Rudman's city: Once the nation curtsied, but now the monarchy has lost its magic

By BRIAN RUDMAN

The Queen of New Zealand flies in from Jamaica today, a constitutional Santa Claus from another age.

We all know she doesn't really exist anymore, but we can't quite bring ourselves to tell her or to admit it.

How things have changed.

I'm of a generation that thought it the height of rebelliousness to remain seated in the cinema during the obligatory playing of God Save the Queen, complete with scratchy filmed highlights of the coronation.

I'm also of the generation that as young schoolkids, excitedly packed the parks and streets of New Zealand in 1953-54 - in my case Pukekura Park, New Plymouth - waving Union Jacks and cheering madly as the Queen drove past.

This morning she slips into Wellington on a commercial jet and then disappears to Taupo for a two-day rest.

I was going to add, out of the public gaze. But I suspect there's not much public curiosity left. That's the view of the trip organisers, too, if the lack of public occasions on the itinerary are any indication.

It was so different in 1953. Royalist fever was epidemic as the royal couple cruised into Auckland aboard the liner Gothic, commandeered at vast expense for this world trip. It was a time when a British monarch could still travel the globe, setting foot only on her soil.

Such was the excitement that shopkeepers in Auckland's Queen St boarded up their display windows to protect them from the adulating crowds. A disappointed news report records it "an unnecessary precaution" as "nowhere along the Queen's drive today was the crowd boisterous enough to cause damage".

Sifting through a box of family junk the other day I unearthed my very own 1953-54 royal visit medal, complete with blue ribbon, like the returned soldiers wore. Mass-produced for every kid in the land, it's looking a bit worse for wear now, the bronze a bit blotchy, the ribbon twisted.

With it was a special royal visit clippings scrapbook that we were all supposed to fill.

Among my clips there's no mention of the faux pas by the New Plymouth mayor, so nervous that at the moment of presentation he curtsied by mistake.

Maybe the editor was a mate and papered over this embarrassing moment. We youngsters didn't notice, but there was much tittering among the adults.

New Plymouth's hysteria was typical. There, for example, the old Criterion Hotel had thousands of hours of transformation for what was just an overnight stay. Huge floral arrangements were mounted in front of the public bar and bottlestore - both closed for the duration - to protect the Queen's sensibilities.

Devon St, the main thoroughfare, was closed to traffic to protect the sleeping royals from noise. A wireless was installed to enable her to hear the BBC, thanks to Post and Telegraph workers who installed a tall aerial.

My favourite detail is of the Queen's bedroom table, "which has been specially wired and will be fitted with bells, which the Queen can use to call the Duke or her dresser."

The Duke, we were told, had a separate bedroom.

For five weeks, New Zealanders succumbed to Queen mania. There were mayors in their strange cocked hats and fur-trimmed gowns, and thronging crowds.

People slept out overnight to secure good spots for the next day's visit. Sheep were dyed red, white and blue. Public bodies spent vast amounts on paint to tart up eyesores along the royal route.

Towns far from the Queen's progress were thought disloyal for not tidying up anyway.

My journalistic predecessors certainly kept the heat up. Even a brief encounter with a passing bumble bee was written up as a morality play to "well demonstrate" the "completely unruffled grace of Her Majesty". Seems like the Invercargill mayor "made a wild swing" at a bee hovering near the royal person.

The lunge repelled the bee and caused a "gasp of relief from the crowd".

"At no time during the incident did the Queen show that there was anything amiss."

The current tour promises to be less eventful. Apart from a clutch of backward-looking royalists, the bystanders will be there to witness the passing of an era.

Walter Bagehot, British journalist and definer of the constitutional role of the monarchy, warned nearly 150 years ago that to let it survive, "We must not let daylight in upon magic".

With the Queen's heir not so long ago been taped discussing with his mistress the possibility of him being reincarnated as a tampon, more than daylight has been let in - it's been an ongoing searchlight.

As Bagehot warned, the magic has gone.

Whether Prince Charles is a suitable monarch for Britain is hardly the point where New Zealand is concerned. Sharing a head of state with a country half a world away is ridiculous, Charles or no Charles.

His shortcomings will just make the parting easier when it inevitably occurs.