In the grand and hallowed Hall of Albert, where kings and queens have oft gathered in splendour and where the echoes of music dwell eternal, there unfolded a spectacle most tender — one not of trumpets nor triumph, but of remembrance wrapped in song.
Upon the solemn anniversary of the Lady Diana’s passing, the aged bard Sir Neil of Diamond, long revered across lands for his golden voice, was brought forth unto the stage — not by foot, but seated, his frame weakened by time’s cruel hand. Yet though his body faltered, the spirit of his song yet burned. The gathered host did rise in reverence, their hands aloft in honour, before even a single note had graced the air.
Then, as the ancient chords of “Sweet Caroline” — that most beloved lay — sounded from strings and horn, a murmur swept through the chamber like a breeze before a storm. From yon side of the stage came Dame Céline of House Dion, fair and fierce, her countenance radiant yet solemn. With grace she approached Sir Neil, taking his hand in her own, and bowed her noble head before the presence of the Royal Bloodline.
And so began a duet that shall echo down the ages.
Sir Neil’s voice, weathered by years and sorrow, did tremble forth like the rustling of old parchment — yet in its trembling, truth did reside. And Dame Céline’s voice, clear and soaring as the morning lark, did wrap about his notes like silk ‘round stone, lifting them aloft into the heavens. What once had been a jester’s revel became, in that hour, a sacred hymn — a song not merely of revelry, but of remembrance, unity, and undying love.
Before them, seated in solemn honour, was the House of Windsor. Prince William, his hand upon his breast, seemed as though steadying a tide of emotion. Prince Harry, his eyes shimmering like dew at dawn, wore a smile both pained and fond, perchance recalling the gentle laughter of his mother. Even the sovereign, King Charles, known for his restraint, let his fingers tap the air in quiet rhythm, as though echoing Diana’s own heartbeat in memory.
And then — lo — the multitude did rise as one.
When the chorus rang out, “Sweet Caroline… bum bum bum…”, the very walls of the hall did tremble with the sound of a thousand voices entwined. Sorrow gave way to jubilation; mourning to melody. For a heartbeat in time, the breath of the nation was a single note sung in joy.
As the final refrain ascended like a phoenix into the rafters, Dame Céline’s voice soared, carrying Sir Neil’s spirit in a glorious crescendo. When the last chord faded like twilight into night, the great hall erupted in thunderous praise. Tears and applause mingled like rain and river. The bard, his face aglow with peace, raised a frail hand heavenward — and in that simple gesture, all knew: this song was for her.
The songstress, hand pressed to her heart, looked skyward — speaking not in word, but in gesture, as only those who have known great grief can speak.
It is whispered among courtiers and stewards that Sir Neil had nearly forsaken the performance, his health failing fast. But he is said to have spoken thus:
“The Lady Diana deserveth joy, not mourning. And with Dame Céline beside me, we shall give it to her.”
And so they did.
That night was not a dirge, but a benediction. Not a farewell, but a celebration of life and legacy. The Lady Diana, beloved rose of England, was remembered not in silence, but in song. And so long as voices rise to sing, and hearts gather in remembrance, both her light — and the music of these noble minstrels — shall live forevermore.
