THE QUEEN AND I
In 1994, when I lived in London, I was able to enjoy the incredible concerts the city offers. Every day, there were countless performances and the only seeming limitation was having the sufficient means to attend them. As I was there as a student, I was looking for whatever was affordable—without sacrificing quality, of course. There were weeks when I was able to attend up to five concerts, but I did manage to go to at least three a week. Every Wednesday, I spent a great deal of time evaluating the program that was published in the newest edition of Time Out magazine.
I remember on a Wednesday in April, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the night’s offering. At 7pm, the London Philharmonic was performing at St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was a concert to pay homage to Andrew Lloyd Webber, composer of many musicals such as: Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Starlight Express, and Evita, among others. I would like to say that musical theater was—at the time—one of my favorite genres and Andrew Lloyd Webber was arguably one of its greatest representatives. The concert, suffice to say, was in my list of must-sees, and seeing him live would mean a lot to me. To top it all off, the fact that the London Philharmonic would be performing his music not to mention the venue was St. Paul’s Cathedral were icing on the cake. I could not miss it for the world!
Without thinking twice, I took the tube to try to arrive on time and buy the tickets. I learned before that concerts in churches were often free or, typically, very inexpensive. I did not have any reason to suspect that this concert would be any different. When I arrived to the cathedral and queued up in line to enter, I found myself before the ticket table. When my turn came, a British girl explained that this was a benefit concert to collect funds to repair the dome of the cathedral and the least expensive ticket was three hundred pounds sterling! I do not know if it was my face, but I could see how she looked at me and I am sure my face had expressed frustration and pain.
I knew I could not afford it. I turned around and left the cathedral with my head down. I was slowly going down the stairs and when I got to the last step, I thought: “When else am I going to have this opportunity again in my life?” Maybe motivated by this idea or simply by the overwhelming desire to go in, I turned around and decided to pay the three hundred pounds, which was the cost of two weeks at the YMCA boarding house where I was living in London.
I made it back to the table and the same girl smiled at me and said: “You’re back! How about paying only twenty pounds?Surprised, I answered: “Sounds great!” I handed her a twenty-pound bill and she gave me a ticket. She called the usher and said: “Accompany this gentleman to his seat.” “Follow me,” said the man, and he guided me along the central aisle of the magnificent cathedral. He reached a place where there was a chained off area that was clearly set aside for a new “category” of attendees. I was surprised when he unhooked the chain, looked at me, and said: “This way.” We continued walking and then I saw the enormous and beautiful dome. The iconic dome of this great architectural marvel, inexplicably survived the Nazi attacks during World War II and here I was standing below it. We were gathered there that evening, joined in a fundraising effort for its restoration. There were countless automated spotlights each exuding a panoply of color that lit the space and made the magic of the sacred space come alive with a festive spirit.
Distracted by the scene, I had not realized how far I had gone and, suddenly, the usher’s voice brought me back to reality when he declared: “This is your seat.” What a surprise! My seat was in the second row of the cathedral next to the central aisle. The conductor’s podium was no more than a stone’s throw from my seat. As I sat down, the musicians began filing in to take their seats. The only empty row was the one right in front, the first row. I even thought that if no one else came, I would move there.
The oboe began to play an impeccable A at 440 Hz. This serves as the standard guide for tuning an orchestra to perfection. Then the first violin and the conductor made their grand entrance and the latter bowed respectfully and prepared us for what would be an incredible event. He turned around and the orchestra started playing the first notes of God Save the Queen: the national anthem of England, which I knew by heart because during many years, on Mondays, I sang it with my schoolmates at the Anglo Colombian School in Bogota. I noticed that the people around me started to look backward, and my gaze followed their own to settle on none other than Her Majesty Elizabeth II, Queen of England, entering the cathedral along the center aisle, escorted by—what I assumed to be—members of English royalty, judging from their attire and decor. I understood then who was expected in the first row, so my plan to sit there was thwarted.
This is the story of an unforgettable concert where I was able to sit behind the Queen of England. That evening, besides the wonderful music and the sight of the impressive venue, I was also able to smell the perfume used by a queen. But the ultimate lesson was I learned that there are moments of good fortune that life gives us without even thinking. It is important to be cognizant of them and appreciate them for what they are.
