A bit of background
WELCOME TO SEYCHELLES, A THOUSAND MILES FROM ANYWHERE, announced a sign on the side of a corrugated steel building atop the slipway on Long Pier, where the beloved U.S. Amphibian (as it was referred to in the local paper) transitioned between land and sea. Yes, Mahe Island, in the British Colonial Seychelles Group, was about 1,000 miles from the nearest continent (Africa or India), and that Grumman "Albatross" amphibious aircraft carried no commercial passengers on its weekly run from Mobassa, Kenya, so anyone desiring to "discover" the little-known paradise was forced to suffer weeks of less-than-luxurious travel, by slow steamer out of Durban, South Africa, or Bombay (now Mumbai) India.
The Queen is coming!
Back in 1970, perhaps only one or two visitors ever made it to Seychelles in any given year, so word that Queen Elizabeth would soon travel there, aboard her yacht, the H.M.S. Brittania, was island-shaking news; it was all anyone talked about for six months preceding the planned royal visit. Because Seychelles was the last remaining, classic British colony (yes, I know about Bermuda), its British government was made up of the distinguished distillation of the shrinking Foreign Service, which was characterized by highly structured social custom and, especially, seemingly endless rounds of cocktail parties and formal dinners. Everyone’s social position was clearly established and respected; it was therefore perhaps easy to understand that every socially-conscious wife was chewing her nails to the second joint while waiting to see if she’d be invited to any of the Queen’s planned social occasions. My wife, Claudia, was no exception.
An invitation is delivered
By the time we received an envelope with the embossed, golden, Royal Crest, Claudia had about driven me insane with her constant worries over that royal visit. Her hand shook so she could hardly work the knife to open the envelope, stamped with "OHMS" (On Her Majesty's Service"). As she carefully slid out the enclosed invitation, her face broke into the widest, happiest smile I’d ever seen: we’d been invited to every event, including especially the coveted reception aboard the Queen’s yacht.
Getting ready was a full-time project
There were, of course, many preparations to be made. What was to be worn for each occasion? How were we to behave when meeting the Queen and Prince Phillip? And where would we be able to find the appropriate, elbow-length, kid gloves recommended for Claudia? The U.S. Embassy in London provided all the answers; pointing out, in one part, that ”gloves were to be worn by ladies meeting the Queen; especially if shaking the Queen’s offered hand.”
The day finally arrives
The Brittania was anchored out in the harbor, so, at dusk on the appointed evening, we were ferried out in the Queen’s “barge,” which was quite clean and comfortable, but Claudia kept her long gloves off, so as to avoid getting them the least bit soiled on the barge, or while ascending the “ladder” to the main deck of the brightly-lit Brittania.
A stiffly proper officer, with polished brass telescope tucked under his uniformed arm, welcomed us aboard with an announcement that “Her Majesty is not quite ready; will you please follow me.” We walked, wide-eyed, through several luxuriously appointed rooms, before emerging back on deck, at the foot of a white-painted ladder (metal staircase). Our escort bowed slightly, swept a white-gloved hand toward the rain-wet stairs, and asked that we, “Kindly ascend.”
Catastrophe averted
Claudia was first in line. Holding her tight-fitting gloves in the hand also used to lift her long skirt off wet steps, she used the free, bare hand to hold onto the rail. Bright floodlights snapped on as she began her careful ascent, but focusing her attention on the steps, so as to avoid a catastrophic slip, Claudia paid the lights no particular mind. She was only perhaps 10 feet from the top, when she glanced up and was visibly shocked to see the Queen and Prince Phillip standing there in glittering splendor. Claudia froze like a deer in headlights: she couldn’t now possibly have time, nor opportunity, to put on the required gloves. As best I can recall, she turned to me, rather loudly whispering, "My God, there she is!" Almost at the same moment,, the Queen stretched out her arm to Claudia, and said, “My dear, come on up, we’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.” The Queen smiled warmly, and took Claudia’s little, trembling, bare hand in her own.
During the evening we had several chances to chat, informally, with the royal couple; we found them to be extremely knowledgeable about many subjects, including even our family and reason for being in Seychelles. They also were unexpectedly warm, considerate, and friendly: exemplifying all the desirable qualities of real ladies and gentlemen.
All's well that ends well
Later that night, as Claudia and I sat on our mountain-top veranda, sipping B&Bs while gazing out, over an endless Indian Ocean, towards Africa, Claudia broke the introspective silence by asking, “Have you ever seen eyes as beautiful as hers?” I had: they were sparkling through the dark, looking at me!
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