be coming much closer. She was leaving by plane from Rochester airport, which was right beside our own estate. I could walk there.

I spent the week before her visit planning everything down to the finest detail. I picked out my nicest frock and my best shoes to wear. Dad had taught me to spit and polish the way they did in the army so although my shoes were not so new anymore, they would look their very best.

Each night I would go to bed dreaming of the day. She would be coming down the main road in her carriage, wearing her flowing dress and tiara and I would be standing by myself at the side of the road, waving as she passed. When she saw me she would tell them to stop and she would come over to talk to me. She would say “What lovely shiny shoes you have” and I would say “My dad taught me to spit and polish so they would shine for you” but then I thought, “Are you allowed to say ‘spit’ to the Queen?” I asked Mum who told me if I said that; the Queen would think my shoes were grubby the rest of the time so it would be better to just say “thank you ma’am” and curtsy.

The big day finally arrived and I took a bag containing my dress and shoes with me to Mrs Robertson’s. I don’t think Mrs Robertson liked children very much, as soon as Mum left she would send us outside into the back garden and we wouldn’t see her until lunchtime when she would bring out our sandwiches and let us use the loo. Then it was straight back outside until Mum picked us up.

Dad had told me that the Queen would be arriving at the airport about 2pm so I left my clothes and shoes inside Mrs Robertson’s house with the sandwiches.

Unfortunately, that day, my little sister, Janet, needed the loo about 11.30 so Mrs Robertson made us all go at the same time, I never thought to get my bag then.
At lunchtime, Mrs Robertson brought the sandwiches out and went back inside, locking the door behind her as usual. With the sandwiches eaten, I knocked at the door to get my bag….no answer.
I called out to her, I begged and pleaded to get the bag but she wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. I didn’t have a watch but I knew time was getting on and I was terrified I would miss the royal visit.
I hammered on the door til it almost broke, crying and yelling at the top of my voice. Finally, I realised that there was no way I was going to get my dress and shoes, from the silence and lack of response I had a pretty good idea that Mrs Robertson wasn’t even in the house anymore.

So, not knowing whether she was still there to look after them, and despite being told to go on my own, I took my two brothers and my sister with me and we went up to the main road. There was already a crowd gathering along the roadside, and policemen were making sure they all stayed well back.

Suddenly John, my baby brother, aged three, made a run for it and I went after him.

A policeman scooped him up before he reached the traffic but the policeman noticed my red eyes and tear stained face and wanted to know the reason. I told him the whole sorry story of how I had had to come to see the Queen in my play clothes and Wellington boots.
When I had finished, he said, “Come with me”, and still carrying John, he took the four of us over the main road and behind the wooden rail fence that bordered the airport. “Stand on the rails” he said “ and you’ll be able to see the Queen but she won’t be able to see very much of your clothes and boots, and this little tyke will be safe from the road”.

We were the only ones on that side of the road and he made us promise to stay there until he returned afterwards to take us safely back across.

A little while later, a cheer went up and everyone began waving flags. Oh the shame of it all. My one and only chance to see the Royal Family and I was wearing Wellington boots. I stood on the fence and waved madly and hoped she wouldn’t see the ugly things adorning my feet. The cars went past slowly, I saw a lady wearing a coat and hat turn to look in our direction. She saw us and smiled and waved and we politely waved back..

Then they were gone. I looked down the road…where was the carriage? Where was the Queen?
The policeman came back to get us and asked if I had seen Her Majesty, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so”, I said.

I never really knew whether I saw the Queen or not that day. At least I was spared the ultimate indignity of curtsying in my Wellington boots.

I think you DID see the Queen, but as a young girl, you probably expected someone who looked more regal. A wonderful memory for you.

 

[relljube]

I was born in England six months after Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen and like most English children, I was raised with a reverence for the Royal family.
On this sad day, I would like to resurrect a story from my childhood memories to share with you.

One day, when I was about eight or nine years old, we heard that the Queen was going to visit Chatham (Kent), just a short bus ride away and I begged to be allowed to go and see her. It was during the school holidays, but Mum would be working at the post office that day and we were to be minded by Mrs Roberston.

Mrs Robertson was a dour Scotswoman. She had no love for our Queen and scoffed at the idea of taking us to see her. However, luck was on my side. Dad was reading the Sunday paper and realised that Her Majesty would be coming much closer. She was leaving by plane from Rochester airport, which was right beside our own estate. I could walk there.

I spent the week before her visit planning everything down to the finest detail. I picked out my nicest frock and my best shoes to wear. Dad had taught me to spit and polish the way they did in the army so although my shoes were not so new anymore, they would look their very best.

Each night I would go to bed dreaming of the day. She would be coming down the main road in her carriage, wearing her flowing dress and tiara and I would be standing by myself at the side of the road, waving as she passed. When she saw me she would tell them to stop and she would come over to talk to me. She would say “What lovely shiny shoes you have” and I would say “My dad taught me to spit and polish so they would shine for you” but then I thought, “Are you allowed to say ‘spit’ to the Queen?” I asked Mum who told me if I said that; the Queen would think my shoes were grubby the rest of the time so it would be better to just say “thank you ma’am” and curtsy.

The big day finally arrived and I took a bag containing my dress and shoes with me to Mrs Robertson’s. I don’t think Mrs Robertson liked children very much, as soon as Mum left she would send us outside into the back garden and we wouldn’t see her until lunchtime when she would bring out our sandwiches and let us use the loo. Then it was straight back outside until Mum picked us up.

Dad had told me that the Queen would be arriving at the airport about 2pm so I left my clothes and shoes inside Mrs Robertson’s house with the sandwiches.

Unfortunately, that day, my little sister, Janet, needed the loo about 11.30 so Mrs Robertson made us all go at the same time, I never thought to get my bag then.
At lunchtime, Mrs Robertson brought the sandwiches out and went back inside, locking the door behind her as usual. With the sandwiches eaten, I knocked at the door to get my bag….no answer.
I called out to her, I begged and pleaded to get the bag but she wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. I didn’t have a watch but I knew time was getting on and I was terrified I would miss the royal visit.
I hammered on the door til it almost broke, crying and yelling at the top of my voice. Finally, I realised that there was no way I was going to get my dress and shoes, from the silence and lack of response I had a pretty good idea that Mrs Robertson wasn’t even in the house anymore.

So, not knowing whether she was still there to look after them, and despite being told to go on my own, I took my two brothers and my sister with me and we went up to the main road. There was already a crowd gathering along the roadside, and policemen were making sure they all stayed well back.

Suddenly John, my baby brother, aged three, made a run for it and I went after him.

A policeman scooped him up before he reached the traffic but the policeman noticed my red eyes and tear stained face and wanted to know the reason. I told him the whole sorry story of how I had had to come to see the Queen in my play clothes and Wellington boots.
When I had finished, he said, “Come with me”, and still carrying John, he took the four of us over the main road and behind the wooden rail fence that bordered the airport. “Stand on the rails” he said “ and you’ll be able to see the Queen but she won’t be able to see very much of your clothes and boots, and this little tyke will be safe from the road”.

We were the only ones on that side of the road and he made us promise to stay there until he returned afterwards to take us safely back across.

A little while later, a cheer went up and everyone began waving flags. Oh the shame of it all. My one and only chance to see the Royal Family and I was wearing Wellington boots. I stood on the fence and waved madly and hoped she wouldn’t see the ugly things adorning my feet. The cars went past slowly, I saw a lady wearing a coat and hat turn to look in our direction. She saw us and smiled and waved and we politely waved back..

Then they were gone. I looked down the road…where was the carriage? Where was the Queen?
The policeman came back to get us and asked if I had seen Her Majesty, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so”, I said.

I never really knew whether I saw the Queen or not that day. At least I was spared the ultimate indignity of curtsying in my Wellington boots.

What a wonderful story and beautifully told - I could picture the whole episode in my mind. What a horror old Mrs Robertson was! Thank you for making my evening a happy event.

 

[Esma Rose]

Always a Royalist I dearly wanted to see her when she came several times to Australia. The opportunity arose when she and her husband were driving through Heidelberg from the City of Melbourne. My husband was working so he asked his mate to take our 5 yr old daughter and myself to see the Royal couple. The route they were using was very close to where another mate of his lived, so a chair was ready for me at the curbside marked "booked." How clever was that eh? Everyone respected the booked chair was possibly for an older person. Soon the open car approached and being an excitable young mum I called out "Good morning Phil" and the look on his face when he replied "Good morning to you dear" has been with me all my life. I forgot the Queen in my excitement, but I know I had no intention of calling her anything else but who she was. ha ha. Secret. I loved her husband because of his never-ending wry look on his face when he jokingly got caught up in a conversation. I read just a few days ago on our SDC that he called The Queen by her nick name in the Palace "Cabbage." When he passed on, I am sure it was mentioned as "Pumpkin." They had both been to see a horse that The Queen was interested in at the time, & he called out to her to "Come here Pumpkin." I kept the paper so will look it up for sure.

 

[Suzanne rose]

I always thought the Queen would appear in tiara and ballgown too. When she came to Australia it was a disappointment to see an ordinary mum.

I think every little girl pictured that

 

[Suzanne rose]

Always a Royalist I dearly wanted to see her when she came several times to Australia. The opportunity arose when she and her husband were driving through Heidelberg from the City of Melbourne. My husband was working so he asked his mate to take our 5 yr old daughter and myself to see the Royal couple. The route they were using was very close to where another mate of his lived, so a chair was ready for me at the curbside marked "booked." How clever was that eh? Everyone respected the booked chair was possibly for an older person. Soon the open car approached and being an excitable young mum I called out "Good morning Phil" and the look on his face when he replied "Good morning to you dear" has been with me all my life. I forgot the Queen in my excitement, but I know I had no intention of calling her anything else but who she was. ha ha. Secret. I loved her husband because of his never-ending wry look on his face when he jokingly got caught up in a conversation. I read just a few days ago on our SDC that he called The Queen by her nick name in the Palace "Cabbage." When he passed on, I am sure it was mentioned as "Pumpkin." They had both been to see a horse that The Queen was interested in at the time, & he called out to her to "Come here Pumpkin." I kept the paper so will look it up for sure.

Oh I'm loving all these stories

Imagine the look on people's faces when they saw you sit on that chair

 

[Suzanne rose]

Always a Royalist I dearly wanted to see her when she came several times to Australia. The opportunity arose when she and her husband were driving through Heidelberg from the City of Melbourne. My husband was working so he asked his mate to take our 5 yr old daughter and myself to see the Royal couple. The route they were using was very close to where another mate of his lived, so a chair was ready for me at the curbside marked "booked." How clever was that eh? Everyone respected the booked chair was possibly for an older person. Soon the open car approached and being an excitable young mum I called out "Good morning Phil" and the look on his face when he replied "Good morning to you dear" has been with me all my life. I forgot the Queen in my excitement, but I know I had no intention of calling her anything else but who she was. ha ha. Secret. I loved her husband because of his never-ending wry look on his face when he jokingly got caught up in a conversation. I read just a few days ago on our SDC that he called The Queen by her nick name in the Palace "Cabbage." When he passed on, I am sure it was mentioned as "Pumpkin." They had both been to see a horse that The Queen was interested in at the time, & he called out to her to "Come here Pumpkin." I kept the paper so will look it up for sure.

He did call her cabbage.
Some have speculated that the pet name came from mon petit chou, a French way of saying “my darling.” In English, though, the term translates literally to “my little cabbage,” though it actually comes from a shortened term for the pastry chou à la crème. Here are the words you’ll never hear a royal say, though.