Я давно собиралась вывесить в дневник отрывки из автобиографии Клиффа Ричарда "My life, my way", уж очень мне они понравились. Плюс, сэр Клифф рассказывает обо всём с таким неподдельным восторгом Питера Пена, что устоять невозможно. =)
Начну с середины, потому что имея в крышесносах кучу Сэров, я, тем не менее, никогда не читала о том, как происходит это самое возведение в рыцари.
Перепечатываю целиком всё историю от начала и до конца, а не только сам ритуал (он в самом конце - два обзаца). Советую всё же прочесть всё, потому что реакция не самого последнего человека в Королевстве заслуживает отдельного упоминания.
(И становится на одну причину меньше думать почему в биографиях известных людей бывает упоминают `allegedly refused the O.B.E/C.B.E./Kighthood`)If you were to ask me which of all the days in these fifty years has been most thrilling, I would have to say it was the one in May 1995 when a letter from 10 Downing Street arrived at my home in Weybridge. The Prime Minister, it said, intended recommending me to the Queen for a kighthood in the Queen's Birthday Honours. I read it twice; then I read it out to Bill Latham, now one of my management team, who was sharing my house with me at that time. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. `This couldn't be a joke, could it?` And perhaps the most exiting part of it was that it was not for my career as singer - I had already been honoured for that. This was for my contribution to charity.
читать дальшеI started to laugh at the sheer implausibility of it; and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I couldn't stop. I was so happy and so completely taken by surprise. I'd had an OBE, for my singing - as you know, OBE's go to people like me - but it had never crossed my mind that I might ever get knighthood. Businessmen were given knighthoods, civil servants, actors, politicians, important people; but me? It was just out of the question, I had never given it a thought.
I stupidly didn't keep the letter; I should have done but I don't save any sort of paperwork. So I have to paraphrase, but it said that that my name was being recommended to the Queen, and if she were to agree, would I accept the honour? If I did, from that moment until information was leaked it would be assumed I was the source and the honour would be withdrawn instantly.
Would I accept it? What a question. Paper burned with the speed at which I put my pen to it: `Yes please!`. I was sothrilled, and actually very emotional; just knowing that the Queen along with the Prime Minister and thousands of members of the British public had thought me worthy of this honour - because my understanding is that you only get an honour like that these days if people badger the Prime Minister's office on your behalf. I had to pinch myself; it truly was the most exiting thing that's happend to me and such a boost to my self-esteem.
The difficult part was having to keep it a secret. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I was terrified of having it withdrawn. Neither Bill nor I breathed a word to anyone; no one in the office knew before the Queen's birthday, when the list was published in the newspapers; I didn't even tell my family. The list was published shortly before the start of Wimbledon, and I was coming back from Portugal for the tournament: it's one of the high sports of the year for me and I try to be there on most of the days. I landed at Gatwick to find dozens of press photographers awaiting my arrival - that's when I knew that it wasn't a dream - and that night I celebrated with a huge party at home for all my family and friends.
A workman was the first person who called me `Sir`. I couldn't imagine how I was going to deal with being addressed so formally - I was `Cliff` - but the next day when I went to Wimbledon to collect my tickets I walked past a guy sitting on the grass with a bottle of beer and sandwich. He was one of the contractors erecting all the tents and paraphernalia for the hospitality area.
`Morning, Sir Cliff,` he said. `All right?`
I replied, `Yeah, thanks!`
And you know what? It felt great.
It still does. I don't need everyone to go around calling me `Sir Cliff` all the time, but it is quite nice if people say it when they first meet me. In fact it sounds strange to me when I'm referred to as `Mr`; there is no `Mr` on my passport or credit cards.
I was allowed three guests at the investiture so I took my three sisters, Donna, Jacqui and Joan. My mother had come when I collected the OBE in 1980 but the girls had never been inside Buckingham Palace, so I asked Mum whether she minded if I took them instead. She was just beginning to get forgetful at that stage. `No, of course you take them,` she said, and before she could say another word I said, `OK`, and asked the girls.
It was a happy day. When we arrived at the palace - an all our finery - my sisters and I had to part company. They were ushered straight into the Ballroom, which is there the investiture takes place, and were given seats plum in the middle. I was taken to wait with all the other recipients in the Green Drawing Room, hung with priceless masterpieces. When we were assembled, all feeling horribly nervous, the Comptroller of the Household, in full dress uniform, introduced himself and went through what each of us was to do when our turn came to recieve our award. `When you go to the podium,` he said, `there will be this kneeler.` It was just a soft leather thing about two feet high, with a knee rest and a handle on the top. `I would suggest that you do hold the handle,` he said firmly. `People have fallen off this. You put your right knee, here, like this, put your head forward and say nothing. Please, say nothing until Her Majesty says something to you. This is procedure: she will come to you, she will touch both your shoulders with the ceremonial sword, then you will stand up.`
I was so disappointed. I said, `You mean she doesn't say "Arise, Sir Cliff"?`
He said, `No. She touches your shoulders, you stand up, you lean forward, she puts the award around your neck, you then face her and she may or may not speak to you. But she always does.`
In my case she said, `I do believe this has been a long time coming.` And I kind of babbled. I said to my sisters afterwards, `I don't think I said anything.` I was so choked up. What a collection we were: my sisters were crying, and I couldn't speak. Afterwards I said to them, `I bet the Queen's sitting there now thinking, Why did we choose him? We could have chosen someone who could at least speak English.` I couldn't get anything out; it was like the whole of my throat had closed up. It was a bit like the day when I spoke for the first time at a Billy Graham crusade. I was so scared my arms locked. I couldn't move them; I thought I was paralysed. on this occasion I wasn't scared in that way. I was just terrified I was going to fall off the kneeler, particularly because I'd been warned that some people had. And some older women, he told us, had curtsied so deeply that their knees had locked and they had been unable to get up again. The whole morning was so emotional. I kept thinking: that sword, how many shoulders has it touched in the past? And this time it's mine. Insignificant me.