One morning, in early February 1952, the nation learned that the King had died. At school assembly we were told by our headmaster to stand in silence and think about this sad event. I was not sure what to think. We were then instructed to pray for the King. This was more like it; I prayed that he would come back to life, although even to a seven-year-old this seemed a long shot. After another long minute of silence, the piano struck up and we were exhorted to sing ‘God Save the Queen’, which was not an encouraging sign for those who had prayed for the King and were waiting for God’s response. Next day we sang ‘God Save the Queen’ again. This meant only one thing — God had listened and His answer was no. My confidence in the power of prayer was thus considerably undermined. It took me about five years to get used to the lyric change in the national anthem.
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