 One of the big discussions about the recent marriage of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle centers on the fact that Ms. Markle is both an American and a commoner. But this isn't the first time an American commoner has made a bid for marriage with British royalty. I nearly did it myself forty years ago. In 1979, I had the unusual good fortune to study at the Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies in Oxford, England. Early in the Michaelmas, or fall, term, I bought a postcard, wrote a note to my mother, and posted it. Little did I know what a maelstrom I was unleashing. I no longer remember the exact words that I wrote, but they went something like this: Dear Mum, I am having such a splendid time here. I have met the most wonderful man. He takes me to all the poshest places. He's introduced me to the most interesting of people. Next week I am going to London to have tea with his mother. I'm told she raises corgis. If I don't make it home for the holidays, do come to visit." The joke was in the mention of corgis, since that is the kind of dog my family owned. Whenever anyone asked about our family's pet, a long haired Pembroke named Fluffy, my mother would proudly announce that she was the same kind of dog that Queen Elizabeth raised. I was sure my mother would get the joke.  But she didn't. Instead, my mother called my father on the phone and tearfully informed him that I was never coming home. My father, ever unflappable, asked her to read the postcard's note to him. He then told my mother to turn the postcard over. "It's a picture of Prince Charles, isn't it?" he asked, catching the joke immediately. This threw my mother into an even bigger fit of pique. Not only was I marrying an Englishman and never coming home again, but that man was royalty! I'd be too busy with official state dinners and supermarket openings to even arrange a holiday visit! My mother hung up on my father and called my boyfriend. Surely he could talk me out of this madness! Hank, ever willing to oblige my mother, caught a Freddy Laker flight to England that very weekend. When he returned, he informed my mother that all was well, and that I wasn't going to marry Prince Charles after all. A couple of weeks later, I wrote to my mother that Hank and I were engaged. I would return to America by Christmas and be married the next summer. My mother really didn't breathe easily until Charles found someone else. About the same time that Hank and I married, news stories connecting Charles with a young woman named Diana Spencer began circulating. They were married a year after I married Hank, my own Prince Charming. My marriage has fared much better than Diana's. After 38 years, we're still happy, and my mother continues to be grateful that Hank managed to steal me away from Prince Charles.  Jennifer Bohnhoff teaches middle school and writes historical fiction and other flights of fancy. Although none of her three sons will ever ascend to the throne, she and her Prince Charming of a husband live a fairytale existence in rural New Mexico. Their sole subject is a cantankerous cat and, sadly, they have never owned a corgi You can read more of her blogs and get information about her books at www.jenniferbohnhoff.com |
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