LIKE the rest of the nation, I’ve been left nothing short of bereft at the news of the passing of Her Majesty the Queen.
It is almost impossible to find words to add to all those already spoken and written about this irrepressible woman.
A woman each and every one of us had some form of relationship with. A woman very few of us really knew and yet all knew so well.
So, I write merely from the heart.
It is no exaggeration when I say that it felt like she was part of my identity.
Her public presence in my life helped shape much of what I came to know and learn about the world and myself since I landed on these shores in 1979, a year which saw the UK’s first female Prime Minister and already a reigning female monarch.
This, for me, as an impressionable young girl from one of the most egalitarian countries in the world, was awe-inspiring.
I revered Her Majesty because she was, quite simply incomparable. Her tenacity and resilience humbled me. She was stoic and her work ethic was like nothing I had ever witnessed.
I held it in such high regard that I would often refer to it whenever my own might flounder.
I would ask myself: “What would the Queen do?” And I knew that answer was that she would go to work, plough on and never yield.
It is hard to describe the feeling of having an affinity with someone who so clearly keeps her distance from her subjects. But that is how the connection with her felt.
I never did come across her on any of my half dozen or so visits to Buckingham Palace during my friendship with her son, Prince Edward, around 1987-88.
I would be waved through the gates by the duty policemen, park my second-hand Fiat Panda in the courtyard and was then free to make my way up to his apartment uninterrupted.
My heart would beat so fast in fear of inadvertently bumping into Her Majesty. The thought of me walking the same corridors as her was somewhat mind-blowing.
Alas, she never did become my mother-in-law — boo-hoo.
My union with her son was never on the cards on account of me being too gobby, too Swedish, too common and too bow-legged, but probably mostly because we were never in a proper relationship.
Nonetheless, although my friendship with Prince Edward did not last, my relationship and connection with the Queen endured.
She was a constant, always there in the background like some immovable, untouchable pillar that stood on the sidelines as you travelled the path of life’s ups and downs.
She dipped in and out of all our lives with her public appearances and speeches that never gave away too much but just enough to keep us connected.
And then, for me, came a life in the public eye and countless encounters with celebrities and other royalty. But it wasn’t until 2005 that I was actually given the opportunity to meet Her Majesty.
I’d been asked to give a reading at a carol service on behalf of the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service, with the Queen in attendance.
I never did come across her on any of my half dozen or so visits to Buckingham Palace during my friendship with her son, Prince Edward, around 1987-88.
Everyone was on tenterhooks. Then just before the service was about to commence, a message came through that Her Majesty would not be present.
For me, there was some relief but also grave disappointment.
As compensation, some months later all of us were invited to a reception at St James’s Palace to meet this most amazing lady.
We were instructed how to behave, how to pronounce “Ma’am” and told sternly that we should not speak to Her Majesty until she had spoken to us.
As we lined up, I could feel my nerves overwhelming me. I’d never felt like it with any other famous person but this was a different kettle of fish.
I was introduced. I looked at this incredible, formidable, slight woman with a kind face before me and felt momentarily dumbstruck. She looked at me. I curtsied. There was a silence. It seemed like an awfully long silence to me.
For someone who is never short of words, the silence seemed to drag. It may have only lasted five seconds but it felt like five hours.
At which point, this gobby Swede broke the ice with: “How are you doing?”
I can’t even recall whether she answered but I knew instantly I’d broken the rules. My husband at the time, Lance, a former Army officer, wanted to die of embarrassment and shame.
So, there you go. I met the Queen and I messed it up.
But I’m secretly sure she was pleased someone else started the conversation, for a change.
I walked away from that reception punishing myself for being such a fool and thinking: “What would the Queen do?”
She would have stuck to the rules, Ulrika. That’s what she would have done.
Wonderful woman that she was.
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