Episode 17 – The Queen’s Silk Scarf

As the twelve year old daughter of a Highland country vet, I was expected to participate in suitable “ladylike” summer activities. No swimming or playing tennis, my father deemed a proper activity was working as a beater out front of the guns. Endless days were spent hiking knee deep through springy purple heather, whacking about with a stick, and staying ever alert to the warning words “GIT DOON!” when bellowed out. It was common for over-excited American tourists to shoot too low in their thrill of actually being on a Scottish hill. A noon break was always part of the routine, and a stream of sparkling Rolls Royce and Range Rovers would glide onto the grass around a whitewashed croft. Men would jostle together at ancient wooden tables, sharing flasks of steaming tea, drams of golden whisky and pungent pheasant sandwiches. I was the only lassie on these trips, invariably squished into invisibility in the corner of someone’s Rolls Royce. In the croft, I would sit against the wall and watch the laughing men as they smacked their thighs and guffawed over the joke about the fellow who shot off his toe while taking a piddle. I suffered a vague sense of uneasiness, a lack of personhood in this horde of burly men in deerstalkers and tweeds, their gleaming shotguns cracked open over muscular forearms. My father was renowned for his field trial dogs and their ability to bring back birds undamaged in gentle mouths, so as well as being a gun, he always had a black Labrador alongside. One day, a field trial event was scheduled for the afternoon following the morning’s shoot and Dad took along his fastest dog, Fleet. Our early morning arrival coincided with that of a glossy maroon Rolls Royce. “Auch!” exclaimed my father, “Her Majesty is with us today! Remember to curtsy if she speaks to you, lass!” And so the morning progressed with the Queen walking in the gun line behind the beaters, and me trying to impress all and sundry by being the most vigorously ferocious beater in the Highlands! In between executing whacking arabesques, I noticed how well the Queen smiled and chatted with everyone, how much at ease in her tweed suit with her pretty silk scarf tied under her chin, and how these burly men all stood at attention in her presence and bent to her every word. I was transfixed with envy! Fleet was superb at the afternoon’s field trial, and won first place. My father interrupted my proud clapping, whispering, “Go on then, Her Majesty is giving the prize!” Highlanders are used to strange happenings, but my curtsy had to be one of the oddest. Tatty Wellington boots, dirty jodhpurs, and an oversized army sweater comprised the curtsying attire. I gamely clumped my feet together, bent my wobbly knees at right angles and stuck my bottom in the air. As I lifted my gaze, I encountered the Queen’s gracious smile and twinkling eyes perfectly framed by a glorious silk scarf tied neatly under her chin. In an instant, my twelve year old consciousness understood with astounding clarity that I too could become a person of value by wearing such a silk scarf! It was a magical, empowering moment which lasted for years. Every time I wore my silk headscarf, I experienced an infusion of strength, wisdom and belonging! As a young girl, the Queen gave me a gift far greater than the blue and white china tea set still sitting in my cupboard. She gave me the gift of believing that one doesn’t need a crown to be somebody special, a belief that “Shuswapians” seem to understand well. Being a newcomer to Sorrento, many kind gestures have helped me to feel valued and included, whether wearing my headscarf or not! Therein lies the true riches of our community as a welcoming place where people of all ages and backgrounds can feel a special belonging. Una St.Clair, HighCroft Off Grid Farm Sorrento, B.C. highcroftoffgrid@gmail.com