Ten years. TEN YEARS!

[ladyofastolat]

The media always seems to celebrate anniversaries of events early. By the time the actual anniversary comes round, it all seems like old news. I wonder why this is. Have they all written their articles and TV programmes early, and get impatient sitting on them? Or do they want to get their article/programme out before the rivals? Probably the latter. It's the same in film marketing. I remember when Star Wars episode 1 came out in July 1999, in Britain. All the TV marketing, tie-in novels, free action figures in cereal boxes etc. had all happened in the lead up to May, when the film came out in America. Star Wars was distinctly old news when the film actually opened here. It was all quite odd. And why do novelisations of a film come out a good month or two before the film opens? Do these people want everyone to get spoilered?

Anyway… Everywhere I look at the moment seems to be doing their Princess Diana retrospectives, even though we're some two months (?) short of the anniversary. It's made me do some remembering of one of the most fascinating and bizarre weeks I can remember.



I remember getting up on the Sunday morning, sitting down at my computer, and putting on the radio. There they were going on in tragic voices about this dark and terrible day for the nation. My blood ran cold, to use the cliché. It's an interesting insight into life in 1997, because rather than going straight to the BBC website, as I would do now, I phoned my Mum. "What's happened?" I asked, shaking, half expecting to be told that there had been a nuclear strike on London, or something. "Oh. Is that all?" I thought, when she told me. It was sad, of course, since any death was sad, but not the sort of thing likely to have major repercussions for the safety of the world.

Later that day, we were dancing at a village fete. I didn't see any sign of misery or soul-destroying grief there. The fete went on. I expect people talked about the news a bit, but there were no tears.

Then something strange started to happen. The TV started to show people putting flowers on war memorials and the like. Suddenly people started doing this. The TV started showing people signing books of condolence. Suddenly people started wanting to do this. We had the Isle of Wight's book of condolence in our library, and all these tear-stained people started filing in – very few of them library users – to sign the book. "To Diana and her Dodo – angles together in heaven," read one entry. Would anyone had felt the urge to sign a book of condolence had they not seen other people doing so on TV?

At this time, Pellinor was away every week on a course in London, only coming home at weekends. I remember coming home from work and watching the news for hours, fascinated by what was happening in the country, then talking to him on the phone about the weirdness that was engulfing us. I found it mesmerising. What on earth was happening to the country I thought I knew? All this weeping and wailing in public! What on earth was the purpose of a Book of Condolence? Where did it get sent after it was full, and what happened to it afterwards? How many millions were being spent on flowers that would sit and rot on the steps of a war memorial?

I remember getting emails from total strangers – people who had read my fanfic, and knew I was British. They were passing on their condolences for my great loss. I had no idea how to reply.

I remember my Mum telling me that she had been talking to a woman she knew, and happened to mention to her that she didn't really understand what the fuss was about. The woman reacted as if she had said that she liked eating babies for dinner, and wouldn't talk to her for weeks. My Mum suddenly felt as if something had changed in the world. It was almost like a new witch hunt. Were friends falling out over this? People who thought the whole thing was a hysterical fuss about very little at all became afraid to speak out, because saying this was like blasphemy against a very real god.

Then we got time off work for the funeral. I have to admit that I did watch it on TV, since it felt like cultural history in the making.

Apart from the hordes coming into the library to sign the book, I don't think I actually knew anyone who fell apart with grief. In some cases, people only dared admit this several months later. It became a dirty secret, only to be admitted to when you were very sure of your company. Was anyone here deeply moved by it, or did everything think it was all rather silly? Were there demographic differences between people who were grief-stricken, and people who weren't?

It was just such a fascinating time. And then it ended. Did something change for ever that week, or was it a strange anomaly, after which everything went back to normal?

Comments

[ladyofastolat.livejournal.com]

That's true. There are several news events that I clearly remember hearing about for the first time, and all of them, I think, are disasters and deaths. I suppose it's because these are the things that come suddenly and out of the blue, and stop you in your tracks in the middle of your normal life.