The Queen’s Garden Party

Adapted from an interview with Salma Kotia

It was 1975 and I had only been in England less than a year. The comforts and amenities I had been accustomed to in Karachi, were long behind me. I was a young bride, married into a well-established Leeds based Pakistani family. My Father in-law Noor M. Kotia, had established a reputable wholesale and distribution business whilst each of his children continued to frequent the Leeds market and pitch a stall. It had been a slightly nervous yet exciting new venture, to be married to my husband Rafiq, taking me far away from home to the city of Leeds.

I had given birth, was still adjusting to the cold and working amongst a mainly male environment, as a female market trader, with the added uniqueness of being Asian. But such a life of hard work and commitment to family business strengthened our relationship as a couple.

My faither-in-law Noor surprised us one day, when he had received an invite to the Queens garden party due to the recommendation of M.D Ahmed, who worked in the Pakistani Consulate. My Father in law had many commitments at the time. He asked me if I wanted to go and see the Queen. Of course, I was ready to go. It would be a great adventure in London. Funnily enough the invite read ‘To Mr and Mrs Kotia’, so it was an open invite to my father and mother in law, but they instead felt we were better off going in their place. What an honour It was to represent the family, although a newer member, but also to be representatives from the migrant business community was an added honour.

I telephoned home to my father and across the family networks there was so much pride and excitement that I’d be getting the chance of a life time to visit the palace of the queen who had invited our forefathers to the heart of the Commonwealth. My father was most proud.

The day before the party, Me and Rafiq made our way via car, to London. London was a magical city, known to the world, it seemed cleaner and less chaotic then, but still a busy and vibrant city.

On the morning of the Garden party, Rafiq realised to his horror, that he didn’t have the invite. We looked everywhere for the one thing that would allow us indoors. My husband telephoned home, realising that we had left the invite back in Leeds.

With 6 hours between this stressful morning and the time we were due to be at the palace gates, Rafiq drove halfway up the country, to meet his brother and take the invite from him. With less than a couple of hours to go, we made it to the gates of Buckingham Palace.

Rafiq was handsomely dressed in his fine suit, whilst I wore my best pink Asian dress. I didn’t have a ball gown; I didn’t know what to expect. And looking back, it was better I was my shy, authentic self, representing myself but also my Pakistani heritage and community.

When we entered the palace, we were not allowed to take photos beyond the gate. We were taken to see several special rooms including a beautiful room covered from wall to wall in portraits and pictures of past and present royals who had frequented this palace. I was in awe of the attention to detail, the wide array of pictures. I took great interest in the pictures, many still I can picture in my head.

We were taken out to the main garden where 100s of guests drank tea and enjoyed the spread laid out for them, over a backdrop of fine music and beautiful scenes of greenery. We were conscious of the flowing of wine, avoiding anything that we could not identify or verify was halal or vegetarian, without sounding ungrateful.

We mingled with people of all backgrounds, particularly excited when we bumped into fellow Asians, other Pakistanis who were as conscious of the food and were able to relate our shared  excitement in our native tongues.

We could see the queen at a distance. She was so young and finally dressed, surrounded with visitors coming to see her. I saw for the first time a younger prince Charles, Anne and Andrew, well dressed, stood closely to their mother, to greet the guests. We never did get to go up and greet the royals. It was too busy and we were too nervous to try. We were content to simply stand back, enjoy the sounds and meet with others.

It was nice to be off the market stall, out of the warehouse and not at home. I felt like a princess whose sacrifice to leave her home and come to a faraway place had led me to be gifted the chance to be beside my beloved husband as we enjoyed the afternoon, which nearly never happened.

Many years later, I would go back with my grandchildren to the palace on a day out. I would visit that same drawing room with its many paintings and pictures, still so vividly imprinted within my memories, I recognised so many of the images and was transported back to 1975.