by Henry VIII attends a colleague’s leaving do and discovers that modern departures are marked with considerably more warmth than his own ever were
I once dismissed courtiers from my presence with a single word and no ceremony whatsoever, several of them considerably more abruptly than the circumstances required. The office leaving do for a colleague named Tolu involved a full speech, a card signed by everyone, and genuine, visible tears from at least three people.
The Card
A card circulated the office for a full week beforehand, everyone contributing a short written message, and I found myself genuinely agonising over mine, drafting several versions before settling on something I hoped struck the right balance between sincere and appropriately restrained, a challenge I did not expect an office card to present.
The Collection
A collection was organised for a genuine parting gift, contributions entirely voluntary but tracked, I noticed, with quiet social pressure ensuring nobody contributed nothing, a system I recognised instantly from certain forms of expected tribute at my own original court, though considerably more cheerful in its actual execution.
The Speech
Tolu’s manager delivered a speech recounting several years of shared office history, jokes referencing incidents I had no context for whatsoever, and I laughed along regardless, swept up entirely in the genuine warmth of the room despite having known Tolu for barely four months myself.
The Gift Reveal
The collected money funded a genuinely thoughtful gift, a piece of art Tolu had apparently once mentioned admiring in passing over a year earlier, a detail someone had quietly remembered and acted on, a level of attentiveness I found more moving than most actual royal gifts I ever personally received, several of which were selected purely for their diplomatic weight rather than any genuine personal connection.
The Toast
I was asked, entirely unexpectedly, to say a few words myself, having apparently made enough of an impression in four short months to be considered worth hearing from, and I spoke honestly about how welcoming the office had been to a man who arrived with, by any reasonable measure, an extremely unusual personal history.
The Verdict
Tolu left in genuine tears, hugging nearly everyone present including myself, and I walked home reflecting that this small, ordinary office farewell contained more real warmth than most of the grand, ceremonial departures I personally staged across my entire original reign. I once believed grandeur required scale. A card, a collection, and a room full of people who actually mean it, I have decided, does the job rather better.
The Walk Home
Tolu left in genuine tears, hugging nearly everyone in the room including myself. I once believed grandeur required scale. A card, a collection, and a room full of people who actually mean it, I have decided, does the job rather better than any ceremony I ever personally staged.
Tolu’s leaving do showed more genuine warmth than most entries in my six wives. Further reading on the wider chaos of modern Britain: the original account of my own return to Britain, the proper London pub where history finally sat down for a pint, London’s own campaign demanding equal access to bad habits.
