Apart from
taking me to her children's school and Buckingham Palace where I saw two-foot
guards from the Household Division marching around (the ones that wear scarlet
tunics and tall black fur caps known as bearskins), the Victoria Memorial
sculpture in front of the palace, my former boss’ wife offered me an
unforgettable walking tour of central London.
She walked me
through the Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street (where I saw many famous shops and
restaurants), Regent Street, St. James Park, and then we entered St James'
Palace to visit her friend whose husband is a chef at Buckingham Palace. Her
friend also used to work there as one of Princess Diana’s maids or something.
It was
surreal to be so close to the walls and rooms that had witnessed parts of royal
history.
We had met
her friend at their children’s school, then she invited us to her place for
tea. She had to inform the guards at the gate about our coming, or else they
would not have let us in. Security at royal residences is understandably tight,
and seeing the protocol in action gave me a glimpse of how the monarchy's world
works — layered, precise, and protected.
St. James is
still a working palace though the monarchy has not lived there in quite some
time. I got to see where Prince Charles and his sons live. I hear the palace is
also home to Princess Alexandra and housed the Queen Mother until her death
just a few years ago. I also saw two guards from the Household Division in
front of one of the gates at St. James Palace.
Then, just as
we were getting out of her friend's house, my former boss’ wife said, “Samali,
look behind you.” What I saw was quite a sight. There was a large group of foot
guards standing outside. They were all clad in their scarlet tunics but without
their bearskins and they were staring at us. They are responsible for the
safety and protection of the Sovereign at Buckingham and St James' Palaces.
It was one of
those moments where time feels paused — a brush with tradition that made me
stand still. I couldn’t help but wonder what they saw when they looked at us:
visitors, civilians, outsiders stepping briefly into their guarded world.
From there, we
visited the church where her husband works. It is next to BBC World Service.
She bought me an Oyster card and explained how it works, but I wonder if I will
have the courage to do so on my own.
The city
moves so quickly, and even small things like public transport can feel
intimidating. But that card — handed to me with kindness — felt like a key to
independence.
I am supposed
to have visited some art gallery this afternoon, but instead I ended up at an
internet cafe where I put up this post, yet I could have done this free of
charge at their house. But maybe I needed this little corner to be alone with
my thoughts, to absorb everything I'd seen, and to write — to remember it all
while it was still fresh.
