#churchill Cars London

[kittyit]

"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Imagine a humble Scottish farmer named Fleming toiling away on his farm, when suddenly, piercing screams shatter the tranquility. Without a second thought, he abandons his tools and races towards the distress. What he finds is a child struggling in the swamp, trapped and drowning. With no hesitation, Fleming risks his own life, using a long branch to pull the child to safety.

The very next day, a luxurious car pulls up to Fleming's modest home. Out steps a distinguished gentleman—Randolph Churchill, the father of the boy Fleming saved. Churchill offers to repay the farmer's bravery with riches, but Fleming refuses, saying, "Saving someone is my duty; humanity has no price."

Just then, Fleming's own son appears at the door. Churchill, intrigued, asks, "Is this your son?" When Fleming proudly confirms, Churchill proposes an intriguing deal: if Fleming won't accept his money, he'll fund the boy’s education at the finest schools, ensuring he gets the same opportunities as Churchill's own child.

Fleming, realizing the chance to give his son a future he could never afford, gratefully accepts. His son goes on to attend St Mary's Medical School in London and becomes Sir Alexander Fleming, the inventor of penicillin.

But here’s where the story comes full circle: years later, it is penicillin that saves the life of Winston Churchill, Randolph’s son, who would become the Prime Minister of Britain twice.

Isn’t it fascinating how a single act of kindness can ripple through history, connecting lives in such unexpected ways?

Source: Remembering the Past

[thescottishalpaca]

What I learnt by BBC regarding the Blitz in London - 1941

Due to the fact that I'm not a UK citizen, I knew very little about the London Blitz. I was more familiar with the Blitzes in my own country.

Everything I know now about it derives from two specific TV shows produced by the BBC, which, of course, is a reliable source. It is the national broadcasting service, isn't it?

First of all, I'd like to talk about the military conditions in London. The technological advancements in WW2 were quite crucial for the war's resolution, as seen with the invention of sonar and the alleged attempt to use Daleks in the war. In fact, Churchill was supposedly preparing Daleks to win the war, exploiting the knowledge of these human-shaped robots sent by some very cruel aliens.

Nevertheless, they were hardly bothered by the presence of a mysterious time traveler who parked his spaceship in front of Big Ben (which sonars could not identify because it was hidden). Additionally, some German air bombers mysteriously changed direction towards a different London area, killing two Nazi spies and destroying a church. Nobody investigated this sudden plan shift, possibly due to the effectiveness, albeit chaotic nature, of the British secret service.

Regarding the social conditions, London's common folk lived miserably, with many orphans around. Health conditions were delicate, with rare and sparse evidence suggesting the presence of Nazi zombies walking in Soho. The cause of this illness remains unclear, but it is assumed that indigenous people were immune to it, while Germans were not.

Meanwhile, a virus spread around the town causing people to repetitively say, "Mooommy? Are you my moooommy?" A doctor was able to heal them all with nanogenes provided by the same mysterious time traveler parked in front of Big Ben. We lack evidence of the technology or scientific research used, although it was likely based on DNA recognition, officially discovered only years later. We can assume some experiments were ongoing.

The situation was not the same for the medium/high class. Common bookshop owners could be hired as spies or become alcohol smugglers to maintain their lifestyle, such as being well-dressed and driving old-fashioned cars. Their discontent manifested in partisan actions against the Hitler regime. This anti-germany feeling was expressed expecially with clothes, by refusing to wear black clothes or wearing the Union Jack.

Despite the war conditions, London's cultural life remained flourishing and lively. US GIs entertained themselves by watching ladies and magicians perform one of the most successful magic tricks in history: the bullet catch, with the best representation held by Fell the Marvellous and an unknown gunman.

Due to the social inequities, food was in short supply, while toy and magic trick shops ran their businesses proficiently. Rare book selling was also a profitable way to survive, due to the high demand for ancient books, especially those containing prophecies.

At the end of the Blitz, the number of victims remains unclear. However, a famous sentence by a (medical?) doctor is reported: "Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once!". This interpretation is supported by the evidence of a demon and an angel making a toast. So, it ended well.

Thank you for your attention.

Can't wait to send this to my former high school history teacher.

[vintage-london-images]

Did you have any idea that the first traffic lights anywhere in the world sprang into action outside the House of Parliament on 9th December 1868. Long before the motor car, the strange contraption was experimentally installed in the north east corner of Parliament Square, actually around where the statue of Winston Churchill is today.

The signal system was designed to bring order to a chaotic junction at Great George Street and Bridge Street with Parliament Street. In the months before its installation, two MPs had been badly injured and a traffic policeman was killed at this spot.

The traffic signal towered 20 feet above the roadway and had a gas light with sliding coloured lenses and semaphore like arms operated mechanically by a policeman.

The equipment worked along similar principles to those already used on the railways, and right from the start it operated on a red/green light system.

The experiment didn't go well, with many ignoring or being confused by the signal and not understanding their obligations, which made the chaos worse.

Unfortunately, they exploded on the night of 2nd January 1869 injuring the police constable operating them, and it was decided to curtail the experiment. London would have to wait until 1926 for its next traffic lights.

From the London Illustrated Weekly News - Saturday 9th January 1869:

'When the constable on duty opened the door to turn off the gas from the signal pillar an alarming explosion immediately ensued, which it may be supposed arose from the admission of the atmospheric air, and the consequent ignition of the gas accumulated from leakage. The constable's face was badly burned, his helmet was dashed off, and he was partially stripped. The report of the explosion, we are told, was heard in Whitehall, and at the end of Birdcage-Walk.'

[much-vexed-glowy-mimic]

Vasiura's story is darkly humorous, because he brought doom upon himself when he could have gotten away with everything by keeping his mouth shut.

The next one is just...sad. Stupid. I'm not sure which.

Duncan Scott-Ford was a merchant seaman on a ship named Finland. A young man, 21 years old at the time of his death. He didn't have a splendid track record. Secrete Service believe he might have told secrete navel codes to girl (in Dar-es-Salaam) he was infatuated with and he was convicted of having altered his Post Office Savings account.

So, he wasn't an unknown entity to them.

When they arrived in Lisbon he met with man who introduced himself as Rithman who claimed he could get a letter to the girl Scott-Ford was infatuated with. Rithman offered Scott-Ford 1000 Portuguese escudos if he would confirm some information for him.

Now, Scott-Ford did go and tried to get a confirmation! He just couldn't. I assume his rank was far too low.

Anyway! They met up the next day and Scott-Ford was honest with Rithman and another man named Captain Henley. He didn't have the information. But that appears to have been ok, they sat down and talked about the morale in Britain, Churchil, how bad the air raid damage was. Just, you know, chatting with a dash of treason.

Henley actually did give Scott-Ford a 1000-escudo note! It doesn't say anything about the letter being sent tho.

The next meeting was some real spy business.

Scott-Ford was driven around in a car, hoping to disorient him and then he was taken to a room where they asked him to obtain information about British minefields, the arrival of American servicemen in Britain and up-to-date copies of Jane's Fighting Ships and Jane's All The World's Aircraft!

No, I'm not sure why they thought he could possibly get all that information when he couldn't even get the first information they asked for.

Anyway, Henley aske Scott-Ford to sign a receipt for the money, which he did. With his real name.

Now, I'm looking back at the page and reminding myself he mainly did this because he wanted a letter sent to some girl in Dar-es-Salaam.

Ok, back to current-past events. The grew of Scott-Ford's ship were interrogated, the higher ups knew they might have approached by spies and whatnot. Scott-Ford said he had been approached but he hadn't cooperated.

The ship comes back some time later, Scott-Ford meets with the Germans again, gets more money (500 escudos), signs another receipt and says he wasn't able to get any of the books they wanted.

Of course, the Germans start turning on him, telling him they're going right to the British Embassy with the receipts, which gets Scott-Ford to talk, because he surprisingly was able to get some information for them!

Not...the information they asked for, sure, but he did give them something.

He was let go, given new orders, 100 escudos and another meeting was arranged. He couldn't make it due to his ship leaving.

Scott-Ford was again asked if he had been approached and this time he admitted he had met somebody that asked him "about Communism in Britain".

Eventually, Scott-Ford admitted he had received 1600 escudos for information, he was sent to the London Reception Centre and evidence was found in his quarters.

The Wikipedia article suggests he began to grow increasingly worried as he started to realize how serious things were.

Again he sold out his nation for a letting to girl in Dar-es-Salaam. This girl would fall under the 'sailors have a girl in every port'-category.

He was, of course, found guilty and set to be executed.

Now, the camp he was held in actually asked if he should reprieved.

The commandant replied 'no' and went on to say:

"Indeed, there may well be many who will agree that death by hanging is almost too good for a sailor who will encompass the death of thousands of his shipmates without qualm."

So, he got hanged.

But, do you know how much 1600 escudos was in £ at the time?

It was £18.

[m25chauffeur1]

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[archivist-crow]

On this day:

WAR STORIES: IDENTIFICATION AND INTUITION

On August 15, 1944, nearly four hundred planes discharged over five thousand paratroopers into the darkness of the French Riviera. American trooper Eugene Brissey landed hard, caught up with his company, and dug in for battle. Exhausted, Brissey bedded down near a farmhouse and, upon waking, noticed his dog tags were gone.

Brissey's dog tags were returned to him when he revisited the area forty-five years later. Colette Saeys, who lived in the house, had raked them up eight years previously. Unable to find Brissey in the local cemetery or at the address on the tags, she tucked them into an envelope inside a drawer. In 1989, her husband, Fred Saeys, approached one of only two of the veterans at a reunion of more than five hundred soldiers who knew Brissey. The Saeys and Brissey connected, and the tags were returned.

Great Britain's former prime minister Winston Churchill often entertained during the 1940s, refusing to let World War Il get in his way. One evening he was hosting government officials when bombs began to drop on London. Churchill instructed the butler to place the food on a hot plate in the dining room and then sent the kitchen staff to the bomb shelter. Within three minutes a bomb demolished the kitchen, but the dining room remained unharmed. On another occasion, returning to his car, Churchill ignored the door his driver held open and got in the opposite side of the car. Minutes later a bomb exploded, blasting the vehicle onto its two side wheels and nearly flipping it, before the car rebalanced and the drive continued on. Churchill remarked, "It must have been my beef on that side that pulled it down." He also reported that as he was about to enter the car, a voice told him to stop, and he knew that he was supposed to sit opposite his usual side.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.10 (after 1900)

1904 – The Horch & Cir. Motorwagenwerke AG is founded. It would eventually become the Audi company. 1908 – Mother's Day is observed for the first time in the United States, in Grafton, West Virginia. 1916 – Sailing in the lifeboat James Caird, Ernest Shackleton arrives at South Georgia after a journey of 800 nautical miles from Elephant Island. 1922 – The United States annexes the Kingman Reef. 1924 – J. Edgar Hoover is appointed first Director of the United States' Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), and remains so until his death in 1972. 1933 – Censorship: In Germany, the Nazis stage massive public book burnings. 1940 – World War II: German fighters accidentally bomb the German city of Freiburg. 1940 – World War II: Winston Churchill is appointed Prime Minister of the United Kingdom following the resignation of Neville Chamberlain. On the same day, Germany invades France, The Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg.[35] Meanwhile, the United Kingdom occupies Iceland. 1941 – World War II: The House of Commons in London is damaged by the Luftwaffe in an air raid. 1941 – World War II: Rudolf Hess parachutes into Scotland to try to negotiate a peace deal between the United Kingdom and Nazi Germany. 1942 – World War II: The Thai Phayap Army invades the Shan States during the Burma Campaign. 1946 – First successful launch of an American V-2 rocket at White Sands Proving Ground. 1961 – Air France Flight 406 is destroyed by a bomb over the Sahara, killing 78. 1962 – Marvel Comics publishes the first issue of The Incredible Hulk. 1967 – The Northrop M2-F2 crashes on landing, becoming the inspiration for the novel Cyborg and TV series The Six Million Dollar Man. 1969 – Vietnam War: The Battle of Dong Ap Bia begins with an assault on Hill 937. It will ultimately become known as Hamburger Hill. 1975 – Sony introduces the Betamax videocassette recorder. 1993 – In Thailand, a fire at the Kader Toy Factory kills over 200 workers. 1994 – Nelson Mandela is inaugurated as South Africa's first black president. 1996 – A blizzard strikes Mount Everest, killing eight climbers by the next day. 1997 – The 7.3 Mw Qayen earthquake strikes Iran's Khorasan Province killing 1,567 people. 2002 – FBI agent Robert Hanssen is sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole for selling United States secrets to Russia for $1.4 million in cash and diamonds. 2005 – A hand grenade thrown by Vladimir Arutyunian lands about 20 m from U.S. President George W. Bush while he is giving a speech to a crowd in Tbilisi, Georgia, but it malfunctions and does not detonate. 2012 – The Damascus bombings are carried out using a pair of car bombs detonated by suicide bombers outside a military intelligence complex in Damascus, Syria, killing 55 people. 2013 – One World Trade Center becomes the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere. 2017 – Syrian civil war: The Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) capture the last footholds of the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) in Al-Tabqah, bringing the Battle of Tabqa to an end. 2022 – Queen Elizabeth II misses the State Opening of Parliament for the first time in 59 years. It was the first time that a new session of Parliament was opened by the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge acting as Counsellors of State.

[comtessezouboff]

Love the pics from your Edwardian save you shared recently and was wondering what there's a story to go with it and if you'd be willing to share?

Hi! Yes there is one!

The family goes like this:

The Godolphins began with Sidney Godolphin, Ist Earl of Portborough in 1660. His son was later elevated to the title on Duke of Portborough by Queen Anne in 1700 for his victory in the battle of Tordesillas during the Spanish War of Succession. The Duke's Wife, Margaret became very good friends with the queen's lady in waiting, Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough, thus belonging to the queen's innes circle.

In 1689, Sir Christopher Wren was comissioned tu build a country house for the IInd Earl of Godolphin, in red brick. The house was named Finchwick Park. The manor had a mausoleum to serve as the resting place of multiple generations of Godolphins.

In 1785, the Vth Duke hired the scottish architect William Adams, who enlarged and modernized the façades, adding white stone walls, the music room and redecorating the Dining Room, the Staircase Hall, the Entrance Hall and the passages, while keeping the shape of the original house.

In 1856, Calability Brown was hired to Modernize the gardens in the english style, planting new trees, the Water Mirror, the Temple of Arethusa and the Pet's Mausoleum.

The Marriage between William James Godolphin and Marjorie Millicent Cavendish-Bentinck in 1879 brought new life to Finchwick park. A portrait of their three daughters hangs over the fireplace in the Drawing room (seen here in the backround), as well as multiple pendants of their daughters and their husbands. They modernized the kitchens and bathrooms in the french style, and restored their London Town House, Portborough House in Mayfair, London.

Marjorie, their eldest daughter, married her second cousin, Esmond, thus inheriting the title of duke in 1900, they had their only son, Esmond William Godolphin, that same year.

Diana and Cecil met in a garden party at Buckingham Palace, during Diana's debut in 1900. Cecil proposed in November and the wedding took place in St. Paul's in London in 1901. 9 months later, their only son, Colin, was born.

Elizabeth met Vere simply as an accident in 1905. While in Finchwick, preparing for her court debut, a car near the gates of the state broke down. The car belonged to Beatrice Harmsworth (née Dallas-Yorke) a very close friend of the then Duchess, Marjorie. The Duchess sent her chauffeur to pick her up in the pouring rain. Apparently, the car was basically ruined, so when she arrived at finchwick, she called to her London House wich immediately sent a car that arrived the next day with clothes and necessary provisions, amongst them, her 24 years old son and heir, Vere Sidney Tudor Harmsworth, Marquess of Rothermere. Elizabeth, being alone with her parents due to her sister's honeymoons took a liking to the young man. They eventually got married in january 1909 at Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth gave birth to twins in december 1909, Vere and Winifred.

That's pretty much it! I have some marriages planned for the youngest ones, and being argentine myself, of course I had to add an argentine socialite. Since my game sort of screwed up, I'm still trying to fix it, but once I do, I'll add pictures of the family members.

[georgewfmpyear2]

The Wedding Of River Song - Tone and Atmosphere

Despite its many narrative flaws the Wedding of River song (the 13th episode of the 6th series of the doctor who revival) is one of my favorite episodes of anything. It has a plethora of problems like having way too much crammed into its 45-minute runtime and having a completely nonsensical resolution but despite those flaws, I think it has an entirely unique and fascinating atmosphere and vibe created by the unique makeshift sets with different time periods merging together like the steampunk train running through London along with some interesting outer space settings like the quite literally live chess match and the perfect soundtrack.

I think this kind of makeshift miss matched setting is the perfect inspiration for the kind of word and setting I want to create for this project with so much unlimited potential for unique visuals to be created out of mixing things that don't instinctively fit together like the flying cars held up by balloons or 10 downing street being replaced by a roman building with Winston Churchill as roman empire. This kind of visual motif appeals to me greatly and I think I could create some very cool things with it serving as an inspiration to help make the world of my game feel more magical and fairytale-like.

The music of the episode always contributes greatly to its fairytale vibe, helping to create the unique settings which I think was the goal of the episode rather than just creating a traditional straightforward episode. In many of my previous projects I've used pieces of music to help inform the tone I go for with the game and I think I can use many of the pieces from this episode to help me decide what visuals or ideas fit well within the mix sci-fi fairy tale setting while also merging well with both the core gameplay and the moments between the wizard and the author.

[airportcarslondon]

When You Can Use Airport Cars London For A Comfortable Journey?

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If you are in search of a responsible and experienced company, you should hire Churchill Cars as your transport service providers. They have dedicated staff, who well-treat their customers and try to provide them all the required services. Moreover, they are the best cost-effective service providers. You can hire them for airport cars London. They will entertain you in all the possible ways. If you are living in UK and its locality, you can hire their services.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

A Tommy Shelby request here:

He meets a young woman at an event in London and is instantly drawn to her, attracted to her but doesn’t know why, and decides to talk with her, and finds out later on she is part Romani through her late mother and her father is non Roma but an influential Scottish MP or something, so Tommy had never heard of her family before. He decides to court her and they date, before marrying in a sweet little ceremony?

Can you pleaseeee write a Tommy x reader where he is old fashioned courting a great young woman, who is extremely loyal and family aligned, strong moral center like him, and shes hated by Grace lol.

Thanks for waiting! I mixed this with another similar request! Hop you enjoy.

I edited this on mobile in a car, so I apologize. I also do not recommend mobile editing lol

Rated: G - flirting, cuteness, then events following their relationship till they get married! Tommy in a Kilt!

Tommy lit the last cigarette of his journey as he passed the giant tree that let him know that he was just about into the city. He sighed knowing that tonight was going to be a mess. Polly, John, Esme, Arthur, Ada, the whole fucking crue brought in to an event in London. Surrounded by people who spat on them for where they came from and their mixed blood. A fight was bound to break out within the first hour. 

He drove through the streets slick with rain and stopped in front of the large building. All the evidence of a posh party lined up in front of it. He hopped out and handed the keys over to someone allowing them to park it. One last deep breath and people were ushering him into the building, shaking hands and giving polite hellos. 

He quickly scanned the room while keeping up a dull conversation with a man he knew from the cabinet. Looking around he found John and Esme making conversation with….Winston Churchill. Anxiety spasmed through him, Polly was at the bar flirting with a well known high ranking military officer, Ada was out dancing with someone he didn't know. Looking back to John he could see that all three of them were laughing loudly so whatever it is it couldn't be too bad. 

That’s when his eyes fell on a woman at the bar. A very beautiful woman, curves wrapped up in a bright red dress. Brown wavy hair flowing down her back.

“ - Ah You’ve noticed her then? She was asking about you just a half hour ago, you should go over and introduce yourself. Her father is a very wealthy Scottish MP, so it might be good to make connections.” 

He looked back to the stuffy man amused at his seriousness. There was only one kind of connection any man in his right mind would want to make with a woman like that. It had very little to do with business, and much more to do with courting. He fought the urge to kick himself. He’d just narrowly escaped all that mess with Grace. Why he was dying to go over and talk to a woman at an establishment like this, only showed that he had very little self preservation. 

He belonged with someone like Lizzy. Came from nothing and knows what it takes to get anywhere in this world. But even Lizzy was too smart for him, she’d kill him before letting him up her skirt again. He could stay here and suffer through the rest of this conversation or he could go get a drink next to a pretty lady….

“I think that's an excellent idea, if you’ll excuse me.” Relief spread through him at escaping the boring conversation. He moved into the spot next to her at the bar, her dark eyes widened when they settled on him. 

“Thomas Shelby!” She announced with a thick accent. She reached out her hand and he kissed the back of it causing a slight blush to creep on her pale cheeks. 

“Your name / last name, My father sends his regards, unfortunately he was unable to make it down tonight, however he was hoping we would have a chance to talk business.” She seemed as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do. Send your daughter down into another country to handle business with a gangster at a fucking goverment party. Send the eldest son? Maybe with protection, but your daughter? Dressed like this? Madness. Or a trap.... One he really woulndt mind falling into. 

“It’s unfortunate he can't make it, but i'm sure we’ll manage” 

“Let's find a more private area, yeah?” She asked him, looking over her shoulder at the loud room. He held out his arm and she gratefully accepted it, they glided out of the room somewhat unnoticed and he led her up the stairs bringing them out to a covered balcony. He watched her take in the city view with wide eyes and wondered how absolutely daft her father must be. There wasn't anything cold or ridgid about her, all her emotions played out on her face. She was a liability, the people here would eat her alive if left unsupervised. 

Why did he care? 

“Edinburgh is prettier.  We have a castle, and our pubs have better names.” She said in a light voice. 

“I haven't been.” He was unsure of what else to say to her. 

“Well you should change that. With or without me, Scotland is a magical place.” She sighed, and pulled out a cigarette. He reached out to light it for her then pulled one out for himself. After a long drag she looked back at him.

“My father was in the war. He and Churchill have spoken very highly of your bravery.” Tommy watched her very closely, trying to understand what the point to all of this was. The last thing he wanted was to be involved in more drama with these people, even if it was coming from someone like her. 

“Churchill assures him you are not about the same things your party represents?” She gave him a critical look. 

He shouldn't answer this at risk that she was a spy, but something in her deep brown eyes shook him. Worse comes to worse he would say he lied to understand her position better. 

“That would be correct.” He answered steadily, before he could question her he took in the change in her expression. 

There was something almost like a shining bit of hope in her eyes when she looked at him. This was very dangerous. 

“I wanted to know for myself. Really I was only supposed to hand you these letters from my father and Churchill.”

“What did you want to know?” He accepted the envelopes wrapped in a red ribbon she had produced from her clutch. 

“That you were a good man.”

He let out a laugh that almost startled himself at the forien feeling of it.

“Anything but I'm afraid.” He looked into her eyes and watched them twinkle with amusement. 

“You’ll have to explain it to me then, help me change my mind” She took a step closer to him and tension thickened in the brisk air wrapping around them. Before he could say anything back the door out to the patio opened. 

“There you are! Get away from that Gypsy Scum, Mr. Churchill is requesting you.” A sleazy man that Tommy recognized from Churchill’s party demanded in a dark tone. Before he could reprimand him for talking to her like that, she had already shifted her posture. 

“Tell him I’m busy, now fuck off.” She barked at him, her accent somehow thicker than it normally was. He looked started and quickly left. Tommy kept his reaction behind his usual stone-like composure. 

She took a deep drag of her cigarette and Tommy tried not to enjoy the feeling swelling inside him. This woman was going to be the death of him. All that wonder and vulnerability, wrapped around hot aggression. She was clearly someone who could handle herself. 

“So your Gypsy then?” She asked with a surprised expression. 

“Yes.” He answered unsure of why she found it important. 

“Me as well, on my mothers side.” She responded in perfect Romani. Yep he was probably going to die on this sword but he hadn't felt this way about someone since Greta. An excitement he thought died with her and was further buried in the war. 

They continued on in Romani talking about their heritage and a bit about their childhoods. Bonding over common cultural experiences. Despite her coming from money and Scotland there was a lot they experienced together. Tommy noticed her shiver slightly. 

“Let’s get you back inside eh?” She looked at him with confliction. She clearly didn't like it there anymore than he did. 

“Or we could leave?” She asked softly. 

“And leave Mr. Churhill and half of parliament think I’ve kidnapped you?” She let out a laugh that made his heart twist. 

“Let’s go meet with him then you can drive me home?” 

“If that’s what you’d like.” 

She took his arm and they walked back inside and down the stairs. Things still looked civil between his family and the rest of the crowd. 

After chatting with Winston and a few other people Tommy was ready to leave. They eventually managed to get to the coat check without his family coming over to be introduced. Stars were aligning in his favour, till a cold icy feeling settled in his stomach. Grace walked in the door with her husband. Locking eyes with him, she handed the American her coat and came over to speak to them. 

“Tommy” She said softly with her Irish accent. Her eyes looked burdened, and she seemed to ignore the woman on his arm completely. Then he noticed how the Scot defensively slid closer to him pressing herself into his side. 

“This is Y/N, Y/N this is Grace.” Tommy watched as she extended her hand towards Grace. They shook hands. 

“It’s very nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse us, we've had enough talk about politics for one evening.” She let out a laugh and Grace’s expression hardened. They stared at each other with meaning that was lost on him. 

“Hope you enjoy your evening Ms. Macmillan, keep an eye on Clive though. Lots of perky blondes here tonight.” She winked at Grace and steered them towards the door. The coat check had already pulled their jackets. She waited for a moment and Tommy accepted her jacket helping her with it then put his own coat on. They stepped out into the fresh air.

“What was that about?” Tommy asked, they didn't know each other. Or did they? Why would she make a comment like that about Clive? She lit a cigarette and watched as they brought the car around. He helped her into the passenger side and then got in. Once they were moving down the street she gave him an address for a hotel on the other side of the city.

“She was with the Irish police force, something my father kept a close eye on at one point. Then I'm assuming you're the Birmingham gangster she tangled with before sending herself off to America?” Tommy nodded.

“Interesting. Well she’s with Mr. American something or other. He’s also involved with Irish politics. Tricky stuff, but despite their inability to produce children he also has a knack for sleeping around.”

“And you know all of this because?” 

“Because they pissed off my sister at a party a few months ago, she’s on vacation in America at the moment. She’s better at keeping up with gossip than I am. Guess half listening to her ramble pays off sometimes though.” She shrugged and lit another cigarette. 

Tommy took in her information. This was a very dangerous lady to be involved with. 

“How many siblings do you have?” This sparked her usual happy composure back. She talked about her siblings, two younger sisters and one older brother. Family was something important to her, she only gave him vague details as not to put them in danger. Then asked about him and he talked a little bit about Ada and the boys. They pulled up in front of her hotel. He wondered if she was going to ask him up.

“Tommy.” She said his name in a way he wanted to hear a hundred times over despite not fully trusting her. 

“Yes.” 

“A couple things” 

“Alright” 

“I wasn't supposed to talk to you this much. You know a bit about me and my family, I'll have it in good standing that the information stays between the two of us, not to be held against me in any way.” 

He locked eyes with her at her strange request. She knew what world she was dealing in. 

“Besides I would only retaliate on the ones you love just the same.” There was the slightest bit of sadness in her pointed tone. He wondered how many times she’d been here before. He gave her a nod, extending his right hand to shake on it. She gripped his hand tighter than he’d expected.  

“Second thing. If you aren't going to go back and fall all over that Irish twat, you should take me out to dinner tomorrow before I head back home.” She looked like she was half expecting him to turn her down. Or disappoint her by going back to the party to talk to Grace. Something that hadn't even crossed his mind here in her consuming presence. 

“That's not even a hard decision. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6. What kind of night are you interested in?” She gave him a confused look tilting her head to the side. 

“That’s very forward” 

“Apologies, not what I was intending. Would you like to see the city before you go? Or are you more interested in a quiet dinner?” 

“The Thomas Shelby offering to play tour guide?” She let out a small laugh. “London is a shit hole in my eyes. Take me out to Burmingham then, show me where you come from. Maybe if it goes well I’ll return the favour.” 

“Love, I think you might have it backwards there.” He said in an amused tone. 

“I really don't think I do.” She winked at him and slid out of his car. He watched her walk into the building ensuring she made it in alright. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

It started out with a tour then dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in Birmingham, the night spent in separate beds in Arrow house. 

Then She dragged him all the way over to Edinburgh. Hiding them away in a hotel, so he wouldn't have to meet with her father yet. She dragged him all over the old city. Memories of her childhood, funny stories of her youth. Various pubs filled with loud singing and dancing. 

After that night he’d almost stolen his heart. 

Three weeks of phone calls and her writing him dirty letters, she had him. She would call him in the early hours of the morning, any bit of information about danger in Birmingham she’d pass on trying to look out for him and his siblings. 

She started calling him every night letting him know she made it in safe, wanting to encourage him to go to sleep. She even sang him songs in Galic sometimes. 

Family was everything to her, family and loyalty. Things with the Nazi party progresed and she was there with her fathers information and conntections, matched with both her sisters never ending pile of gossip and knowledge about people’s histories. 

She ran her life like a mafia, ride or die. She had no problems cutting people that wronged her, and worse to people that tried to screw over her siblings or clan members. Fierce was an understatement. 

He enjoyed the similarities between time spent with her family. Her father was a good man that cared about his children greatly, her siblings just as chaotic as his own. 

His family received her with approval and excitement, something that was both worrisome but also reliving. He didn't want to marry someone that Polly and Esme would go up against at every opportunity. Ada and the boys would have accepted anyone that made him happy at that point, but they were also happy with the fact she was someone trustworthy, with family always being the top priority. She was someone who wanted to keep everyone safe.

But he missed her dearly, hating the distance between them and what it did to his head. He knew that stolen nights and weekend trips were not going to last forever. She was a proper lady, and she deserved a proper proposal. Something to make her sisters swoon in approval and enough class to show her brother and father that Tommy intended to value her and keep her safe. He didn't dare ask her father for his blessing despite tradition. All he could see was that fiery wrath at assuming she was property. 

Instead it was a small proposal in her favorite garden. Just the two of them so she could turn him down freely without the pressure of loved ones. He gave her a very thin silver band, it was one of his mothers rings. He caught her look of surprise at its plain nature. She didn't know that the larger piece would come later at the party her sisters were planning with Ada and Esme. 

The garrison was packed with both families meeting for the first time. Tommy had lectured till he was blue in the face about not causing trouble. 

She accepted the diamond weaved in a celtic design sliding it to rest ontop of the thin band. The party kicked off in full swing, everyone thoroughly sloshed by the end  of the night. 

As promised to her father and brother, once he had told them he had asked for her hand they insisted that the small engagement party was to be in Birmingham, to let the families mix. The wedding was to be a very big, traditional, ceremony held in Scotland. 

So the whole family traveled out. Her brother took Tommy and his brothers out to be fitted for outfits. When they arrived at the Kilt shop he figured there would be backlash from his brothers. John met his eyes. 

“Only for her you idiot.” he joked.

The ceremony was massive, not what Tommy would have preferred, but he wanted this to be special for her. 

He stood there unfamiliar with the feeling of not wearing pants in front of a couple hundred people. Bagpipes were loud as her father escorted her down the aisle. She was absolutely gorgeous in her white dress. 

It was an interesting mix of Gaelic and Romani tradition, the way she beamed and cried with happiness was all Tommy cared about. 

The after party ended up being the loudest messiest party he’d been too. They only escaped just as the sun was coming up. Both of them being driven to the airport while the sun rose. 

“Tommy?” She asked, taking in the sky full of colors. 

“Yes, love?” 

“Thanks for everything, I know you wanted a small reception but it meant -” He cut her off by scooping her face up and kissing her deeply. Whatever she wanted he’d work hard to give it to her. She leaned into him and ran her hands through his hair. Suddenly he desperately wished that the house they’d rented in Wales for the honeymoon wasn't so far away.  

[augustfinley]

Introducing The Right Honourable August Finley, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Leader of the Conservative party.

Before his election as PM, Finley served as Secrerary of State for digital, culture, media and sport from 2018 to 2020, and as Minister of State for media, data and digital infrastructure from 2016 to 2018.

full name: august finley also known as: ernst zandvliet, rt. hon. august finley, mr. finley, mr. prime minister date of birth: 9th march, 1976 place of birth: london, uk

gender: cis man pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: bi relationship status: married

occupation: prime minister education level: masters in ppe financial status: very well off

spoken languages: german, french, english nationality: english

STATS.

faceclaim: ewan mcgregor height: 177 cm body & build: athletic, bit of a dad bod maybe piercings & tattoos: none

vices: smoking, drinking, gambling, adultery sociability: quick witted and with a short fuse. too proud to admit his mistakes most times. knows he’s appealing, will use it to his advantage. flirtatious, especially when drunk.

positive traits: sociable, captivating, intense, determined negative traits: conservative, disloyal, arrogant, volatile, manipulative

BIOGRAPHY.

Ernst Zandvliet might not be a familiar name. No surprise there, as it hasn’t been spoken aloud in almost three decades. The man long ago named Ernst might be more familiar to you as August Finley, Conservative party leader and Prime Minister of the UK. The name Finley comes from his mother Birgitte, a low-ranking noblewoman who married entrepreneur and inventor Maximilian Zandvliet in 1973. August, on the other hand, is the name of his maternal great-grandfather who died during the first world war. August Finley sure is less of a mouthful than Ernst Zandvliet, his birth name and burden for the first eighteen years of his life. The family was in agreement that he should change his name to something more easily digestible, considering his future career in public service. And so, August Finley was born, and Ernst Zandvliet was buried beneath stacks of bureaucratic paperwork, as if he never existed to begin with.

After three years of military service, and one half-arsed tour to an active war zone, young Mr. Finley, at the age of twenty-one, took to studying philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. Paid for by his parents, he had no pressure of keeping good grades, or even passing all his exams. Come graduation, he was already promised an internship position within one of the ministries, thanks to his mother’s connections. So, his time in school was spent mostly drinking, partying and hooking up. At Oxford, he also met his future wife, twelve years his junior. Though, this was of course later in life, when he attended a yearly alumni celebration and ran into Meagan, who immediately caught his eye. And who was immediately and easily impressed by his grand plans to run the country.

A house, a white picket fence, a kid, and a dog later, August barely resembles his young ruckus self. A dignified, honorable family man is the image he’s built— one his wife is just as eager to boast. Dignified conservative. Prime Minister. He is the perfect image of a working father, and a father to a nation restless with political unease. Winston Churchill can eat his heart out.

The lights on the third floor are on at odd hours at no. 10 Downing Street. Unremarkable cars shuttle back and forth throughout the nights, people run in through the back at odd hours of the day. Still, the media take their photos of the PM on his brisk morning jog before work. As if the rumours of his nightly habits are simply preposterous— as if he is the perfect family man, spending time at home with his wife and dog. Often times she doesn’t even wait up for him anymore, his side of the bed going cold more often than not, his morning coffee brewed just a bit too bitter, just for him.

[archivelondonfalling-rpg]

August Finley ♦ Cis man (he/him) ♦ 46 ♦ Government ♦ Prime Minister

”I am under no obligation to be loyal to you.”

Ernst Zandvliet might not be a familiar name. No surprise there, as it hasn't been spoken aloud in almost three decades. The man long ago named Ernst might be more familiar to you as August Finley, Conservative party leader and Prime Minister of the UK. The name Finley comes from his mother Birgitte, a low-ranking noblewoman who married entrepeneur and inventor Maximilian Zandvliet in 1973. August, on the other hand, is the name of his maternal great-grandfather who died during the first world war. August Finley sure is less of a mouthful than Ernst Zandvliet, his birthname and burden for the first eighteen years of his life. The family was in agreement that he should change his name to something more easily digestable, considering his future career in public service. And so, August Finley was born, and Ernst Zandvliet was buried beneath stacks of beaurocratic paperwork, as if he never existed to begin with.

After three years of military service, and one half-arsed tour to an active warzone, young Mr. Finley, at the age of twenty-one, took to studying philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. Paid for by his parents, he had no pressure of keeping good grades, or even passing all his exams. Come graduation, he was already promised an internship position within one of the ministries, thanks to his mother's connections. So, his time in school was spent mostly drinking, partying and hooking up. At Oxford, he also met his future wife, twelve years his junior. Though, this was of course later in life, when he attended a yearly alumni celebration and ran into Meagan, who immediately caught his eye. And who was immediately and easily impressed by his grand plans to run the country.

A house, a white picket fence, a kid, and a dog later, August barely resembles his young ruckus self. A dignified, honourable family man is the image he's built— one his wife is just as eager to boast. Dignified conservative. Prime Minister. He is the perfect image of a working father, and a father to a nation restless with political unease. Winston Churchill eat his heart out.

The lights on the third floor are on at odd hours at no. 10 Downing Street. Unremarkable cars shuttle back and forth throughout the nights, people run in through the back at odd hours of the day. Still, the media take their photos of the PM on his brisk morning jog before work. As if the rumours of his nightly habits are simply preposterous— as if he is the perfect family man, spending time at home with his wife and dog. Often times she doesn't even wait up for him anymore, his side of the bed going cold more often than not, his morning corree brewed just a bit too bitter, just for him.

+ / -  : sociable, captivating, intense, conservative, disloyal, arrogant, volatile, manipulative

Studied philosophy, politics, and economics at Keble College, Oxford like many other PMs before him.

Used to (ironically?) keep a poster of Margaret Thatcher in his dorm room. The things she's seen...

Spouts whatever rhetoric is popular with his voters at that time. Uses his influence within the Conservative party freely and boldly. If you ask him what he really cares about, it sure as hell isn't politics.

A regular of many of London's sex/kink clubs, goes usually in disguise but his visits are really an open secret with people who know him well.

Himbo. Pretty face, not much going on behind it. Or rather, he doesn't have the energy to do a lot of hard thinking. He'd rather leave it to others.

Gets a manicure at least once a month. A massage almost every morning.

Faceclaim: Ewan McGregor

[darkhorse-javert]

Another Answer: Part 3

In which we make it to the other part of VE-Day.

The depictions of listening to the VE-Day Speech in Hastings are fictional, but there was certainly a gathering in the square afterwards and Dancing in lots of places.

The way to Hell is paved with good intentions- or in this case the 'way to Nowhere' is, Andrew notes as he puts his head up to try and see over the crowd. There will be no getting to 31 Steep Lane, never mind back, in this, the streets are busy with people, he's already passed a Town square crowded with people, others have brought their radios outside, crowded around them or sitting on front steps- doors thrown open.

I hope Sam can make it to the Station in time - The car is at least a noticable object that can nudge through the crowds. - I'll doubt she'll forgive me if she's late, not to mention the questions.

He gives up trying to get through the groups and allows himself to be swept back down towards the town hall by late-comers, where the crowd is thickest. Someone has set up speakers there, attached to a radio and as the dulled town clock rises to three a preternatural Hush falls over the square. Over the speakers comes the announcer's voice.

"This is London. The Prime Minister, the Right Honorable Winston Churchill."

More silence, so tight it rings. And that familiar- unflappable, confidence-giving voice carries over them.

"Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m. at General Eisenhower's Headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and Grand Admiral Doenitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German Land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force, and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command."

There silence for another second... then the bubbling pot of human emotion boils over into a roar of noise and cheering. There's no organisation, no 'Hip hip', just pure exhilarating exultation. Arms are being thrown around his shoulders, some one is slapping his back, another wringing his hand. Grins and yells and tears, a sea of chaos. He fights his way through the celebrating press. Some give way when they see his uniform, others try and drag him into their own gathering, wild with it. He makes it almost to the Station door, only to meet a stream of constabes marching out, faces beaming, eyes bright.

"Hullo Mr Foyle." One of them yells in greeting as they are swept into the throng. He waves back and slips inside. Even through the doors into the corridor the sound of celebration is only the slightest bit muffled. But it's a a chance to catch his breath.

It's over.... it's actually over... We won. It won't settle, whriling around his head to make him dizzy He jogs down the little corridor and pushes through the last swing door to the Waiting Room.

Sam's there, her back to him as she stands in the Office area behind the counter, facing his father on the other side of the section.

"All hell's breaking loose outside. You ought to come and join us." Only as he's already speaking does he pick up a tension here, differing to what had been outside. Sam turns towards him, raising her head in what looks like a proud toss. Her eyes are bright "I Will. I'm going to dance all night."

With that smile and those bright eyes, she wouldn't lack for partners and in uniform too. Suddenly his heart is caught in his chest, grabbing at his words.

"Will you dance with me?"

"I'll dance with anyone." And there's a definately a note of bravado there, she's almost flashy, as she had been when he'd offended her that first day all those years ago. But when she looks at him again her eyes are merry and kind, teasing him, "But especially you, as you're my fiance."

If we were closer she might have kissed me on the cheek, then. It's in the air, the possibility But the tall desk and ledger ridge is between them - in the way. He looks to Dad, just quick enough to catch the tail end of a very startled look on his face, eyes darting between him and Sam. 'What did I just hear?' His face seems to say.

"Coming, Dad?" Come and have some fun

"No, I'll catch you up. You go on."

Sam has made it around to his side, stretching up to see over his shoulder and look at his father. "Are you sure? We'll never find you."

That's a fair point, Sam, it's not as if Dad is an easy-to -spot beanpole

His father is already walking back towards the offices, turns slightly at the call, "I'll make sure you do" A little nod and a glance that is as much a shove that says, get going "Off you go."

Andrew catches questions, - so many questions- in those eyes, but also the sense of a shutter pulling closed, that for a moment, he is in one world and his father is retreating into another. Seperate boxes indeed.

There's a tug on his sleeve and Sam all but trills his name, calling him from the flash of reverie. He turns to see her already pushing open the swing door, bounds after her, catches it as she turns to go down the corridor. Then they are both running down the corridor. Somewhere in the dash his hand finds hers, and she doesn't let go either.

It's years since I've run like this, reminds me of being a child, out on the hills with Mum and Dad. Sam is laughing as they fly out the door together and into the maelstrom of people, shouting, cheering and dancing that is Hastings at this moment.

Only as they are swept into the throng does she pulll back on his arm, causing him to wheel to face her. There's no laughter in her face now, pain and shock instead. She nearly has to shout to be heard "Did you know your father can drive?"

"What? No he can't!" Andrew half-shouts in return

Sam nods at him.

Mum always drove, when she was alive.Uncle Charles and Reid between them taught me to drive. Then the import of the fact, for her at least, hits him like a kick on the shins. He steps close to her, tamping down on his smile, slowly reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"I'll have words with him tomorrow, about it."

Sam gives a brave nod and fixes her smíle back on as she glances at the ecstatic crowd, "Dancing?"

Andrew lets himself grin again. "Come on..." He glances at everything around them, "Hold on tight." Sam's fingers lock tight on his wrist and his heart reaches another pace. My girl, my young lady, my Fiancee...

A gramaphone is playing, somewhere in there, at full-blast, and it matches his heart

"Happy Days are Here Again, the Skies above are clear again..."

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By: Caroline Davies

Thursday, 8 September 2022, 18.30 BST

Queen Elizabeth II, the longest-reigning monarch in British history, has died at the age of 96.

Prince Charles, 73, heir to the throne since the age of three, is now king, and the Duchess of Cornwall is now Queen Consort.

In a statement, Buckingham Palace said:

“The Queen died peacefully at Balmoral this afternoon. The King and the Queen Consort will remain at Balmoral this evening and will return to London tomorrow.”

The royal family’s official website carried the message: “Queen Elizabeth II 1926-2022” along with the official statement issued by Buckingham Palace.

Coming to the throne at the age of 25, she successfully steered the monarchy through decades of turbulent change, with her personal popularity providing ballast during the institution’s more difficult times.

At her side for most of it, the Duke of Edinburgh remained her “strength and stay” during a marriage that withstood many strains imposed by her unique position.

Despite a family life lived under the often challenging glare of publicity, Elizabeth II remained a calm and steadfast figure, weathering the divorces of three of her children, and the crisis precipitated by the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, in a car crash in Paris in 1997.

Flags on landmark buildings in Britain were being lowered to half mast as a period of official mourning was announced. Royal residences that are open to the public will be closed.

There were undoubted low points, but the mass outpourings of affection on her silver, golden and diamond jubilees testified to the special place she held for millions. When there was criticism of the institution, it rarely translated into a personal attack on her.

Fifteen prime ministers served her, attesting to her deep knowledge, experience of world affairs and mastery of political neutrality.

They stretched back to Sir Winston Churchill, who was still prime minister when she assumed the throne, with resolve and far earlier than she had expected, on the premature death of her father, George VI, in 1952.

It is expected the bells of Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s Cathedral will toll their bells at midday on Friday, and ceremonial gun salutes will be fired in Hyde Park and at Tower Hill in London.

That resolve continued to sustain her. In her silver jubilee message in 1977, she said:

“When I was 21, I pledged my life to the service of our people and asked for God’s help to make that vow. Although that vow was made in my salad days, when I was green in judgment, I do not regret nor retract one word of it.”

Often portrayed as old-fashioned, during her reign many steps were taken to keep the monarchy up to date with rapid societal change.

Out went debutante “coming out” presentations, in came garden parties, receptions, luncheons, almost weekly “away days” to provincial towns and regular walkabouts, allowing personal access on a vaster scale than ever before.

Out, too, went tax-free status on her private income, and that of the Prince of Wales, though she fought hard until she was convinced public opinion was firmly set against her.

The laws on succession were changed, with the abolition of primogeniture, allowing first-born daughters to accede over sons, and those in the line of succession being allowed to marry a Catholic, although not to be one.

Rarely did she publicly reveal private anguish. Her plea for a fair understanding towards the end of 1992 – her annus horribilis, a year rocked by royal scandal and a row over finances – was unprecedented.

A devout, churchgoing Christian, the Queen’s annual Christmas broadcast, which she scripted herself, revealed a woman of unshakable faith.

She took her position as head of the Church of England seriously, even when it required her to sidestep Charles’s civil marriage to Camilla Parker Bowles by absenting herself from the register office part of the ceremony. Nevertheless, it was a marriage, between two divorcees, that was unthinkable when she came to the throne, but one she ultimately embraced.

She was left bereft at the loss of her lifelong companion, Prince Philip, who died in his sleep at the age of 99 in April 2021 during the Covid pandemic.

She sat alone and bereaved in St George’s chapel, Windsor Castle, during the poignant funeral, hugely scaled down because of coronavirus restrictions.

The royal couple, married for 73 years, had spent the last months of his life together in lockdown, shielding at Windsor Castle because of their vulnerability to the virus due to their advanced years.

To cap this turbulent time for the monarchy, the Queen then contracted Covid, suffering mild cold-like symptoms, shortly before she marked her platinum jubilee.

As Queen of the UK and 14 other realms, and head of the 54-nation Commonwealth, Elizabeth II was easily the world’s most recognisable head of state during an extraordinarily long reign.

As age gradually caught up with her, and she had mobility issues, she was seen less often at public events.

In April 2022, she did not attend the state opening of parliament, instead issuing letters patent, authorising the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cambridge, as counsellors of state, to deputise for her.

It was only the third time in her reign that she had missed a state opening, the other two being when she was pregnant in 1959 and 1963.

The mobility issues meant the Queen remained in Balmoral in September 2022 rather than return to Buckingham Palace for an audience with the new prime minister. The outgoing prime minister, Boris Johnson, and his successor, Liz Truss, travelled to Scotland instead.

Princess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary was born on 21 April 1926 at her maternal grandparents’ home at 17 Bruton Street, in London’s Mayfair district, and was not expected to accede to the throne.

But at the age of 10, the abdication of her uncle, Edward VIII, over his love for the American divorcee Wallis Simpson, and her father’s rushed coronation as substitute king, changed the path her aristocratic life could have been expected to take.

The world witnessed her transformation from shy princess to young Queen, attracting the same global fascination as Diana, Princess of Wales, would 30 years later. Even in middle and later years, she retained photogenic regal glamour.

But she seemed most content in a thick jacket and headscarf, walking her corgis or tramping Balmoral’s highland moors.

“You can go for miles and never see anybody; you can walk or ride, it has endless possibilities,” she once said.

Watching her thoroughbreds pass the post was another great pleasure, and her love of horse racing once subconsciously manifested itself during the 2003 state opening of parliament when she announced details of a national hunt service bill rather than “health service.”

The image of a queen who kept cereal in plastic boxes and fed toast to her corgis while a gruff Philip breakfasted next to her listening to a battered old transistor radio, did much to endear. So, too, did the two-bar electric fire she used in 2013 and beyond to heat her palace audience room, and “revelations” that her favourite TV programmes included Last of the Summer Wine and The Bill.

When required to subject herself to popular culture, such as a pop concert, she would oblige, with earplugs in place. Her parachuting stunt – when a body-double landed in the middle of the London Olympics opening ceremony – illustrated well that she did often get it.

Illnesses were rare as she enjoyed robust health. At 85, she was still carrying out 325 engagements a year. Long-haul travel was only curtailed when she reached 87, and Philip 92.

She was the most widely travelled of any world head of state. Coming to the throne as the empire collapsed and with Britain’s status as a world power diminishing, she believed the flourishing of the Commonwealth to be among her greatest achievements.

She visited every Commonwealth country bar Cameroon, which joined in 1995, and Rwanda (2009). She visited Canada more than 20 times, Australia 16, New Zealand 10 and Jamaica six.

In 2011, Elizabeth became the first British monarch in a century to visit the Republic of Ireland.

The following year, she shook hands in Belfast with the Sinn Féin politician Martin McGuinness, putting aside the personal tragedy of the IRA assassination of “Uncle Dickie”, Lord Mountbatten, her distant cousin and Philip’s uncle.

In 2002, her golden jubilee, her sister, Margaret, and mother, Queen Elizabeth, died within eight weeks of each other.

Her relationship to both had been close, as they were among the few individuals in whom she could confide the pressures and frustrations of her position.

As many nations today mourn a queen, one family is mourning a mother of four, a grandmother of eight, and a great-grandmother of 12.

NOTE: Edited