The empty seat

Cartoon by Morten Morland, a Norwegian cartoonist based in the UK

 This cartoon is being shared a lot; it appeared in today's Times. 

 I think it strikes a chord on many levels (which is actually what a chord is, isn't it?).

Those of us who watched the State Funeral today (and we couldn't resist) had an opportunity: to see beyond the pageantry, symbolism, and sentiment.

We feel a loss, but it's more than a seemingly omnipresent and immortal Queen.  It's a way of life, and a way of seeing things, which, however myopic, was something taken for granted.

Many of us looked over to a chair, and realised, probably not for the first time, that a flawed, maddening, but beloved person no longer was sitting there.  Perhaps we thought:  Oh s/he would have loved/hated this.

I was lucky today.  I escorted Demeter from her apartment to watch bits and pieces of the ceremonies.  We drank tea, of course. Afterwards, we discussed which members of the Royal Family we'd seen over the years.  (They come to Canada quite a bit.)

And I realised that my very British mother actually only lived in England for about a decade, if you include her first year of life, and home furloughs from Kenya.

Then I escorted her home, and went for a walk in the sunset.

It seemed appropriate.

The p word

When I was in Grade Two, we did a Social Studies unit on "Indians".  This was before the terms "Indigenous" and "First Nations".  I think it's safe to say that our teachers didn't know any better.

It was a time when the residential schools were still in operation, and little boys played "Cowboys and Indians".

On a special project day, we came to school dressed as "Indians".  I lived in Edmonton, so the emphasis was on Plains "Indians".  My mother fixed me up with one of my soft dolls bundled and strapped to my back.  One of the boys punched it in the face as a joke.

That's the last time I recall hearing the word "papoose".

Last night, I came across an essay on the BBC web site, under, of all things, the "Entertainment and Arts" section, presumably because the author, Mark Savage, is a music columnist. 

This piece was about the increasingly legendary Queue that stretches from Westminster Hall, where the Queen's body lies in state, to Southwark Park on the south bank of the Thames, a distance of just under five miles. 

Savage writes of the peaceful atmosphere emanating from the live telecast of the Lying in State, and says he often leaves the livestream on, while doing things around his home. He speaks warmly about the people passing through the hall on either side of the catafalque, remarking on spotting many masks.  (I've seen about half a dozen masks amongst the thousands of people, but then, I don't keep the telecast on for long periods.)

And it was when he described the many types of people passing through the great hall, that my jaw dropped to my knees: There are women in hijabs and wearing papooses... 

Click to enlarge

I was getting ready for bed at the time, and shut down the web site, feeling startled and slightly sick.  I was surprised at how upset I felt, upset enough to fumble with my phone for an official definition of this long-forgotten word. 

This seems to indicate that "papoose", as a synonym for what I called a baby sling or carrier* when the girls were infants, is mainly in use in the UK, and I recalled how, as delightful as my British rellies are, they had an unfortunate tendency to make references to "Red Indians" (cringe) and persist in calling Inuit people "Eskimos", a sidebar to their generally dismissive attitudes to Canada and Canadians. 

Still -- "papoose"??? On a BBC web site? Would they call maternity clothes "squaw-wear"? 

This morning, I texted elder daughter in London.  As a millennial who has spent much of her early adulthood correcting stone-age parental attitudes, her response surprised me:  she made the casual claim that she'd heard it used in Canada fairly often.  I sent her the dictionary definition and she seemed taken aback.

I don't, for a moment, think that Mark Savage is a red-neck, but his careless and sentimental vocabulary underscores why we've been hearing less than complimentary messages from groups wounded by things done in Elizabeth's name.

Call 'em baby slings or carriers, Mr Savage. The p-word does you no favours, and it rather ruined my evening.

*Actually, the Resident Fan Boy reminds me that we called the baby carrier by its brand-name: "Snuggli". Since I'm calling out the BBC, I feel compelled to add: many other brands of baby slings are available.

Alignment

I was going to avoid mentioning the upcoming royal funeral until it actually happens next Monday.  More than enough is being mentioned already.

However, we are all British descendants in our house, and elder daughter lives in the UK, so naturally, we've been tuning into the death festival that's been taking place for the last week.  

Yesterday, while searching for YouTube recordings to show Demeter, who has no internet, I stumbled across the continuous live streaming of the Great British public (plus a large number of tourists) making their steady way in two lines past the Queen's coffin, which is lying in state at Westminster Hall.

It's oddly compelling viewing.  These are people who have waited for hours and hours for the privilege of a moment's pause to bow, genuflect, namaste, or whatever, before trotting back to their lives.  I'm astounded to see some people have brought strollers, or ambulant young children.

Yesterday evening, I discovered there's a "Queue-Tracker" on YouTube.  At that point, the Queue (capitalised, like the Queue at Wimbledon) was two and a half miles long, stretching back to Southwark Bridge on the South Bank of the Thames.

This morning, when I arose, it was 4.2 miles long, and I've just checked, it's 4.9 miles long.  My understanding is that the "cut-off" point is five miles, when, so the Twitter wags suggest, a queue will then be formed for the Queue.

A popular thread on Twitter declares that this Queue is performance art.  It's certainly bonkers, but like a road accident, I can't look away.