I turned up the collar of my corduroy jerkin against the early chill as I sat knee to chin, a ten year old boy watching and waiting patiently for the 'Ferry Bridge' which was taking forever to load up on the west side of the river. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a few waiting cars, lorries and passengers, but on this occasion I could only make out one car together with a few early morning passengers waiting to cross the Isle of Wight's narrow River Medina that divides West Cowes from East Cowes on that bright cold August morning in 1954.
Next to me sat a large green canvas holdall, into which my mother had packed my grandmother's washing together with a packet of arrowroot biscuits, a small tin of snuff, and a couple of thin paper romances. My weekly errand of mercy was made to Gran's usually on a Saturday but as the town was in the midst of the annual international yachting extravaganza known as 'Cowes Week' it was deemed that my poor old Gran's pink and pretties were needed several days earlier, mine was not to reason why.

From across the river I heard the loud metallic clank of the bridge's prow gate, followed by the grinding of massive iron chains as they took up the strain. The early still river air chilled into my face, as I watched the floating bridge finally begin its journey, rattling across the river towards me. Less than a minute later the ‘Bridge’ had pulled it's self across the river crunching and clanging loudly up against the slipway slowly lowering the bridge's prow up onto the steeply sloping slipway which rose out of the river. To my amazement the Ferry Master known to all as Skipper Elliot opened the creaking bridge gate with one hand whilst standing stiffly to attention smartly quivering in salute with the other. Moments later a large, black, shining Rolls Royce with bright coloured fluttering pennant standards silently descended the prow ramp and now ascending the slipway purred softly towards me. With crested pennants whipping like flames, the shining, black limousine continued its regal ascent whilst the few passengers still waiting to disembark clapped and cheered loudly.
The growing number of awaiting passengers behind me suddenly moved forward and rose up around me and they too began clapping and cheering loudly. As I quickly moved forward to get a better view of what was clearly something very rare and special I was suddenly, and without warning aware of being caught up and pitching headlong in front of the oncoming stately motorcar. Due to my eagerness to see the object of the crowds adulation my foot had caught through the dangling straps of the canvas bag which now had opened wide spilling forth the contents casting my grandmother's clean and carefully folded green and pink bloomers like bunting up into the squalling breeze and finally with a silken flourish across the windscreen of the limousine another pair hanging limply adorning both the gleaming radiator and the ever graceful 'Spirit of Ecstasy'. The vehicle lurched to standstill, falling hard and heavy against the bulbous wing of the large black car I instinctively reached out to save myself grabbing and clutching at anything that I could in a hopeless attempt to stop myself from falling. Lightly dusted brown by a descending cloud of fine snuff powder my dazed senses slowly were able to focus as I lay prone beside the massive shining wheels and broken Arrowroot biscuits, breathless and dazed, I began to make out a distant, insistent but gentle voice.
'Hello...?
‘Young man...? Hello... Tell me, are you alright?'
Sitting up on my elbows, I opened my mouth and sneezed loudly
'Oh thank… goodness... bless you….you are absolutely sure that you are not injured?'
I sneezed again.
A gravely voice from somewhere within the dark interior of the car, whispered huskily, 'Stupid young bugger… no damn patience, could have been bloody killed…the husky drone was suddenly cut off by a series of loud wet sneezes.
The gentle face was now leaning out from the car window, the same beautiful face that belonged to the same beautiful woman who stood every inch a Queen, the same Queen that smiled and stood beside the Duke of Edinburgh on my Mothers round cake tin.
'Well, that's jolly good, she continued sweetly alas the moment was interrupted by a loud repetition of sneezes that exploded uncontrollably from within the car a moments silence only to be followed by muffled angry exclamations and yet another guttural sneeze. Without one moments hesitation she cut across her escorts demise with confident equipoise, 'You really must be more careful in future, do you promise?'
‘Goodbye'
I smiled and sneezing once again bid her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11 a loud and wet farewell. With that the car drove serenely away whilst my Grandmother's knickers gently curling and unfurling took to skies carried upon the strong river breeze like dancing silken rainbows high into the tangle of the dock yard cranes.

Sitting up, my eyes and nose running still stinging from the cloud of snuff I became aware of what I was still gripping tightly in my hand and was amazed to find that I was clutching to my breast the royal standard that had once proudly adorned the wing of the Royal car, Holding aloft the twisted metal oblivious to all who had witnessed the event I continued to wave the silken, tattered pennant furiously until the car was long out of sight.
Why me?
I had never been this lucky before; fancy me of all people, run over…
And not just by any car!
I hardly dared to believe what had just taken place, it was like a secret dream, but held in my shaking hand was the evidence, a Royal Pennant.
It couldn't have been anyone else but the Queen,
The realisation of this rare royal moment swept over me but unlike a dream this was real. Joy of joys, I had been run over and then comforted by no less a person than the Queen of England herself! Of course no one would believe me, but who cared about that. I was shaking with excitement. Who had been the man in the car, sitting beside her?
His voice had not sounded as I imagined the Duke of Edinburgh's, the smiling husband in the Wedding picture on Mum's cake tin to have sounded. Besides, I knew that the Duke would be out sailing because today was the 'Flying Fifteens' class heats. Both Prince Philip and Uffa Fox, his native Island sailing companion, would be racing for the line for most of the day. As the old Floating Bridge rattled and clanked back across the River Medina, many of the passengers began staring, pointing me out, and mouthing amazement some even tut tutting to one another. It unsettled me for a moment but then for the first time in my life I began to feel important, I enjoyed being important, I enjoyed it very much.

The stinging graze on my leg, received as a result of my accident with the Royal limousine, had stained my grey socks with blood and was smarting in the keen salt air. For the most part my admiring audience still threw knowing smiles and acknowledging nods of approval in my direction, I stiffened my leg and began limping like Long John Silver.
'See she didn't invite you up to Osborne House for your tea then,' laughed Skipper Elliot, as I struggled with my dragging leg to be first through the prow gate.
'You don't ‘alf choose your bloody moment’s nipper,' said the Skipper, taking my ticket. 'Ere, I hope you never buggered up the paintwork on her old Roller, ‘else you could end up in the 'Tower.'
'Get yer bloody head chopped off next'. ‘Wait 'til I see your dad ' he laughed, his old brown face beaming. He was still laughing as he began to open the gates.


Once off the Bridge, I ‘waddle walked’ as fast as the enormous canvas holdall would allow me, up the green slippery slipway to Medina Road, passing the silver edifice of the cocooned Princess Flying Boat. This beautiful flying ship held down tightly by metal hawsers lest it took flight toward the moon like a giant moth. Past shipyards that smelt of tar and rope I headed down into the narrow, twisting High Street which was bedecked and criss crossed every which way with Cowes Week carnival flags and bunting.
Stopping for a moment to rest, I caught sight of myself reflected in a shop window. No longer just a ten year old boy and a bag, for hanging above my reflection for all to see, emblazoned in gold, blue and scarlet, hung the shop's royal gift, the honour bestowed of the splendid heraldic coat of arms depicting the seal of royal approval.


Although there was no reason to continue with my exaggerated limp I still required to stop every five minutes or so to rest my arm and change sides. nonetheless on this occasion I was still heady from the sheer delight of being run down and addressed by a reigning monarch and wasted little time reflecting upon the facts that whilst most other boys of my age were either still in bed or enjoying a comfortable family breakfast, why was it that every weekend I always ended up carrying something heavy.

I didn't mind so much today, after all it wasn’t everyday that you get run over by the Queen. After many more rests for my aching arms, and squeezes to my grazed leg to ensure I still looked bloody and heroic, I arrived, panting outside of my Grandmother's small neat house which was situated at top of Moorgreen Road. My cousin Judith was playing at being 'Joan of Arc' as she sat astride the small wall at the front of the house, her long pale legs touching the ground on each side as she leaned forward on her wild mount, imaginary sword in hand, leading the charge on 'Orleans'. Judith who was a year or so younger than me was my constant companion when ever I stayed over 'West' at Grans.
‘Queen Lizzie' is due any minute, she said excitedly, hurry up and dump that bag, or you'll miss her.'
Opening the front door I slid the heavy canvas bag of washing down the highly polished linoleum hallway, delighting at the terror written upon the face of 'Thomas', hissing he headed for the nearest open window.
'I'm here Gran I called out. I'm just going out the front with Jude to watch 'Lizzie' coming through'
There was no reply. I turned on my heel, joining Judith and a small group of neighbours, which had gathered in the road to watch the huge ocean going liner pass.
My grandmother's house was elevated high above the town of Cowes close to an area known as 'The Walls' and was advantaged by a magnificent view of the Solent clear across to the mainland. Judith had joined Mary and Margaret Day who were about our age and lived next door to my grandmother. There was little love lost between Judith and Mary, but because Mary was clutching her dad's prized binoculars Judith had greeted her like a long lost sister. The sweetness lasted just as long as it took Mary to explain that she was under strict orders not to let any one use her father's binoculars. Judith immediately pulled a face and ran back to join me astride the wall.

Whenever I recall those magnificent ships of the line, those beautiful, beautiful Queens of the sea the memory of their beauty and grace never fails to take my breath away. Nor do I know of anyone who ever grew tired of watching those elegant leviathans as they glided serenely passed the Island by way of Southampton Water and the Solent.
The very next moment the ground shook under us, as three long deafening blasts of salute rattled every window casement in the road. Her vast trumpeting still echoing across the Solent as she sounded yet another series of greetings this time in Royal salute to her namesake as sighted the 'Royal Yacht Britannia', which lay at anchor off Spithead during Cowes Week.
For one long moment the view remained the same nothing but the wide expanse of the blue Solent but slowly inch by inch, by inch, her massive bows painted in the darkest of blue appeared, then towers of gleaming white tiered superstructures on top of which were two massive red funnels gently smoking. 'Queen Elizabeth' had stopped me in my tracks for the second time in a morning.
'Oh! I do think 'Lizzie’s' so beautiful,' said a gentle voice from above, breaking the silence of the watchers.
Looking up, I saw Gran leaning out of the front bedroom window, her small white hands gripped tightly around a pair of battered opera glasses.
'She's beautiful, just like our own dear Queen, beautiful," she continued wistfully.
'Gran! Shrieked Judith, where did you get those?
Let me borrow them, quickly before she's out of view.'
Judith ran into the house reappearing at the window with Gran and before taking up the opera glasses she grimaced for moment poking her tongue out at Mary.
'She told me to be more careful,’ I shouted up to my Grandmother.
'Who dear? 'Who told you to be more careful? She said, peering out to sea, one hand shading her eyes.
‘The Queen,' I answered.
‘Oh that's nice dear.'
'Yeah, it was, and she asked me if I was alright...
'Alright, dear? Who did? Who asked you?’
She continued to look in the direction of the fluttering red and white ensigns astern the great ship as she slowly began to slip from our view.
'The Queen! I shouted loudly. I bumped into her this morning down at the ‘Bridge’.
'Stop lying! Shouted down, Judith.
Mary, who had overheard my boasts, caught the panic in Judith's voice and wasted no time interjecting.
'Yeah, well I reckon that’s right, said Mary in her broad Islander accent, our dad was saying this morning that she was supposed to be on the Island today goin' up Osborne or Whippingham and she’d be with her Uncle or some 'tother'.
'Oh...that'll be Earl Mountbatten, Oh how lovely dear,' drooled Gran.

Mary smiled broadly up at Judith and then just as quickly poked out her tongue, Judith responded likewise.
'Gran!… sceamed Judith, he's always lying!
'I'm not lying, she run me over, so there.' Protesting, I proffered my leg, showing them both my grazed and bloodied knee.
'Liar, you would be worse than that if you had been run over. Judith continued to shrill.
'I saved myself from being killed by hanging onto her flag thingy on the front of her car…
'Lair Lair…
Carefully extracting the bent and twisted metal pennant holder out from the inside folds of my jerkin I waved the frayed Royal Pennant defiantly at Gran and Judith as they stared down at me, agog.