When Queen Elizabeth II died, I entered into a surprising state of shock.
At the time, I was working as a royal news reporter in London, covering everything from the platinum jubilee to Harry and Meghan’s latest business deal. When I wasn’t writing about the royal family’s daily jaunts, I was creating evergreen content – content that stays fresh for when it is needed – from the archives.
I began all my shifts by checking various social media accounts, compulsively refreshing the pages for any updates on the queen and her living bloodline. I ended all my shifts by scanning the royal diary, which publishes its members’ future engagements up to eight weeks in advance.
Before you say it, I’ll say it.
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For 40 hours a week, I virtually stalked Britain’s royal family – an ironic job for an Irish person, whose ancestors had spent probably triple this amount of time doing the opposite.
To clarify, I am not a monarchist, nor have I ever been. As a Dubliner born in the 1990s, the royal family had always been a fantastical entity to me – like distant cousins I knew existed, but had zero interest in meeting.
This apathy was likely an inheritance of the Irish Free State, which, after its establishment in 1922, went to great efforts to undo the damage of 700 years of British rule.
And it worked. By the time I graduated from university in 2018, it’s safe to say that neither me nor my friends and family gave two hoots about the royal family.
It was with this same mentality that I accepted my first official job in journalism as a royal news reporter.
With the exception of Princess Diana, my knowledge of the British monarchy was nil. Despite this, I assumed my exposure to royalty in popular media (The Princess Diaries, mainly) would be enough to survive my induction and within a couple of days, I’d find my bearings.
Oh, how wrong I was.
In my first few weeks on the job, I underwent what I can only describe as a crash course in “Royalspeak”.
I learned all about the monarchy’s traditions – its Order of the Garter, its Trooping the Colour, for instance – which, yes, sound as if they are straight out of Shrek’s Far Far Away.
I studied the royal family’s vast real estate collection, complete with castles, palaces and cottages (thatched roofs these do not have). I memorised all the titles they use, which, confusingly, change every time there’s a shuffle in the line of succession.
The learning curve was steep, and at the beginning I’d often have to double check for correct spellings and dates.
But as is the case with immersion in any language, I quickly became fluent. It got to the point where I could freestyle my articles, churning out copy without any translation crutches at all.
But of course, this wasn’t my native tongue, and the readers could tell. Emails from disgruntled monarchists weren’t uncommon. Some were frustrated that I hadn’t called Kate Middleton “the Princess of Wales”, while others accused me of treason for failing to sound more enthusiastic about the queen.
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It was the first time I realised there was a group of people who not only loved the royal family, but vehemently defended them.
It wouldn’t be until the death of Queen Elizabeth II on September 8th, 2022, that I would come to truly understand this fandom.
In the 10 days that followed her majesty’s passing, the UK entered a state period of mourning. Portraits of the late sovereign were plastered across shop windows. Supermarkets shut on the day of her funeral. Hundreds of thousands of people queued for hours to pay their respects during her lying in state.
My mouth was ajar; I had never seen anything like it.
Once our craned necks stiffen, we can turn back into ourselves, basking in the relief that we’ll never be trapped in such an abusive relationship again
As Britain came to terms with the death of the queen, I was also forced to accept the reality that the institution she left behind is still very much alive.
As an Irish person, discovering the power of the royal family in the UK and the Commonwealth has been unsettling. But perversely, it has also been encouraging.
The British monarchy is undeniably a reminder of our colonisation, but it is also testament to our triumph. It has continued to loudly uphold its traditions and yet, just a sliver of sea away, Ireland has effectively soundproofed itself from the noise.
A friend of mine recently said the royal family is like a toxic ex you’re completely over, but still feel compelled to check up on every now and then.
Ireland’s estrangement from the British monarchy has softened the traumatic imprint of its rule, allowing us to finally engage with its exploits through a lens of morbid curiosity.
Today, we can gawk at its spectacles, the pomp of which seem almost farcical in a modern society. We can revel in its dramas, the scenes of which offer more entertainment than any Netflix show. We can tut-tut at its scandals, the details of which are bound to ruin your image of Prince Charming forever.
And once our craned necks stiffen, we can turn back into ourselves, basking in the relief that we’ll never be trapped in such an abusive relationship again.
No, the royal family isn’t irrelevant, nor is it crumbling. But in many ways, that is what makes Ireland’s independence all the more impressive.
After centuries of colonisation, we have salvaged and rebuilt our national identity to create a republic in which, for millions, the King of England is no more than a portrait on a £5 note.
So, next time you read about the royal family, revel in its power because there’s never been a greater legacy of ours.
- Emma Dooney is from Stillorgan in Dublin. She returned to London after the pandemic in May 2022, having done an MA in International Journalism at City, University of London in 2019. Before that she did a BA in English Studies at Trinity College Dublin. She is now a showbiz reporter at the Daily Mirror.
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