Dialogue: Queen Mother a 'vision of lace and loveliness'

By JENNY LYNCH*

I once had a close encounter of the unexpected kind with the Queen Mother. It came during her 1958 tour of New Zealand.

As a cub reporter for the New Zealand Woman's Weekly, I had been assigned to cover the Queen Mother's attendance at a reception at the Auckland Town Hall.

Together with other reporters and a clutch of photographers I took my place behind a row of pot plants that had been lined up beside the red carpet leading to the town hall entrance. At our backs a crowd of hatted and gloved female Queen Mum enthusiasts pushed, jostled and elbowed (it was every woman for herself) in order to get the best possible view.

As the Queen Mother appeared, a great cheer went up and the matrons behind me pressed forward. That's when I went down on my knees among the pot plants, virtually at the Queen Mother's feet.

Did the Queen Mother notice? Not at all. She sailed regally on, utterly unflappable, smiling graciously to left and right and - as expected - wowing her loyal fans.

I had another opportunity to observe the Queen Mother, at an evening reception at the Auckland War Memorial Museum. This too had an element of embarrassment (although not to do with me), for the gowns of the female guests, evidently brought out of storage for the occasion, gave off a distinct aroma of mothballs. The bejewelled Queen Mother cannot have failed to detect this, but naturally gave no indication of doing so. She glittered and she glowed. And once again those around her responded with rapture.

In 1987 I became editor of the Woman's Weekly. By then, interest in the senior royals had waned. Boyfriends, girlfriends, engagements, weddings, babies and young royals behaving badly were what made the news.

The only occasions Britain's best-loved grandmother aroused real interest were associated with her health. Any reports of significant illness or accident - I remember the panic when she choked on a fishbone - had journalists dusting off the Queen Mother's obituary ... just in case.

Today, I look back on the 1958 tour and the fervour it generated with amazement. How was it that a plump, rather fussily dressed 57-year-old could generate such adoration? How could she inspire - as the Weekly put it - so many "touching, exquisite, heartwarming moments"?

Times were different, of course. In the 1950s royalty was revered. We would have clapped a royal corgi. What made the Queen Mother special was her extraordinary charm. She was a consummate performer. While other royals could be stiff and formal, she exuded the kind of warmth and magnetism (although of a more restrained nature) later exhibited by Princess Diana.

In a matronly way she was also astonishingly pretty.

Journalists these days would cringe at the over-the-top superlatives we heaped upon her. Royal tour reporters vied with each other to describe the Queen Mother's sparkling blue eyes, her radiant smile, her pink-and-white complexion. The Weekly came up with a gem.

"A vision of lace and loveliness," we said.

And we meant every word.

* Jenny Lynch is a former Woman's Weekly editor.