Her Late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

Baroness Warsi Excerpts

Saturday 10th September 2022 Lords Chamber

[Lord Harris of Haringey (Lab)]

My Lords—

[Baroness Warsi (Con)]

My Lords—

[Lord Harris of Haringey (Lab)]

My Lords, I am sorry for that slightly unseemly moment.

There have been many fine tributes and I am sure that there will be many more from all corners of the House. That reflects the way in which we have all been touched by the life of Her Majesty the late Queen. We have all suffered a loss but, until Thursday evening, I had not appreciated how much of a loss was felt around the world. I happened to be in Rotterdam at an international conference and I noted the number of delegates from all corners of the world who came up to express their condolences, in a way that reflected the fact that they recognised that, for someone from this country, this was a personal loss, like that of a family member. But, as they spoke, they also talked about their own sense of loss, because the Queen touched all of their lives, all around the world.

Continuity and permanence were part of what it was all about—the noble Baroness mentioned the words of President Macron. So what do we all remember about Her late Majesty? First, there are those acts of unsung kindness, such as the daffodils delivered, without any publicity, to hospital staff rooms during Covid.

Above all, I think that we most remember that mischievous twinkle. Theresa May has probably stolen the market with her anecdote about the cheese, but I too have a cheese anecdote, although it happened not to me but to a senior police officer, who found himself sitting next to the Queen at a small dinner at Sandringham. As is often the case, towards the end of the meal, a very large Stilton slowly circulated around the guests. In it was a spoon, with which you were supposed to dig in and that was your portion. So he dug in, but he could not detach the Stilton from the spoon. He tried more and more forcefully, until it flew off, and he decided that he would give up and pass the Stilton on. It reached the Queen and, looking him firmly in the eye, she dug the spoon in and then demonstrated that, when you pressed a little button on the side of it, the Stilton dropped out. That twinkle remained with him for ever.

We have all had our experiences and I think that we should limit ourselves to two anecdotes a speech at most. My personal anecdote is about when I was a council leader and, at the request of the children, the Queen came to a primary school in my borough. She had visited around 30 years before, when the school was reopened after it had been bombed in the Second World War. But it then suffered a fire and, when work on it was completed, the children wrote to the palace. I am very touched that she decided to visit. I was just a bystander, watching the way in which she arrived, engaged and so on. Of course, the children made presentations: first they gave a bunch of flowers, then there was a concert and then the Queen was presented with a papier-mâché crown, the best description of which would be of the exuberance with which it had clearly been put together. The twinkle with which the Queen received it, thanked the children and then spent far longer than her attendants had expected talking to and playing with the children was remarkable.

Several people have asked how we will, or should, remember Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. A number of noble Lords have talked about “Elizabeth the Great” or “Elizabeth the Good”. There are other suggestions and one I particularly like is “Elizabeth the Dutiful”. But for me and, I suspect, for many other people, it will be as the Queen with the mischievous twinkle—not just for us but particularly for the children.

[Baroness Warsi (Con)]

My Lords, it is an honour to follow the noble Lord, Lord Harris—I had had an indication that I was apparently due to speak before him.

There is a great tradition in Muslim communities of a 40-day period of mourning at the passing of a close family member. That period is spent, among other things, reminiscing, remembering and recounting stories of the deceased; it is part of the grieving process. So today I wish to recount a few short stories of Her late Majesty.

In 1977, at the age of six in a small town in Yorkshire, I celebrated the Silver Jubilee. The school had decided that the way we were going to do that was to dress up as Liquorice Allsorts—I have still not worked out why. So there I was, dressed in a box with pink and black stripes, marching around the town. For six year-old me, the Queen was a distant, magical, almost mythical figure, removed from my life in that Yorkshire town. Years later, in 2010, then in my late 30s, I joined the Cabinet and attended my first meeting of the Privy Council. This was my journey, but it was also one of many journeys that played out during Her late Majesty’s reign and an example of what was possible during it and how this country had changed.

On Thursday evening, as the sad news of the Queen’s passing came through, my daughter called me. As with Her Majesty, she is the first woman in our family to serve in uniform, and she reminded me that we both had had the privilege of working for Her Majesty—she had been our boss. For that, we will both always be grateful. In time and for future generations, Her late Majesty will become a historical figure, but, for us, she will for ever remain someone whom we had the honour of serving.

I want finally to mention pets. I never grew up with pets in our working class, mill-working parents’ home. They had enough mouths to feed with their children. It left me with a lifelong fear of animals. So when I was invited to a small lunch at Windsor Castle and found myself in the company of the Queen and her corgis, I am not sure who struck fear in me most. My face must have reflected my racing heartbeat and my sweating palms. In the way that many noble Lords have reflected on today, in that very human and warm way, the Queen sensed my anxiety, smiled, engaged me in conversation and put me at ease. She also left me in no doubt that, although I was her invited lunch guest, the corgis came first.

Yesterday at Friday prayers, mosques up and down the country held prayers and paid their respects to our departed monarch. She was a friend of Muslim communities, both here in the United Kingdom and across the world. The tributes that have poured in are testament to that. So in line with Islamic tradition, I say this. Verily we belong to God and verily to him do we return. May her journey hereon be one of ease and her eternal final destination be one of peace. Long live the King.

[Lord Alton of Liverpool (CB)]

My Lords, in 1947, the young Princess Elizabeth, celebrating her 21st birthday and on a tour of South Africa, made a speech which would give definition to her 70 years as monarch, setting out her belief that she was called to service. In 2007, there were echoes of that speech during a Roscoe Lecture which I had invited Prince Charles, now King Charles III, to deliver in Liverpool and at which we presented him with an honorary fellowship of Liverpool John Moore’s University. His reference in his lecture to TS Eliot’s “cycles of heaven” seems particularly apposite today. His mother’s promise six decades earlier had been that she would dedicate

“my whole life … to your service”,

and this became her lodestar, guiding her unstinting belief in the centrality of public service to the principle of duty, and it shaped her self-evident goodness.

In his first, warm and well-received message to the nation last night, King Charles reiterated those very same words, understanding that his mother has redefined how in a parliamentary democracy a constitutional monarchy must be steeped in selflessness, stoicism and politically detached public service, all of which Queen Elizabeth exemplified. Never partisan, her wise, generous and shrewd presence and leadership by example have been at the heart of our parliamentary democracy and, therefore, of our politics throughout my life.