Thanks for the Long Weekend, Vicky

I know everyone calls her Victoria, but I call her Vicky. We’re that close.

She was born more than 200 years ago. May 24, 1819 to be exact. And she became Queen of England at the age of eighteen. She married her first cousin (blech!) Prince Albert and had nine children with him. He died at the age of 42 and she was a grieving widow in black for the rest of her life.

After Albert’s death Victoria descended into deep depression. Even after climbing out of depression, she remained in mourning and in partial retirement. She balked at performing the ceremonial functions expected of the monarch and withdrew to Balmoral and Osborne four months out of every year, heedless of the inconvenience and strain this imposed on ministers. After an initial period of respect and sympathy for the queen’s grief, the public grew increasingly impatient with its absent sovereign. No one, however, could budge the stubborn Victoria.

Brittanica.com

Albert was said to have died from typhoid fever but in recent years, scholars and doctors think it might have been something more. Historical figures always inspire debate. One account of Victoria’s height has her standing 5′ 3/4″. Does it really matter if most say she was 4′ 11″?

Victoria’s birthday was declared a provincial holiday in 1845. After Confederation, it became a national celebration. Following her death in 1901, Parliament declared it a legal holiday. It doesn’t land on the 24th every time, of course. We celebrate on the second-last Monday in May.

In high school, we’d go camping on this weekend and drink our weight in beer. More recently, we’d ride our motorcycles to where we live now. Now, we would rather be home and enjoying our little village of Port Stanley.

So, here we are. Whether it means a little or a lot, I hope you stay safe this long weekend. And please don’t marry your first cousin unless you’re in the royal family. Pure bloodlines, and all that. 🤮