Dreams Really Do Come True

HM the Queen Alighting From Royal Carriage

“Hey, look, there’s the Queen,” I said to Julian as we walked down the path to Horse Guards Parade.  

Julian is Rob’s cousin from a family line rediscovered.  He is Rob’s mother’s generation and Rob had invited him down to London to enjoy the pomp and ceremony of Trooping the Colour for the Queen’s 90^th Birthday celebrations.

Julian looked up from adjusting his suit and looked around. 

I pointed to the open carriage not a hundred feet away.  “There.  In the carriage, she’s wearing lime green!”

He looked again and seemed almost interested.  I knew exactly how he felt.  I was living my dream.

I don’t usually remember my dreams much longer than a minute or two after waking-up.  But, one reoccurring dream always sticks in my head long after I get up.  I call it my frustration dream and while I don’t have it a lot, it happens enough that I can give it category. 

The details of the dream differ each time and the details never have anything to do with real events in my life - past or present - but the pattern is always the same.  I start with a simple time sensitive goal in mind – meeting a friend for a movie, catching a plane or attending a lecture.  

For example, let’s say I’m on the way to the airport to collect a friend.  I’m ready to go and have plenty of time to spare.  Then it starts.  Maybe, just before I leave the phone rings and someone is just around the corner who wants to deliver something.  Then they are late.  Then they arrive and need me to inspect the package.  I escape and head to the Tube (Subway).  A man on the street has lost his cat and I help out.  I get to the platform and suddenly - a signal failure and the Tube, isn’t running anymore.  I look for a bus.  I find the right one, but half way there, it goes on diversion.  I decide to walk.  I end up walking the wrong way.  Then someone stops me for directions, etc. etc. etc.  

All the Queens Men (and Women)

Long story short, a dozen little things get in the way that prevent me from reaching that very simple goal.  I never get to whatever, I just wake up.

Those who know me will have ideas about what aspects of my life lead to such dreams.  Everyone else can have fun imagining.

Anyway, last Saturday Rob had arranged tickets for the Trooping the Colour ceremony in honour of the Queen’s 90^th.  Julian had come down from Coventry the night before and we were up early with the British Summer sunrise raring to go!  

Okay, well, actually, I wasn’t.  I hate crowds and long queues.  I hate security searches and the controls.  And, while British pomp and ceremony is a sight to be seen, I’m kind of over it.  I had already successfully avoided Trooping the Colour for three years, but since we are leaving later this year, I thought, “What the hell…”

Rob, Julian and I were ready to go and had time to spare.  The invitation said we needed to be seated by 10am.  We didn’t want to make Julian walk too far.  So, we nixed the Tube and caught the bus at the end of the street.   We were on the bus by 8:45 for what is normally a 10 minute bus ride to Parliament Square where we would walk a short distance to the entrance for the main event.

Then it started…

The bus went one stop and had to wait for a change of driver.  Then we went two more stops in slow traffic and the bus sat for five minutes with no explanation until a bus company staff member hopped on and we started off again.  The traffic slowed more and more as we got closer to Parliament Square until the bus was stuck about two stops before.  We abandoned the bus and walked a couple of blocks to the Horse Guards Road entrance. 

We identified the queue for the security check and joined it.  It was about 9:25 and the queue wasn’t moving.   After a while a guy in an army uniform came along checking tickets.  He looked at ours and said we were in the wrong queue.  Our seats were on the other side of Horse Guards Parade.  So, we were sent off through St James Park toward the Mall where we were to cross the road to join the correct queue.  We started off.

Thousands of people without tickets were gathering in the Park to catch a glimpse across Horse Guards Road.  Barricades were up.  Police men and women on one side were chatting playfully, as London cops do, with the hoards on the other side.   There was a small space between the hoard and the fence on the other side of the path.  We pushed through.  I ran ahead on reconnaissance and Rob walked with Julian, who wasn’t up to our speed – remember Rob’s 87 year-old mother’s generation.

I got to the Mall at the top of the Park and there were some Westminster Volunteer Guides there.  I could see the crowd was contained by more barricades.  So, I asked were we could cross the 20 feet to the other side of the road where the security checkpoint for that end of Horse Guards was located.

The young woman guide pointed behind me and said that I had to go to the lights, cross over, walk along the other side then cross over again to the security queue.  It was 9:45.  Fair enough, we need to be seated by 10:00, that should be doable.

Rob and Julian caught up.  I directed them to the lights where the Police had set up a gate in the barricade for people to cross.  We got behind the people standing there, but no movement.  The gate was now closed.

The cop was yelling at people not to push.  The hoard was yelling back,  “We need to cross.”  He said it was closed to allow parade participants to get to Horse Guards.  Buckingham Palace is after all at the other end of the Mall.  We had to wait.  So, we did.  More people in our predicament kept coming up behind wondering where they were supposed to cross.  We exchanged stories and views on the incompetence of the organisers.

Horse Guards Pass Passing By

A horse and rider with two of the Queen’s Foot Guards on either side passed.  Then nothing, but the gate remained closed.  Some one yelled out to the cop, “How long will it be?”  The reply with a very helpful, “As long at it takes, it could be some time.”

The cage to my inner American, repressed by many years living in New Zealand and now Britain, was starting to unlock.  I found myself yelling, “Will that be today or tomorrow?”  I held back the expletive.  The cage was not yet open.

We waited... and nothing.  I went back to the Westminster City Volunteer Guides.  I asked the same young woman if there was another way to cross.  She said there wasn’t and asked why I hadn’t listened to her before.  I told her they closed the gate.  She laughed and said there is no other way.  I commented on the terrible organisation.  She and the other guides all laughed in unison.  Now, I had picked up from her accent that she was an immigrant from an African country.  And, I know that laughing in some cultures can be a sign of stress, but I wasn’t in a cross-cultural kind of mood and fired back.  I won’t go into details…

I went back to Rob and Julian at the barricades.  There was still no sign of the cops having any sympathy.  A woman with her teenage son in a wheelchair turned up and asked to get to the front, because the nice Policeman was going to let them through. 

People made way, probably all hoping, as I was that the gate was about to open.  I know, terrible using children in wheelchairs, but, hey, whatever works.  It didn’t work.  The gate remained closed.

It was now 10am and we were not in our seats.  Would we be let in if we ever managed to get to the entrance?  We apologised to Julian and he said let’s go for it.  So, we decided to head back to the first gate and see if we could throw ourselves on their mercy.   We headed back through the now even larger hoard in the Park.  It was much harder going against the tide of people heading toward us now.

We were half way through the park when I spotted a couple, dressed for the stands and holding their tickets, stop a cop with a question.  He was pointing them to the never opening gate.  My inner American was fully unleashed now.  I stepped in.

“Don’t bother going that way.  The cops won’t open the damn gate up there (probably really used a different expletive).  So, you can’t cross.  We are going to try to get in the other way,”  I said. 

The cop said, “Sorry.”  I said, “Not your fault” and the couple followed.  I had been in the rear with Julian before the distraction and now he had headed into the hoard against the flow.  He was being very polite and not making much headway.  I jumped in front, “Julian follow me”.

It wasn’t quite elbows up but maybe a bit.  I was staring down anyone who happened to be coming head on who looked like they thought I was going to stop for them.  Julian cleared the narrow just behind me.  The couple being British were way back.  I didn’t wait.

It was a warm but thankfully overcast day, but the sweat was now coming on.  We got back to the first entrance.  I was back in the lead.  The queue was gone and I made my way to the first cop.  He told me to speak to the woman cop walking in our direction.  She told me to talk to the young Marine at the security checkpoint – a game of pass the responsibility was in play.  By the time Rob and Julian caught up.  I was getting nowhere.  The Marine explained if we entered that way we might have to cross the field.   I thought that unlikely having lived around the corner when we first arrived in London and had seen how they set up for this each year.  But he wasn’t letting us through and told us to walk up the steps go past the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and turn up Whitehall Road which would lead us to the entrance we needed. 

I was wet through by now, the suit wasn’t helping and Julian was looking beat.  Again we discussed if it was worth it and again we headed off.   It was about 10:30 now. 

We made our way up Whitehall about halfway, but again our path was blocked once again.  At the Whitehall entrance to Horse Guards, the barricades were closed and the cops were in thou-shall-not-pass mode. 

I called to a woman cop, who came over.  I told her our predicament.  She kindly went over to the military guys at the gates to Horse Guards with our plea.  She came back with the explanation that some Royals were due arrive and as soon as they were in, we could pass.  A British gentleman with his wife and 20-something son arrived on the scene with their tickets seeking our gate.  I explained what the cop had said.  We waited.

Another cop came over, this time a 40-something man.  I tried using Julian.  He went over to the military guys and again – no!   Just then we saw two women in big hats and matching dresses get let through in front of us.  No one else passed.  The British gentleman wondered to me why they got through.  I didn’t waste time and yelled to the cop - deaf ears.

Two Australian women with tickets turned up.  They asked how to cross.  I told them they didn’t have hats.  So, they weren’t getting through.

A Royal limo, minibus and Land Rover (security) arrived and entered the gate.  A while later, too long really, the minibus backed out and went off.  Still the barricade was not opened.

A young guy in shorts and a shiny gold bike helmet arrived with his bicycle – clearly not an event goer.  He asked how long.  The woman cop said, “As long as it takes.”   They really should teach cops to say something else.  It only inflames the rage.  Bicycle guy didn’t like that and started ranting in an American accent.  He wanted to know what “this” was called.   And moaned about all “this” for the Queen.

There was only room for one bitchy American in this corral.  So, I told him it was called, “Security”.  And added, “Well, you do have a bike.  Why don’t you ride it back to the end of the street and cross over.”  He didn’t like my tone but took the advice.

A much older Royal Limo turned up.  A young man in a Grenadier Guards uniform hopped out and went through the gate.  His bearskin hat obscured his face.  I hoped it was Harry, because at least the wait would have been worth it.  Later found it wasn’t.

The Horse Guards gates closed and with the Royals safely inside, we all hoped the barricade would open.  No, wait, the gates opened again.  A young couple, minor Royals children, perhaps, came in from the other side.  The gates closed.

Rob said he was going to be cheeky.  I knew exactly what was on his mind, because even though Julian was now resting, we could see we were pushing him physically.  He called the 40-something cop over and asked when we were going to be able to cross.  A don’t-know reply came back with advice that the military guys out rank him.  The cheek followed.  “How about that Police SUV over there?  Do you think you can drive this gentleman (Julian) up Whitehall?”  That was a big “N” “O” as the SUV belonged to the Police special forces or whatever the guys with the big guns are called.  Rob didn’t push.

Trooping the Colour

The Horse Guards gates opened again.  Cops moseyed out not caring they were keeping us from our appointment with the Queen.  Then two military guards men came out and wandered off down Whitehall.

It was now 10:45 and we knew the Queen was due to arrive at 11.  So, what were our chances of getting in at all now?   Just then, they opened part of the barricade.  We had to cross the street then walk up the other side then cross back. 

In our suits and rushing along in our different capacities of rushing, we were soaked with sweat and parched.  We needed water.  I told Rob, I was running ahead for water.  If we got separated we would meet inside.  If I can’t get in, I would meet him at his office later.  I was over it by then.

I wasn’t thinking, of course, because how would Julian get any water.  So, I beelined to McDonalds, bought three bottles of water and came out just as Rob and Julian were nearing.  They had picked up an older woman dressed in military uniform with many medals.  She was concerned about Julian but couldn’t really help other than to give us directions, which we knew already.

We got to the top of Whitehall at Trafalgar Square where we needed to cross back over the barricades.  The gate had been closed, but fortunately it had just opened.  I elbowed through the on-coming hoard, but had to wait on the other side anyway as Julian is more polite.

We got to the ticket checkpoint under Admiralty Arch where the queue had once started.  We were met by British-born Westminster Volunteer Guides.  They asked what we wanted.  We showed them our tickets and explained our “adventure”.  The older gentleman said to go through, but that they might not let us in.  I had suspected as much.  I thanked him and blew off steam about his laughing colleagues on the other side.  He apologised for them – definitely British-born.

We still had a ways to go.  So, I ran ahead.  No need to make Julian walk anymore if they weren’t letting us in.  I got to the Marine at the gate.  I showed him the ticket and said two more including an older gentlemen were coming and told him of our adventure with unhelpful people passing the buck and giving conflicting information.  As with all of my encountered cops and soldiers, he didn’t really care, but pretended well.

When Rob and Julian caught up, he looked at our tickets and opened the gate.  We walked to security.  Emptied pockets.  The woman checked out my three bottles of water, felt up my umbrella and I went through the metal detector.  Rob and Julian followed and we started down the path to the stands.  A young cop was standing at attention holding a salute.  It was about 11:15.  I looked to my right and 100 feet away I could see the Queen in her carriage – you couldn’t miss her in the neon outfit she was wearing.

HM the Queen Departing Horse Guards Parade

I thought,  “Now if we continue down this path at this pace, we will be within about 10 feet of her at the bottom.  What is a disheveled sweaty 50 something jugging three bottles of water and an umbrella going to look like to the snipers on the surrounding roof tops?”   Not wanting my head blown off, I stopped and said to Julian, “Hey, look, there’s the Queen.”

She passed, we carried on to our seats and that is when it hit me that some dreams really do come true, but this time my nightmare had an end!

Postscript:

Some may wonder how the event actually went.   Well, we got to our seats and the people who had taken them left without incident.  The Queen went around in her carriage, then got out and sat down.  The Colour (a flag) was raised.  The soldiers marched, the horses pranced, music was played.  They did it all again.  A Mexican Wave of people standing followed The Colour as it went around the grounds.  More marching, more music, a soldier collapsed due to heat exhaustion and was carried off on a stretcher after the line marched off around him, then the Queen went out in her carriage.  Pictures above.