Hilary Bradt - The Investiture

Quite a few people dream that they meet The Queen – indeed a book on the subject was published a few years ago. So how does one feel when it actually happens? I found out when I was invited to Windsor Castle to receive my MBE on December 12.

The waiting period between getting the news in May and the actual investiture in December was nerve-wracking. When would it be? How many friends could I take? And, most important, what should I wear? The Palace was quite vague on the subject: morning dress or lounge suits for men (easy for them) but nothing specific for women. In the first flush of excitement in June I’d bought a lovely summery outfit from a charity shop, but as the months passed without notification, and the weather got colder, I realised that I would need to rethink. In the end I was borrowed a red velvet jacket and black trousers from friends, bought a charity shop top and hired a huge red hat.

From the moment my friends and I arrived at the special entrance to Windsor Castle we were made to feel really special. Up the broad staircase lined with motionless guards from the Household Calvary in full uniform, and into a splendid room with a huge ornate fireplace and crammed with paintings to have a drink (non-alcoholic) and mingle with the other recipients. Then an equerry, gorgeously attired in red and gold military uniform gave us a demonstration of exactly what we had to do – including the curtsy, which was quite something in spurs. You could see the same thought: “Oh God, I’ll never remember all that!” flit across everyone’s face.

In no time at all I found myself at the head of the queue and there, in the Waterloo Chamber, was a tiny woman, dressed in blue, standing on a dais. The Queen! I was rooted to the spot. “Go on” said the equerry and gave me a little push. The trouble was I couldn’t remember what legs are supposed to do to create a forward movement. I wobbled to the centre of the room, managed my curtsy, and walked forward to meet Her Majesty. She hooked the MBE over a pre-positioned pin, and looked at me in some surprise. “Um… is it children?” she asked. “No no, I publish guidebooks for adults. Oh, children! Charity! Yes yes! Madagascar!” I blurted out, forgetting all about the “Your Majesty/Ma’am” that we’d been instructed to say. HM looked a bit alarmed and offered her hand. Another curtsy and a rather hasty exit.

I think most of us would have liked another go in order to get it right but the Queen must have seen it all. Why else would the equerry have said, rather urgently, “And don’t forget to let go of The Queen’s hand!"


Hilary Bradt is a regular participant in Wildlife Worldwide's Annual Festival of Wildlife.