Roy Hattersley: A moment in history when even republicans should show respect

Like others in the monarchy, the Queen Mother was at her best when not being royal

Death of the Queen Mother

Full links on special index page

Republicans who object to the idolatry that still surrounds the monarchy, have to be consistent in their beliefs that the Windsors should be treated like normal human beings. So, at the moment of bereavement, they are entitled to receive the respect and sympathy that would be rightly afforded to any other family that had suffered a grievous loss. Perhaps no figure in the public eye is entitled to take final refuge in the mantra de mortuis nil nisi bonum. And – since there is so much sycophancy in everything that is said about the Royal Family – the temptation to redress the balance with a little healthy iconoclasm is almost irresistible. Almost but not quite. I too think of this as a sad Sunday.

In any event, like so many other subjects – loyal and otherwise – my immediate reaction when I heard of the Queen Mother's death was the memory of an act of regal kindness. My mother – a busy, bustling city councillor in her late 60s – was in London for some sort of meeting and had a couple of hours to spare for me. They were hours when I was required to be at Clarence House accompanying a group of American senators who were in England to celebrate the bicentenary of the Declaration of Independence.

My private secretary was a friend of the Queen Mother's equerry. In those days, Foreign Office officials were like that. At some social gathering or other he mentioned that I was being bad tempered about the need to pay court when I would have preferred to play son. "Tell him," the message came, "to bring his mother along." When we arrived, the Queen Mother bore down on us like a ship in full pale blue sail. She talked about parents' pride in their children. Impressed though I was, it did nothing to make me a monarchist. Royalty, I thought (and still think) are at their best when they are not being royal.

Almost everyone who has spoken of the Queen Mother during the past hours has remarked on how royal the commoner who became Queen chose to be. We are told that she lived in regal splendour with a "household" of 40 servants and retainers and that she resented the slightest suggestion of lese-majesty. There was a story of an African prime minister who kissed her on the cheek and only escaped without a stinging rebuke because she was too astounded by his effrontery to put him in his place. Ironically, it was one of her slavish admirers who did most to undermine her reputation as the benign grandmother of the nation.

Woodrow Wyatt, having complained bitterly that another journalist had revealed the secrets of his dinner table, described her in his published diaries as a pillar of right-wing prejudice. According to Lord Wyatt, whose passion for horse racing she shared, she admired P W Botha (the last proponent of South African apartheid), hated the trade unions, feared closer involvement with Europe and, paradoxically, both despised the middle classes and worshipped Margaret Thatcher, their apotheosis.

I have no idea whether or not the Wyatt portrait was fair. But I am sure that the Queen Mother was not entitled to complain. The Royal Family encourages stories about their virtues. If a supporter praises the vices that he shares, that is simply the other side of the regal coin.

What is certain about the Queen Mother is her love for her husband and the grief she felt at his premature but not altogether unexpected death. The result was 50 years of widowhood. But in every other way she was a lucky woman. She was, we are told, deeply distressed by the abdication of Edward VIII and her consequent elevation to Queen of England. She'd hoped to live in comparative obscurity while (not altogether consistent with her natural lack of pretension) she prepared her older daughter to assume the throne on the death of her brother-in-law. But it was the circumstances of her husband's coronation that made her reputation.

Much of her early popularity stemmed from the comparison the nation made between the dissolute and irresponsible Edward (hopelessly in love with the louche Wallis Simpson) and the hesitant but public-spirited George. His devoted wife completed the patriotic picture. He represented the respectable monarchy at a time when the whole idea of kingship was under threat. Like her husband she possessed a quality that was invaluable – both in terms of national morale and personal esteem – during the war.

Remember that when a bomb hit Buckingham Palace, the Queen Mother expressed something like gratitude and announced that, because her own home had been damaged, she would be able "to look the East End in the face". Cynics say that, at the end of every wartime day, the whole Royal Family was spirited off to safety in Windsor. Whether or not that accusation is correct, the comment set exactly the right tone. There was nothing haughty or regal about the concession that the common people suspected that the monarchy received special protection – and the determination to portray a nation that stood together in face of a common enemy.

There is no doubt that the Queen Mother bitterly opposed change and resented the suggestion that the Royal Family should move into the 21st century. She regarded the behaviour of Diana, Princess of Wales, as unforgivable although the Prince's conduct was condoned. She believed the Royal Family should not pay taxes – partly because she spent with such extravagance but mostly because taxes were beneath their dignity. She was almost certainly right to judge that the modern habit of photo opportunities and touchy-feely walkabouts would, far from stabilising the monarchy, destroy its mystery and therefore speed its eventual decline.

Today her death illustrates one feature of the monarchy that will contribute to bringing that abolition about. Subjects and citizens who regard it as the most convenient way of choosing a head of state will react against the unctuousness that surrounds so many of the official statements. What we ought to feel today should not be expressed in the language of the courtier. An old lady has died. Her family is grieving. We are sad and they have our sympathy.