The body is finite but the soul is everlasting and between the two lies memory. The words spoken, the deeds done, the good and evil rendered unto others. The scraps of a life, physical and intangible, left behind in its wake. Memory is neither finite nor everlasting. It endures as long as it is passed on but in doing so it changes, gets shaded here and coloured there.

Memories of the Queen will not fade in our lifetimes. They will be handed down to children and grandchildren and though in time they will transmute, lingering on some aspects of her life while others are neglected, the legacy of Elizabeth II will live on through the generations. Not simply because she was Queen but because of the sort of queen she was. 

Those fortunate enough to have lived during her reign know why, even if we are all still struggling for the words to describe what she meant to us. For many, she was the very definition of Britain, a woman of reserve and duty yet one capable of great humour and kindness.

She was Britain’s granny, a source of wisdom and common sense, a no-nonsense believer in hard work and a warm-hearted practitioner of love and compassion. She reminded us of our own family matriarchs, women of her generation and sense of right and wrong, and made us recall how they led their households with similar personal qualities and moral values.

Her death has been felt keenly in Scotland and the outpourings north of the border, the sheer intensity of the grief, has caught some by surprise. After all, the Scots tend to be more reticent when it comes to the royal family. Polling has shown more scepticism towards monarchy among Scottish voters than among their English counterparts. This doesn’t denote a hotbed of republicanism waiting to be unleashed. It probably has more to do with an innate Scottish suspicion of anything too grand or too emotional. We prefer respect to reverence. 

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