“By the moon that shines above us in the misty morning night/ Let us cease to run ourselves down and praise God that we are white/ And better still are English, tea and toast and muffin rings/ And old ladies with stern faces and the captains and the kings...”
And coronations. There’s affection and humour mixed with the irony in Brendan Behan’s song The Captains and the Kings, which will also be reflected in the perspectives of many in Ireland watching the theatre of Charles III’s coronation. They are good at pomp, and the BBC at hyping the solemnity and awe, but it will be difficult to maintain a straight face at the contrived tradition designed to prop up a wilting, archaic institution and to promote London as a tourism destination. All at a reported cost of €114 million – not to Charles but the hard-pressed taxpayer.
Only three in 10 Britons, a poll last week showed, think the monarchy is “very important”, the lowest score on record. Forty-five per cent said either it should be abolished, was not at all or not very important. The young are particularly cynical: while 78 per cent of over-65s were supportive, only 32 per cent of 18-24 year olds are.
We are talking about hereditary privilege, a monarch of fabulous wealth whose few residual political powers are cloaked in an elaborate, meaningless ceremonial mystique. But if this is the way our neighbours want to run their democracy, so be it. Our republic, although clearly more democratic, is not so perfect that we can or should preach.
Not so long ago Europe was awash with royalty. At the start of the 20th century only France, Switzerland and San Marino were republics, until the first World War spelt the end for Russia’'s Romanovs and the Hapsburgs of Austria-Hungary. Today, still, 12 principalities and kingdoms remain, but it’s worth noting that none bother with a constitutionally unnecessary coronation ceremony. The last, in Spain, was in 1555, while the Scandinavian monarchies had all deemed the practice redundant by 1906. Charles is king without it, his role sealed in the days after Elizabeth’s death at the accession council.
One of the new traditions to be inaugurated with the king will be the Homage of the People, a “chorus of millions of voices” in pubs, open-air celebrations, and sittingrooms up and down the land. “I swear,” loyal citizens will voluntarily rise and affirm, “that I will pay true allegiance to your majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God.”
True allegiance? What on earth does it mean? Plough your fields for a week every year? Deliver financial tribute to pay for your wars? Take up a sword to ward off enemies or pesky parliamentarians? Not any more.
Allegiance is a fast-vanishing commodity. This coronation may well be the last. Among the 56-nation Commonwealth, of which 14 states recognise the king as their sovereign, Barbados became the first in 30 years to transition to a republic, two years ago. The next most recent was Mauritius, in 1992. But at least six other Caribbean states, led by Jamaica and Antigua, have signalled they will follow suit.
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Following official mourning for Elizabeth, some in Australia are busy planning the same. “The Elizabethan era is now over and it’s time for us to move into the Australian era,” Matt Thistlethwaite, assistant minister for the republic, told Time magazine. Canada and New Zealand are indifferent.
Part of the Commonwealth disillusion reflects renewed concern at the historical role of the UK and its monarchs in propping up and profiting from slavery. The sort of scrutiny Bishop George Berkeley has been receiving is now unearthing direct links between 12 British monarchs and the slave trade. But in a Commons speech recently, prime minister Rishi Sunak made clear that Britain will never entertain talks on reparations or apologise, an attitude that will certainly feed republican sentiment, and may even doom the Commonwealth itself.
And while republican sentiment in the rest of Europe’s monarchies may not be strong, with several – notably the Scandinavians and the Dutch – successfully modernising and developing a common touch, a number of crowns have been wobbling precariously. Spain’s King Juan Carlos abdicated eight years ago amid plummeting popularity, handing the throne to his son. Two years ago, the former king went into voluntary exile after damaging allegations about his business dealings.
In the Netherlands, a string of blunders during the coronavirus pandemic have sent the popularity of King Willem-Alexander and his family to an all-time low. A 2017 survey in the Le Soir newspaper found that nearly two-thirds of Belgians think the €35 million cost of the monarchy is too much, and King Philippe has recently had to express deep regrets about his predecessor King Leopold’s savage rule in the Congo.
Royalism has had its day. The high point of Charles III’s reign may well be his coronation.