First came Lovely, liffley Isabelle Plrurabel, little Mummy –Queenling, then Prince Jonathan, High Forest Earl, Master of Iron Horses on wooden roads. Now we greet Charlie Lloyd, Lord, Bonny Prince, Emperor of the Dritte Mark, as he takes his throne-stool on the third hand of his Sire and Dam.
And what is in this name? There is music which sings of green-gloved hands, one which held a sharp sword; the other a rod or pole of Perch or Bream. Music which he may sing if he wish- or not. It is his especial choice.
Would a boy by any other name fly so fleet in the golden fields of our hoping dreams? This Charlie, whether champion, captain or serfling sergeant, this Charlie will ride by stirrup or skys’l, on wave or weald, or wold, on down or dune; he will walk eagle feathered, on clouds, in spindrift, spume, clover or scree. He will delve in the moon for blue cheese, net our waking sleep foe birdsong, trawl the pockets of our worn out memories for Diamonds, fur covered Toffees, torn scraps of Songs and splinters of Anthems. He will pluck the Apples and Berries of our daydreams to squeeze, ferment, and distil to fill our Goblets with the joy of our sight of his thriving.
He will charm our twilight with dreaming songs of his Hopes and his Faith, and his resolve to fashion a Life of Music and Dancing and Praise and the Building of Good Things.
His watchword will be Love as ours is now for him;
Love for Charlie Lloyd, and gratitude for his coming.
-o0O0o-