Fairytale is still alive and well

I CONFESS. I too was one of those quayside watching a young carrot-topped gentleman from the other side of the planet co-paddling a waka merrily up the stream. I suppose I was just curious why people in general would want to see a young carrot-topped gentleman from England co-paddling a waka. So there I am, down by the river about 11.30am last Thursday, along with about 300 or 400 others.

Things are behind schedule. To kill time I wander along the quayside. There's a fine autumnal crispness in the air. People are colourfully scarfed and coated up, looking nice and toasty. There's a buzz of conviviality and good humour. People are talking to companions and complete strangers alike with an air of something pleasant about to happen, although the conversation isn't confined to you-know-who.

And in due course, there it is! Not much to see at first. The waka's bow-on and low in the water. But there's a shuffle as we all edge towards the boardwalk for a better gander. Now the waka's coming side-on, and there's the royal gingernut doing the business as stern-most paddler. Now he's looking towards the mini-throng on the quay. Pleasantly smiling. And waving. And people are laughing and clapping and waving back. But, of course, to wave he's had to stop paddling. So naturally someone has to remind him to "Use it, Harry!" More laughing. Everyone's having a fine old time.

Of course, back in the days I was a raging anti-monarchist. So I'm sorta wondering what I'm doing down here, feeling good along with a bunch of others just because there's the fifth-in-line to a toothless monarchy paddling a canoe. Dare I say it, my opinions have changed.

I think they started to shift round about the time I happened to catch a spot interview with a couple of young kids who'd just seen Charles and Camilla do their thing on their last trip here.

Now, both Charles and Camilla have been around the block a few times. And there's been a few generations of concerted breaking-down of gender and elitist stereotypes. But going by their awed expressions and breathless comments, it was evident the young lasses had just witnessed the archetypal fairy-tale Princess and her Prince Charming magically step straight from a bejewelled royal carriage right into their lives.

Similarly, down on the Quay, I was chatting to a charming lady of, shall we say, mature years, who happened to confess that tucked away in her bag was a tiara (albeit plastic) and, if the opportunity arose, she, with top-piece on, was going get in Harry's face on the off-chance he fancied an "older woman". And, as soon as Harry disembarked, she was off for a better possie. Now I don't for a minute think she was seriously serious. But then again, there was maybe a little bit of wistful fairytale still tucked away in the bag along with the plastic tiara.

For whatever reasons, the old fantasy prince-and-princess, castle-on-the-hill, happily-ever-after cultural meme seems to have etched itself deeply into the collective DNA. And if a queen's grandson can make a whole lot of people feel good by simply doing a bit of paddling and pressing some flesh, then all power to him and the punters. A long-running costume pantomime and fairly harmless bit of hoopla. The real Coronation Street. And hey, the British economy would collapse without the tourist dollars the whole royal phantasmagoria provides. Personally, I wouldn't have Harry's job for a million quid but, for all that, he seemed like a right nice bloke and jumped through the hoops like a true Trojan.

But we do seriously need to quash the technicality whereby the Queen of England is still our constitutional head of state. None of that Gough Whitlam/Kerr's Cur business here, thank you very much!

Frank Greenall has a master's degree in adult literacy and managed Far North Adult Literacy before moving to Wanganui.