My mother was a closet monarchist, no doubt. John, a lot less so. Paul, my brother, sided with his Mum. My sister Alison would take or leave it. I was much the same. That was back then, in Manchester, a hotbed of covert resentment towards Buckingham Palace.
They remain, but this is Australia—a place that fully understands the importance of long weekends.
Charles—there’s my deference—is a textbook Scorpio, a birthday that should be acknowledged in November. Instead, a tradition started by King George II, who disliked his own winter birthday, supplants itself in the lucky country.
June lacked holidays. Australia locked it in. Today, the second Monday in June, a glass is raised to King Charles III—well, somewhere, someone might give him a passing thought.
On the off chance that person is a reader, a note on someone who has grown on me.
To me, the life of a monarch remains distant and unrelatable. The perceived entitlement outweighs the public-service part. I guess I remain a sceptic.
That said, my attention focused during Charles’s recent state visit to the US. Addressing a room of global leaders, the King effortlessly commanded the stage like a seasoned raconteur. He opened with Oscar Wilde’s classic jibe—that Britain and America have “everything in common nowadays except, of course, language.” He followed with a deadly deadpan line cheekily reminding his hosts that without British colonial history, Americans would all be speaking French today. His dry humour disarmed a potentially cold and boring room.
Since assuming the throne in 2022, the King has smoothly balanced ceremonial tradition with contemporary realities. Notwithstanding personal health challenges, his stoic resilience and appreciated humour have strengthened his public image. I am a growing believer.
Today, I will raise a glass—thankful for the holiday, a nod to the King, and a sip for our dear mother. If you like, do the same.
Nick
And of course the Westralians did it differently and put the Kings' Birthday in August/September.