Christmas Eve 1978, I drove from Elham in Kent north to London and saw the Queen.
Elizabeth and I were teenagers during World War II. I worked part time on the local daily newspaper. The Princess assisted London nurses. My historical fiction research also tells me she collected President Truman’s autograph in 1945.
Margaret and I were in England to spend the holidays with her daughter Margo and Margo’s roommate, a girl named Sue. Both were study abroad college students.
I was chauffeuring a rented car to tour Brighton and the south English coast. On Motorway 20 south of Canterbury, I saw a turn-off sign to Elham. Didn’t ask permission. Immediately turned off and went to Elham for lunch.
Elham is my ancestral home. Robert of Elham came to Virginia in 1632. He farmed near Richmond. Records show Robert’s daughter married a cousin named ‘Elam.’ Make of that fact what you will.
In the Rose and Crown pub, I asked why our village was named Elham? After the trees we saw? A hamlet with elms? Answer was eels were caught in the nearby River. People say “eel-um.” But the men explained they moved from Ireland. “Go next block and ask Mrs. Smith. She’s the town historian.”
Margaret nixed that idea. “We’re not going to knock on her door on Christmas Eve in search for your roots.” We drove on north toward London. Stopped in Canterbury and heard the fabulous boys choir sing.
Reached London in time to see Queen Elizabeth on the ‘telly.’ She wished her subjects watching on the BBC a “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” And we wish the same for you.
Photo Graveyard around the mediaval church of the village of Elham, Kent England by Ton Reijnaerdts
