EARLY in June, the tussocky field of sheep behind our house will be transformed into a sward fit for Lords. All trace of the flock will be swept up (no small feat), and the grass mown and rollered. After which, gazebos will be erected and tables set up, soon to be groaning with cake, trifle and sparkling drinks to celebrate the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee.

All over the Borders and far beyond a Johnson of parties will mark the historic occasion. Some will have been long in preparation, others impromptu affairs. A country that once viewed bunting as something for softies in the Home County shires will soon be aflutter with festive flags.

Come the bank holiday weekend even staunch supporters of independence will have to swallow their distaste at an outbreak of Union Jacks to rival VE Day. After all, many Nats are monarchists to the core. And, since the flags represent a monarch for whom many of us feel respect and even affection, they will either keep their reservations to themselves or already be placing an order for Saltire bunting and cup-cakes.

A far more pressing concern, however, is how to be a republican during the Jubilee. Should those of us who would like to see the monarchy abolished once the Queen’s reign ends stay out of sight? Could we be accused of sheer hypocrisy for taking part in the celebrations, while privately hoping the royal family will one day be consigned to history? Will we, in other words, be guilty of having our Victoria sponge and eating it?

Although I wouldn’t say it’s been keeping me awake at night, it's a thorny question. Not that I have anything personally against the Queen. On the contrary, I admire her. During her time on the throne she has shown amazing fortitude, stoicism, and a sense of duty unparalleled by any previous monarch. She also reminds me of my mother, who was close in age and, as a fellow Londoner, metaphorically breathed the same air.

But there’s more to it than that. Alan Bennet’s witty novella, The Uncommon Reader, captured some of what has endeared Elizabeth to her people, regardless of their political stance. When the Queen notices a travelling library parked outside Buckingham Palace’s kitchens, she discovers the joy of choosing books for herself. Bennett understands that the monarch is at the same time extraordinarily elevated and down-to-earth: utterly lofty, yet able to connect with ordinary folk because in certain respects she is just like us. It is the trickiest of high-wire acts to maintain but somehow she has managed, with only a few wobbles, to keep her footing for almost three quarters of a century.

Not that she is beyond reproach. I doubt she has been held in higher esteem than during Covid, and especially since the death of Prince Philip, as we realise that she won’t be here for ever. After being taken for granted for years, there is an awareness of time running out. Added to which is sympathy for the tsunami of family problems she’s had to cope with. There’s no need to rehearse the litany of divorces, scandals and palace infighting that have blighted recent decades, although it is widely agreed that Prince Andrew’s disgrace is a blow no parent, whatever their station, should have to endure.

Yet before we grow too misty-eyed, the Queen has made misjudgements, resulting in harsh criticism. Foremost among these was in the wake of the Aberfan disaster, and on the death of Diana. On both occasions the public were shocked by what they viewed as the queen’s failure to respond swiftly and empathetically to the situation. It seemed she preferred to stay aloof in her ivory tower, beyond reach of the tide of emotion engulfing so many.

Arguments for abolishing the monarchy should not, of course, be based on popularity. Those who suggest Prince Charles should be bypassed as heir for his more modern-minded son clearly think that the optics are crucial to the monarchy’s survival. They could not be more wrong. Such a breach of protocol would be unthinkable for an institution that rigidly adheres to tradition and precedent, without which there would be chaos. For the throne to skip a generation merely to appease the mob would be as good as handing the keys of Buckingham Palace and Balmoral to those below stairs. The game would be up, and everybody would know it.

Like independence, whether or not to retain the monarchy is an existential question, a matter of how we wish to see ourselves and our state. At the moment, obviously, there are far more pressing issues to be addressed, globally and at home.

Even so, with Australia’s prime minister-elect promising to hold a referendum on the monarchy during his tenure, and with a cascade of other Commonwealth countries heading in the same direction, there is an unmistakeable shift of attitude towards an archaic, feudal and colonial system of inherited wealth, power and privilege. At this rate, one day all that will be left of the present configuration will be the Commonwealth Games.

While Britain will probably be the last country to vote, that time is drawing closer. Call me a cynic, but the increasing prominence of younger royals undertaking various worthy ventures does not come simply from the goodness of their hearts. The palace is all too aware that, if it is to weather the present political climate, members of the House of Windsor will have to earn their place on the civil list. Unlike their counterparts a century ago, if they hope to ward off or win a referendum on their existence they must show themselves to be relevant and in touch; above all, useful. It’s tempting to view their busy diary of charitable activities as a regal version of reapplying for their own posts. This no doubt explains their willingness to allow press photos.

So what will I be doing on Jubilee weekend? I foresee a casual gathering of neighbours on the village green, bringing our own chairs and bottles. No bunting, but possibly buns and bubbly. After all, this is a time to celebrate a remarkable woman, who deserves to be honoured for her unwavering service and integrity. Without a pang of conscience I can raise a glass to that. A toast to a republican future is for another day.

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