20 December 2004

Ghosts, the Queen Mum, and the Places they Haunted

By Annie Warmke
You can visit with Annie by going to http://www.bluerockstation.com

When we first moved to France about three years ago, we would often take the ferry across the English Channel so Jay could spend time at his office in Colchester.  This was something we really looked forward to… because we could speak English and buy “exotic” groceries at a huge supermarket.  For some reason it is nearly impossible to buy peanut butter or microwave popcorn in France.  All that gourmet cheese and fine wine just seem to crowd out the important things in life.

On one of our early trips we learned, as we departed the ferry, that the Queen Mum (Elizabeth Bowes Lyon) had died.  This struck me as a historic event and I immediately announced that we should take the train from Colchester to London to pay our respects.

The day was bitter cold and windy, but we were prepared to wait in line to see the coffin that lay in state at Westminster Abbey.  As we exited the train, there was a conductor standing at the stair entrance announcing that there was a seven-hour wait to view the coffin.  Just before I heard this announcement, I had said I would be willing to wait three hours, which made me immediately very popular with Cat and Jay (not).  But seven hours was simply out of the question.  We decided the best compromise was to walk to the end of the queue (pronounced “cue” meaning a line), and admire all those waiting so patiently.

The line of people snaked around the Abbey, past Big Ben, around Parliament, across the bridge, down the side of the Thames River and just kept going.  As we traced it, we passed women and men of every age, many carrying flowers and little mementos to honor the mother of their Queen, the wife of their former King.  Some folks had a thermos of tea or sandwiches. 

When we got to the end, there were newspaper photographers standing on the park benches snapping photos.  The next morning the frontpage photo of our favorite newspaper was the exact scene we’d seen the day before. 

So when we realized that Glamis Castle, the family home of the Queen Mum, was in Scotland, we decided to make a visit to add to our knowledge of her life.  Cat wasn’t so keen to go because by now she was “bored” of castles.  But when we told her they might have a ghost story or two, she quickly changed her mind.

The castle was actually built as a hunting lodge by the Lyon family around 1400.  Over time they added different wings until the place became an amazing building with loads of towers and more rooms then I could count.

The Bowes Lyon family still live at Glamis.  The brochure says, “The children of the 18th Earl can often be seen playing as the Queen Mother did in those early days of the 1900’s”. 

We heard our first ghost story as we entered the Queen Mum’s bedroom.  I almost tripped as I tried to step down on a single step that led to the room.  The elegant canopy bed darn near became my landing pad.  The guide laughed and said that I should have looked out for the poor lad that died near that step 200 years ago.  Cat’s eyes grew bigger at the idea that the lad still haunts the bedroom by tripping tourists.

Next we entered a tiny, lovely chapel built just for the royal family.  The tour guide was quick to tell another ghost story now, playing heavily to Cat’s imagination.  This one left Cat staring around every corner, looking for the mysterious lady in red.

After a tour of the formal manicured gardens, and a walk under the shade of the arbor, we were ready to go.  We looked back across the green lawn to the castle one last time and we were sure we saw a ghost peaking out at us (not really but Cat loved to think about it that way).

All this talk of ghosts and the Queen Mum’s passing made me think of how short life really is.  As we made our way back to the ferry Cat retold every ghost story she’d ever heard.  I was feeling pretty thankful that when the day comes for me to leave this earth, I will know that my life has been full of opportunities to leave my mark, and I tried to take advantage of those opportunities every chance I had. 

Perhaps that thought is my castle… and I hope Cat will visit it often.