Anyone hearing this title knew exactly who she was, Elizabeth II, Queen of England.
The most famous woman in the world. The most photographed, the most painted, the most scrutinised, the most read about... the most everything, in fact. An icon.
And she died with her boots on, formally appointing a new Prime Minister just two days before she slipped away. I hope I go the same way. I’m certain she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
I was up from 5.30am here in New York, with a box of Kleenex by my side, to watch live coverage of our Queen’s funeral. And I was overwhelmed by the beauty.
It was the most extraordinary display of pomp, ceremony, tradition and precision.
Watching the positioning of the troops, the way they marched, their red uniforms and golden headpieces with white feathers made me proud to be British.
Seeing the streets lined for miles with members of the public, as a gun carriage representing 1,000 years of monarchy passed by, put the “great” back in to Great Britain.
Hearing the lone piper play Sleep, Dearie, Sleep and the notes fade as he walked away was incredibly moving.
As was every time the camera showed a member of the Royal Family.
Watching King Charles try to keep control of his emotions when God Save the King was sung made my tears fall. He managed to do it, just as his mother had done many times.
To quote Winston Churchill: “There’s a magic link between the Queen and her people and now it’s global.”
Many years ago, I wrote about a woman of substance. But that’s an inadequate description of our Queen.
Her Majesty was a stateswoman of substance; truly loved and held with such affection across the whole world because she stood for all that is good and honourable.
Her smile was electric, full of warmth and kindness, both qualities that seemed to exude from her.
From a young princess all the way through to the end of her life, she was someone to admire and to emulate. I certainly felt that way about her.
I don’t believe there has ever been another woman in history so universally loved as our precious Queen Elizabeth.
She was my hero, and so this is a loss that truly, deeply hurts. I’ve been weeping on and off since the moment I heard.
I was chatting with a friend on the phone here in New York when she suddenly stopped talking and said: “Oh Barbara, your Queen has died.”
I was sitting at my desk – there’s no television in my office. I hung up on my friend without even speaking, dashing into the other room where I stood, in floods of tears, watching the news of my beloved Queen’s death.
The truth is, I really did love her. I grew up with her. I always felt that, somehow, I knew her, even as a child. She has been a constant throughout my life. I can’t believe she has gone.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why the Queen had such a hold on my heart. There was a steadfastness about her that made me feel safe. She didn’t seem to have much of an ego.
And I know this might sound strange to some people but I always felt that despite the glamour and the crowns and all that visionary regal stuff, there was a normalcy about her.
I also greatly admired how she came across as someone who knew who she was, and what her job was – and her job, of course, was to look after all of us. She also epitomised that thing we all strive to attain as women – glorious self-belief. The Queen was our rock, the one on which Britain was built over the years.
Hers was a life of devotion, of putting country before personal ambition, all while juggling her roles as a wife and a mother, grandmother and even great-grandmother.
Although Her Majesty had a strong and courageous character, her personality came across as cheerful and light-hearted. She was glamorous too, even in old age.
Oh, and that laugh. It revealed a mischievousness about her. Her obvious sense of humour was another reason we found her so appealing.
I witnessed this side of her when it was my honour and a privilege to meet Her Majesty in person.
In 2007, I was thrilled to be on the Queen’s June Birthday Honours List. I was to be made an OBE for my contribution to literature.
I remember walking down the long, red carpet where the Queen stood waiting at the other end. From the photograph that I saw later, you would think the Queen and I had compared notes in advance.
We are leaning toward each other with our trademark coiffed hair, both wearing pearl earrings and exactly the same shade of cream.
Her Majesty was in a dress and I was wearing a cream jacket with a black skirt.
I was surprised and delighted when I noticed the similarity.
It was one of the most important days of my life and the fact that we were dressed so similarly made it even more thrilling.
I was struck by the twinkle in her bright blue eyes.
She shook my hand and said: “Congratulations, Mrs Bradford. I know you’ve written many books.” I replied: “Yes, I have, Your Majesty. A lot are about English history.”
“Well, that certainly gives you endless possibilities,” the Queen replied in an amused voice.
She looked as though she wanted to laugh, thinking of all her ancestors and their antics. I wanted to laugh, too, but controlled myself.
I keep reminding myself of that moment – so sweet, so precious – now, every time sorrow reduces me to tears.
People say you should never meet your heroes but Her Majesty was as warm and charismatic as I had imagined.
That’s the wonderful thing about our Queen. She was undeniably formidable in terms of her solemn vow of lifelong service to our country but there was something accessible about her, too.
We knew we couldn’t reach out and hug her but seeing her love of dogs and horses, and watching her cope with the trials and tribulations of her family, she was human.
I was trying to explain some of this while out for dinner with a group of British friends last night, to the one American lady among us who couldn’t quite grasp our obvious sense of loss as we spent the evening weeping into our food.
“We’ve had a monarchy for 1,000 years,” I told her, when she asked me to explain our distress. “It’s a part of who we are. The love we feel for our Queen is in our bones.
“She was devoted to us; she got up and worked for us every single day, even when she was 96. She belonged to us, as we did to her.”
And then the tears returned and I couldn’t say any more.
As a woman, she knew loss as I did – we both lost our husbands relatively recently and I am sure she will have grieved for hers alone, as I have for my husband Bob, who died in 2019 after 55 years of marriage.
Neither of us is the sort of woman who slobbers over everyone.
But it’s hard when you’ve had a happy marriage and suddenly they’re gone. I know how that must have felt for her, missing the love of her life as much as I did mine. I wonder, are they together again now?
One strange thing that has provided me with such welcome comfort since we lost our Queen is the double rainbow that appeared over Buckingham Palace, along with another over Windsor Castle, on the day her death was announced.
How curious they should brighten the sky at the very moment we learnt as a nation Queen Elizabeth had left this earth, turning it into a land of tears.
They felt like a wonderful departing gift from a woman this world will never see the likes of again.
