In 1963, Robert Menzies stood before the Queen in parliament and declared that every man, woman and child who caught even a glimpse of her would treasure the memory forever.
"I did but see her passing by and yet I love her till I die," he said, quoting 17th-century poet Thomas Ford.
To some, Menzies's devoted affection may seem a little overdone. But for others, his words ring true.
Like the little girl whose overwhelming grief was tempered by the Queen, the geologist inspired by a glittering royal brooch and the man who has her to thank for the phone line in his childhood home.
Their tales make clear one of the Queen's most constant messages: even the smallest action can have an enormous impact.
The gems and the geologist
It was 1977. Thousands of people stood shoulder-to-shoulder along Perth's Esplanade, craning their necks in a bid to see the Queen. To one young boy, it felt "like the whole world had rocked up".
Peter Bewick and his two older brothers pushed their way from the very back of the pack to the front, and pressed their bodies against the thin rope dividing them from royalty.
"The thing is, I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, so it's really quite bizarre that what happened that day is still very, very clear," Peter says.
The trio, clad in their Cubs and Scouts gear — the most formal thing they owned that wasn't a school uniform — saluted as Elizabeth II passed, and she paused to speak to them.
But nine-year-old Peter wasn't listening.
He was transfixed by her brooch — a sparkling, swirling array of diamonds that "really stood out" against the understated patterns on the Queen's dress.
"I was absolutely mesmerised. It seemed about the size of my head. It probably was a lot smaller — the size of a cricket ball in diameter," Peter recalls.
"She was standing pretty well in front of me. The diamonds were sitting there on the end of my nose, almost."
His fascination with the beauty found in things you can dig up from the earth was born in that moment.
"I ended up going off into the centre of Australia for mineral exploration, and became a geologist," Peter says.
"If someone said, 'What was the one thing that led you to a career in geology?' that would certainly be one of my first recollections of being dazzled by something that had come from the earth.
"Whether it was the light hitting the diamonds, or the shape, or because it was on the Queen, who knows, but it was one of those moments of beauty that has stuck with me."
He muses on the idea that the royal encounter may also have subtly steered his brothers down their path in life.
"They both ended up in the armed forces and served for decades — my middle brother in the Australian Navy and my eldest brother in the Royal Navy," he says, giving a nod to Prince Philip's naval career.
"I don't really know how much events like that shape you, but just maybe they did make a mark on all three of us."
The reverend and the royal
Growing up in Rockhampton, Paul Black felt a certain mystique about the monarchy, and the mother country that existed a world away.
"I remember going to the Saturday afternoon matinee, and in that era, the curtains used to go across and everybody would stand. On screen, the Queen would be riding out on her horse, Buckingham Palace in the background, and we'd all sing God Save The Queen," he says.
The boy from the bush never thought he'd see the Queen — much less preach for her.
But on October 23, 2011, that's exactly what he did.
"I must admit I wasn't nervous. I just had a sense that my whole formation, all of my training and all the rest, had led me to that point," Paul says.
"I preached a sermon about the primacy of love when it comes to Christianity, how we're called to love one another, and how that love must be expressed in action."
It was the Queen's sixth visit to St John's Church in the Canberra suburb of Reid, where Paul was the reverend.
"She came in this great big Range Rover. It's fairly high, and one of my memories was the Queen climbing out and walking across with her hand outstretched to shake mine," he says.
"Very, very slowly", the reverend and the royal walked together from the lychgates to the church doors.
They talked about the terrible drought that had left the region brown and dry, and the Queen recalled planting trees at Government House. The hundreds of people watching on erupted in cheers each time she gave her familiar wave.
Inside, Elizabeth and Prince Philip sat alongside around 100 regular members of the congregation for the 11:15am service.
"When the Queen comes to a service of worship, it's not Eucharistic or Holy Communion — it doesn't involve bread or wine. It is a service of the word," Paul explains.
It was, he recalls, a "very happy occasion".
The visit — which made national headlines after the Queen recycled the dress she wore to William and Catherine's wedding earlier that year — had been months in the making.
It didn't shake Paul's republican views, which he has held for decades. But he's quick to add that he had nothing but respect for the Queen.
"There was no other person like her in this world. She had a really incredible life," he says.
The Casa Grande connection
For many people, the Queen was almost a blank canvas onto which they could project their ideals. To Scott Moller she embodied family and service; what it means to give more than you receive.
It all began when he was five, living in the "oasis of the outback" — Mount Isa.
Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip took in the rugged terrain of the mining town in 1970, and stayed in a Spanish-inspired mansion called Casa Grande.
It stood five doors down from Scott's house, and was, in his young eyes, the official royal residence.
"I thought it was like Buckingham Palace. I was always expecting them to return to their house on Nettle Street," he says.
"If I close my eyes, I can feel as if it was yesterday when she was in Mount Isa. I still have very clear mental images of standing in the driveway watching the Queen go past. She waved at me."
The Queen's presence at Casa Grande also had a more direct impact on the Moller clan — it gave them a lasting connection to the outside world.
"We were living in an old house and we didn't have a telephone. If we had to make a phone call, we had to go to the main post office, or send a telegram," Scott says.
Before the Queen and her entourage visited Casa Grande, a telephone linesman installed extra lines up to the big white house. Scott's mother got in on the deal.
"My mum just said, 'Can you do one extra one?'" he laughs.
"The phone was actually very important for my mother in particular, because my father was transferred down to Melbourne for work for six months. It meant they could stay in touch."
For Scott, it was, in a way, simply family helping family.
The unspoken bond
Dave Newington will never forget the "noticeable energy" of being just metres from the Queen, or how, with a glance, she made him feel that they were "the only two people in the room".
The day he played piano for her, he was so nervous he forgot to put on a belt.
In the early hours, he paced down Melbourne's trendy Chapel Street, searching for an open shop that could sell him one. With that sorted, it was "game on".
Dave also directed the music that day — a few sets of jazz standards that filled the air during an official function at Government House in 2011.
He was wary of the volume, having heard that Prince Philip once chastised an event manager because the musicians were too loud. For much of the performance, he cut the drums and bass.
"A lot of it felt like a solo piece," he says.
The Queen was lauded for her ability to put nervy, frazzled strangers at ease in an instant. In Dave's case, it was a feat she achieved without words.
"Our eyes locked from a few metres away, and she just gently tilted her head, closed her eyes while everyone was talking at her, and opened her eyes and smiled at me again and nodded," he says.
The brief, unspoken assurance gave him a real sense of the Queen's character, and has never left him.
"She's had a lifetime of making whoever she is dealing with directly the other most important person in the room," Dave says.
The gig left him "almost shell-shocked", with adrenaline pumping through his body. It also made him wonder about the broader impact of the Queen's life.
"I remember thinking that this lady has perhaps indirectly shaped the way that people, of all orientations and genders, view equal rights and gender equality," he says.
"She was such a powerful woman. There was a sense that there is a long line of authority that runs through her veins. It was a very surreal experience."
Not to mention, he adds with a smile, "a pretty long work day as well".
The accidental collector
Many people collect snippets of royal history — a few souvenir plates here, a dusty magazine or two there; some tarnished teaspoons hiding in the back of a cabinet. Jan Hugo, however, is next level.
She "gave up counting" at the 10,000-item mark. That figure alone makes her collection the largest in Australia, if not the Southern Hemisphere.
A life-size doll of the Queen sits in her lounge room — part of a mammoth treasure trove that also includes an authentic Queen's guard uniform, a flag from the coronation, a book signed by Elizabeth, a throne-shaped toilet and "our beautiful baby" — a replica doll of Prince George.
The "accidental collection" began more than 35 years ago with a single item —a coin celebrating the engagement of Prince Charles and Diana.
"Then I put a film in at the chemist to be developed, and ended up with a free set of wedding glasses. Over time I picked up a plate and a cup and a book, and it grew," Jan explains.
"When I had this massive big cabinet of Diana and Charles, I thought, 'That's silly, I don't have anything of Queen Elizabeth. I should get something of her.' I ended up with a whole cabinet of that and then thought maybe I should go back another generation.
"Now we've got things right back to 1806, and that's George III."
Her husband David doesn't mind — collecting is in his blood too. You'll find more than 6,000 beer cans in his garage.
As for the rest of the family?
"They probably think I should be locked up somewhere. The two sons-in-law think I'm a bit of a loony," Jan jokes.
"One of the boys goes around and picks out all the whiskey bells and says, 'When you die, that's mine, that's mine.' The other one tells me it'll all be on eBay before I'm cold."
Jan and David open their home in the NSW's Hunter region to the public, with sometimes surprising results.
"Men in particular will come in and say, 'I'm not into royals, I'm just here because I got dragged along.' By the end, they change their minds. They go, 'That's history in there,'" she says.
Jan's love of the royal family extends to all of its members — she's seen many of them — but Elizabeth's sense of duty really astounds her.
"If you listen to her 21st birthday speech, even before she was Queen, she said she would serve her people for the whole of her life," Jan says.
"And that's exactly what she did. She was there, through everything. I just think she was wonderful."
