September 8, the day Queen Elizabeth ll died, I was surprised at the contradicting reactions I encountered among people in my orbit. One member of my family characterized the British monarchy as a silly, anachronistic vestige of a bygone era. I can’t explain my own reaction to that particular comment: I took offense, which, in and of itself is its own kind of silliness. After all, I was not one of the Queen’s subjects. But I was born the same year that Elizabeth ascended to the throne, and I am now 70. Her reign is remarkable. 70 years as the head of the vast British Commonwealth is no mean feat: Prime ministers come and go — Elizabeth’s reign spanned 15, from Winston Churchill to Liz Truss, with whom she met only two days before she died. For all those 70 years, she served as the preeminent British ambassador to the world. I feel confident in stating here that we’ll not see her like again. And lest I forget, though I’m not a British subject, I’d be remiss should I not include here a hearty God Save the King.
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