I was reminded, while watching the funeral of Prince Philip, of the importance of ceremony. He and the Queen were, are, the last of the greatest generation. They spoke of a life of duty, not feelings; instead “got on with it”. They lived with whatever life handed them and didn’t whine about their predicaments.
Prince Philip, while technically born a prince, was essentially homeless: father dead, mother in an asylum, elder sisters married off into foreign countries, living his life in boarding schools, ‘vacationing’ at the homes of benevolent friends and distant relatives. He never groused at the injustices of his life, but “got on with it”, joining the navy and eventually marrying Lilibet, then spending the rest of his life as Queen consort, a life filled with duties and ceremonies.
Elizabeth Gilbert wrote: “Ceremony is essential to humans. It’s a circle that we draw around important events to separate the momentous from the ordinary. And ritual is a magical safety harness that guides us from one stage of our lives into the next, making sure that we don’t stumble or lose ourselves along the way.”
The three largest transitions in life are, of course, birth, marriage and death. And the accompanying rituals, however great or small, are essential to all of them. From the little girl whose goldfish died and who held a funeral at the family’s bathroom to the pomp and grandeur of the wedding ceremony of Harry and Megan, while the birth of the next generation, and all the hopes that come with a new life, is acknowledged with showers and cards and reveal parties.
Even the lesser ceremonies nonetheless mark life’s positive transitions: graduation, anniversary, retirement. Likewise, symbolic religious events such as baptism, Christmas, Bar Mitzvah motivate us, spark our emotions and stir our memories. Remember the best Christmas gift, the 25th anniversary party, the retirement party, the debutante ball, or the brand new driver’s license which prompted dad to ceremoniously, albeit reluctantly, hand over the family car keys.
We watched, mostly in silence, the funeral for Prince Philip. A very solemn and impressive ceremony marked with symbolism. The flag, the sword, the cap, all rested on the coffin. The choir singers in the great chapel, the lonely mournful tune of the bagpipes. I was moved to tears to see the Queen, sitting stoically in the chapel during the service, all alone. Another mortal would have taken to her room and sobbed loudly into her pillow, but the Queen understood that even in her moments of greatest grief, she had that most painful duty to perform; to publicly bid good-bye to her dearest companion, and she did so with grace and quiet dignity. There is dignity in silence, a trait that has fallen by the wayside. Her kind, and his, will not pass this way again. Long live the Queen.
