May Day, typically observed on May 1, is perhaps best known as a European festival with ancient origins that celebrates the beginning of summer. I was first introduced to these rites of summer at the private girls’ school I attended from sixth to twelfth grade, where our headmistress was admittedly a bit of an Anglophile. Much to my disappointment back then, I was too shy and quiet to be recognized as worthy enough to be crowned May Queen. Such was the culture I grew up in, where loud-mouthed mean girls ruled supreme. Sadly, many of those girls never evolved, instead staying stuck in their entitled personas and perpetuating the cycle.
Anyway, up until about ninth grade, I absolutely loved the tradition of dancing barefoot in the grass around the Maypole, with fresh flowers in my hair, weaving in and out while holding beautiful, flowing ribbons. As an impressionable little girl, it was magical to pretend to be a wood nymph or even a fairy princess! I didn’t need to be the Queen.
Then reality hit as I matriculated into college. For me, May Day became a symbol of International Workers’ Day, a celebration of laborers and the working classes. In my early twenties, I had finally found my voice and advocated for many worthy causes. Even in society at large, the reverence for all things British, and especially royal, had waned, except for maybe Princess Di. For me, those niceties seemed antithetical to homeless families struggling to feed their starving kids or women dying in backroom abortions.
May Day took on a whole new meaning when I was in flight school in LA. I learned that “Mayday” is the international radiotelephony distress signal used by pilots to signal life-threatening emergencies, such as fire, or an imminent crash. It must be transmitted three times in a row (“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday”) to alert authorities of an immediate need for assistance. After that, all visions of dancing fairies were relegated to the ash heap of my childhood.
I never really rekindled my affection for British royalty, especially after running across more than a few poseurs in my Hollywood days – wannabe royals claiming illegitimate titles to gain access and prestige. Debrett’s Peerage & Baronetage, the definitive directory of noble families, their lineages, and their titles, sorted all of that out in a nanosecond, thanks to the internet.
And then I watched King Charles III address the joint session of Congress during his recent visit. I forgave him and the British royalty a whole heck of a lot after his remarks showed that he, as a reigning King, understood democracy better than our president did. The No Kings crowd gave the reigning King of England many standing ovations out of respect and admiration.
Judy Richter 