Showing posts with label monarchy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label monarchy. Show all posts

Wednesday, 8 May 2013

Farewell Flash Harry



     ‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ said Mr Franklin, ‘I feel I ought to get out here.’ The old gentleman, he told himself yet again, was decidedly unsafe. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m running out — ’
      ‘I do,’ said the veteran promptly. ‘And I commend you for it. First sign of exceptional character I’ve detected in you. But you’re missing a great chance, you know.’ He tapped Mr Franklin on the knee. ‘The first man I ever rode through those gates with was the Duke of Wellington, seventy-two years ago. Wouldn’t you like to be the last?’
      Mr Franklin hesitated. He was amused, and astonished, and a little touched. He looked into the mischievous, grinning old face, then shook his head.
      ‘I think you ought to ride in alone,’ he said gently, ‘And with the hood back.’
      He reached across and shook the old man’s hand, and then managed to push his way out of the car. The Guardsmen had succeeded in clearing the crowd from round the car, and a long aisle between to people ran fairly clear to the gates; police were moving in it, ushering them to keep it clear. At a word from Mr Franklin the hood was removed, and with the General leaning back comfortably in one corner the car rolled slowly forward. The crowd had begun to sing again, willing the King and Queen to come out on the balcony; as the car pulled away, Sir Harry was waving to him with his crooked grin; the crowd jostled forward into the space where the car had been, but Mr Franklin, craning, could see over their heads. With policeman half-running on either side, and Sergeant Rooney pacing ahead on his horse, the car was moving into the open gates held back by the red-coated Guardsmen; the singing was thundering up in full-throated ecstatic chorus, and he could just glimpse the great white head above the back seat and Sir Harry’s raised hand solemnly waving in time to the music:

Land . . . of . . . hope . . . and . . . glory!
Moth . . . er . . . of . . . the . . . free!
How . . . can we . . . extoll . . . thee,
Who . . . are . . . bo-orn of thee!

The car was lost to sight as it turned through the gates and made towards the Palace, even as the lights on the balcony came up again and royalty reappeared. The singing swelled to a triumphant climax; Mr Franklin could imagine the monarch glimpsing the car with its eccentric occupant as it sped across the open space before the Palace — what in God’s name was the old villain going to say when he got inside and the Palace minions discovered he was an entirely unauthorised visitor bent only on relieving himself? Mr Franklin could not guess — but he had no doubt Sir Harry would think of something. He’d had a lot of practice.


Mr American, pp.525-26, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Royalty's going down



     Mr Franklin reintroduced himself. ‘We met at Sandringham, you may remember, General.’
     ‘To be sure we did.’ The General thumped his cane on the floor with satisfaction. ‘Hellish place — and probably no better now that Bertie’s gone. New chap looks like a muff — haven’t met him. Royalty’s going down, of course — not that they were ever up to much. Know who was on the throne when I made my entry into this vale of tears? George the Fourth — Prinny!’


Mr American, p.385, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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Friday, 25 January 2013

Dam’ few crowned heads



      And their Christianity don't run to morality, not far at least. They lie and deceive with a will, drink to excess, slaughter each other for amusement, and the women couple like stoats. The corollary to their adage that ‘a virtuous woman is a crown to husband’ is that there are dam’ few crowned heads in Abyssinia, and hear, hear! say I, for ’twould be a cruel shame to have all that splendid married pulchritude going to waste.



Flashman on the March, p.22, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


(With thanks to Dundrillon for suggesting this quote.)


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Monday, 5 November 2012

Encountering royalty



      You never know what to expect on encountering royalty. I’ve seen ’em stark naked except for wings of peacock feathers (Empress of China), giggling drunk in the embrace of a wrestler (Maharani of the Punjab), voluptuously wrapped in wet silk (Queen of Madagascar), wafting to and fro on a swing (Rani of Jhansi), and tramping along looking like an out-of-work charwoman (our own gracious monarch).


Flashman on the March, pp. 148-9, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Thursday, 11 October 2012

Charming monarchs



I was thinking of other charming monarchs I had known, like Ranavalona with her death-pits, and that noble savage Gezo of Dahomey bouncing about on his throne fairly slobbering with glee as his Amazons sliced up his victims with cleavers. Plainly Theodore was from the same stable. It’s enough to make you turn republican.


Flashman on the March, p.107, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Babbling Brooke





. . . Daisy, who was known as Babbling Brooke, was a sort of mad socialist — even today, when she's Countess of Warwick, no less, she still raves in a ladylike way about the workers, enough said. At the time of Tranby she was a stunning looker, rich as Croesus, randy as a rabbit, and Prince Bertie's mount of the moment — indeed, I ain’t sure she wasn't the love of his life . . .

Flashman and the Tiger, p.223, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Talked cricket



So we talked cricket, while waiting for the attempted murder of the Austrian Emperor.



Flashman and the Tiger, p.128, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Prince of Bulgaria






There had even been a move at one stage (this is gospel, though you mayn't credit it) to invite my old comrade William Tecumseh Sherman, the Yankee general, to become Prince of Bulgaria, but nothing came of it. Pity; he was the kind of savage who'd have suited the Bulgars like nuts in May.

Flashman and the Tiger, p.43, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Nothing like the job





…kings and chancellors confided in him, empresses and grand duchesses whispered him their secrets, prime ministers and ambassadors sought his advice, and while he was up to every smoky dodge in his hunt for news, he never broke a pledge or betrayed a confidence — or so everyone said, Blowitz loudest of all. I guess his appearance helped, for he was nothing like the job at all, being a five-foot butterball with a beaming baby face behind a mighty moustache, innocent blue eyes, bald head, and frightful whiskers a foot long…

Flashman and the Tiger, p.14, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Thursday, 16 June 2011

Statesmen and princes



Oh, I’d guessed there was steel inside my drunken, avid little houri, but hardly of the temper that could slaughter scores of thousands of men just for her own political convenience and personal comfort. Mind you, what other reasons do statesman and princes ever have for making war, when all the sham’s been stripped away?


Flashman and the Mountain of Light, pp.205-06, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.


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Thursday, 5 August 2010

Gurgling consumption



…which seemed to please his highness, for he ordered up chocolate and we stood about sipping it from silver bowls, two-handed. (The Malagassies have no idea of quantity; there must have been a gallon of the sickly muck in each bowl, and the gurgling of the royal consumption was something to hear.)


Flashman's Lady, p.244, Pan edition, 1979.



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Monday, 30 November 2009

Her Britannic Majesty



…but her first glimpse of our royal hosts reduced her awe a trifle, I think. We took a stroll the first afternoon, in the direction of Balmoral, and on the road encounted what seemed to be a family of tinkers led by a small washerwoman and an usher who had evidently pinched his headmaster’s clothes.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.20, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 15 May 2009

Harmless enough folk



I’ve been about courts a great deal in my misspent career, and by and large I bar royalty pretty strong. They may be harmless enough folk in themselves, but they attract a desperate gang of placeman and hangers-on, and in my experience, the closer you get to the throne, the nearer you may finish up to the firing-line.



Flashman at the Charge, p.35, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Thursday, 23 October 2008

They usually do



For the moment though, he had the grace to look troubled; he probably thought he owed it to his princely dignity to do something for me. But he managed to fight it down – they usually do…



Royal Flash, p.239, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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Monday, 8 September 2008

God save the flash cove




There I turned and waved, for the last time, and wondered why people will make such a fuss over royalty. It’s the same with us; we have our tubby little Teddy, whom everyone pretends is the first gentleman of Europe, with all the virtues, when they know quite well he’d just a vicious old rake – rather like me, but lacking my talent for being agreeable to order. Anyway, I was aboard Lily Langtry long before he was.



Royal Flash, p.152, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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Monday, 1 September 2008

It's good to be king.

To be a king – well, a prince – is magnificent; to be fawned at, and deferred to, and cheered, and adulated; to have every wish granted – no, not granted, but attended to immediately by people who obviously wish they had anticipated it; to be the centre of attention, with everyone bending their backs and craning their necks and loving you to ecstasy – it is the most wonderful thing.



Royal Flash, p.145, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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Friday, 29 August 2008

The burdens of monarchy

Well, thinks I, they may talk about cares of State, and uneasy lies the head and all that tommy-rot, but this is the life for old Flashy. You may take my word for it, next time you hear about the burdens of monarchy, that royalty do themselves damned proud.



Royal Flash, p.143, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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