A Memory - The Coronation

Memory: The Coronation

The year is 1953, and I’m four years old. My Dad was in the Air Force, stationed obviously, at the local Air Force Base. We lived off base, in a two story home. My mother’s name is Maida, and if my memory serves me correct, the name of the street was Maiden.

We were living in Liverpool. Many of you probably don’t know this, but Liverpool was also the home of some of the Beatles. See how close I was to living not only near the “royals”, but perhaps one or two of the future Beatles. How great is that?

There were several things going on in 1953. The least of which was the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. And, the English people love the royal family. They loved them back in 1953, and they love them still. Although to be fair, the current royal family, is absolutely nothing like the family was in 1953.

On the day of the Coronation, the street we lived on, and I’m assuming others as well, were lined with long tables. And, as children we were given gifts! The Queen had her crown, but we had gifts. And, as a 4 year old, I loved gifts. To be fair, I still do.

Every girl were given two tea cups: one of the cups has a picture of Little Miss Muffat on the front. On the other side, there are pictures of animals: a frog, a snail, a squirrel and one butterfly. After 68 years, and yes it’s really been that long since I was a little girl, the only damage to this cup is a very tiny crack on the lip. Inside the cup, there is a collection of dust, because I’ve never washed it. And, frankly never will.

All children, boys and girls, also received a Coronation cup. On the front side of the cup, there is a lion and a unicorn. Now, as an adult, and I’ve never looked very closely before, but my spirit animal is a unicorn. What a coincidence!

Between the two animals, is the crest of the Queen, and beneath everything else on the cup, are these words printed: Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, June 7, 1953, printed on a red ribbon. Unlike, Miss Muffat’s cup, this cup has been damaged, multiple times. This cup is very, very fragile. The cup was broken in two places. I assume my mother glued the pieces together, because there are very apparent glue tracks on the inside.  And, much like the other cup, sits on a top shelf, also collecting dust.

And, you ask, why don’t you just toss both cups into the trash? Why are you still keeping them? After all, both cups have, over the years, been broken, and glued back together. So with all the damage, the cups are useless. Just a few more pieces of mine quietly collecting dust.

Here’s why I still keep them – first off, they are mine. Secondly, the cups represent a joyful occasion. Mind you, I was too young, to appreciate what was going on on at the time,. For starters of the Coronation. But, now as an adult, when I look at my damaged treasures, I have memories., Mind you they are now a bit fuzzy, this many years later. But, I'll take fuzzy anytime, over no recall at it.

As a child, I was part of a national holiday. A holiday unlike any holiday I’ve had since then.

When I’m no longer around, I know that these cups, like so many other pieces of glass that I own, will have absolutely no meaning to the boys. They aren’t sellable, unless somebody really wants damaged cups, and that doesn’t seem likely. Their final destination? The garbage can.

I have a “friend” who thinks, and tells me often, that I have a Grandma house. What defines a Grandma house you ask? The amount of “things” that I have accumulated over the years. Most of these items, including Benjamin’s art, grace tables, shelves, and any other flat surface I have. For me, having a Grandma house is a compliment. Why shouldn’t I surround myself with things that I like and love?

As I write this today, I find myself teary eyed. You can’t return to the past, except through your memories. At the present, and likely for the remainder of my life, my short term memory will be a part of my life that defines me. I can create new memories. Of course I can.  I also know that these new memories will fade quickly.

There is a part of me, actually a large part, that doesn’t want to, or refuses to let go of my past. I will remember, however faintly, the good and happy times I’ve had in my life. Who can ask for anything more?

 

Old glue - sigh