I have been thinking about this idea of being a monarchy rather than a republic. I was thinking our monarchy might go something like this:
A day in the life of the King of Windsor
King Bruce was sitting on his throne reigning when suddenly the giant oak doors to the throne room burst open and in stalked his younger daughter, Esmeralda, with a face like thunder and smoke pouring from her delicate, regal ears. Six confused, dumbfounded guards closely followed her. She was normally such a sweet child, of gentle and coy disposition, and the rarest jewel in these parts. Her golden hair shone like the sun and her eyes would glint like the finest sapphires. Today, she was the proverbial dragon itself.
“Father!” she roared, “Father, just how long are you going to keep me locked up in this contraption?”
The King looked down at his beautiful daughter, sighed a royal sigh and answered with regal calmness, ”Esmeralda, my blossom, you know I cannot remove your chastity belt until your wedding night.”
Esmeralda stormed up and down the room, followed by the six guards. Back and forth, back and forth and back. A force eight gale hissed through her teeth. “Well, what I wish to know is when are you going to let me get married? You know full well I have sufficient suitors to keep me busy every night of the month. I wish to marry, Father, and I demand you remove this hideous monstrosity.”
“My lotus flower, you may not marry until your eldest sister is married. That is the law.”
There was an ear-rending scream of anguish. Esmeralda fell to her knees, closely followed by the six guards. She beat the floor in frustration then she lifted her tear stained, rosy cheeks to her father. ” You know Genevieve will never marry. What man would want her after the wicked witch put a curse on her the night she was born in the Hawksbury District Hospital? Even Mother will not lay eyes on her. Oh, Father, can you not make an exception just this once?”
The King leaned forward on his throne. Being the King of Windsor was not easy, especially when you had a daughter who was cursed. Being a King today was not as straightforward as it used to be. He sat up and adjusted his crown. “My little rose petal, you know the law of the land must be obeyed. So unless you know how to break the spell, you will just have to learn that patience is a virtue. And let it be said that my daughters are, and always will be virtuous. Now, go to St. Matthew’s and repent your sins.”
“Sins? How can I sin with this thing on?” Esmeralda wheeled around and stomped out of the room. The guards hurried behind her.
No sooner had she left the throne room than the doors burst open again and in strode Genevieve in riding gear and smoking a large Havana cigar. She cracked the whip on the side of her leg and, with giant, bounding steps, was at her father’s side. She gave him a hefty wallop between the shoulder blades and while he was recovering, she bellowed, “Stone the crows, Kingsie, yous’ll never guess what’s happened to yer own daughter. Gawd, yous’ll be fair laughin’ yer arse off when I tell ys. Laugh? Yous’ll be fair bustin’ yer strides over this one. No kiddin.”
The King took a deep, royal breath, hung onto his crown and put his sceptre across his chest for further security. “Now, Genevieve. What is it you have to tell your father?”
“Jumpin’ galahs, Kingsie, ys wouldn’t believe yer luck. I was just out on me nag, doin’ a bit of ‘roo huntin’. Gawd, should of seen ‘em! Yous’ll have to get off yer great rear end next time and come with us. Anyhow, I’d just got down onto Princes Highway, when up comes this bonza bloke in a white Charger. Ys always said it would happen, Kingsie, and it did. Straight up. No kiddin.”
King Bruce was quite confused. He had no idea what his daughter was talking about, not that he usually did, but she seemed so excited. “Genevieve, my dear, what happened?”
“Flamin’ Nora, Kingsie! Are yous thick or somethin ? Yous know the bit about the knight bloke and the white charger? Anyway, this bloke in the white Charger had a few tinnies with me and we dropped into the Macquarie Arms for a yarn. Geez, he’s a card, Kingsie. Yous’ll just love him. Anyhow, we got to talking and time went on. Yous know how it is when yous start talking with yer mates. He wants to marry me, Kingsie. He reckons I’m the best sheila he’s met in a while and I’m a good sort. I tried to tell ‘im me name was Genevieve, but he just kept calling me Sheila. Laugh? I fair wet me pants. No kiddin.”
The King took his golden handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. This was beyond belief. Two distraught daughters in one day. Both completely out of their minds. He would have to spend twice as long in church in future. “Tell your father, my dear, where is this young man?”
“He’s just stopped off to get a slab and then he’ll be right up here for the bash.”
“Bash?”
“Gawd, Kingsie, all this reignin’ is fair wearin’ ys out. My wedding bash. Ys are goin’ to let me marry the bloke, aren’t ys? And it’s only fittin’ we should sink a few coldies to celebrate, doncha think? Got any chips and a few peanuts? That’ll do us. She’ll be right.”
King Bruce slumped back into his throne. This was too much for one day. He closed his eyes. At last, his eldest daughter married. Now his younger daughter could marry. After a month of feasting and merry making, maybe his Queen would come out of her chamber and start reigning with him.
And the moral of the story is: It is better to wear out than to rust out.
(Bishop Richard Cumberland. 1631-1718)
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