‘BIG rumours about the Queen,’ read the text from a TalkTV work colleague at 11.50am on Thursday, September 8, last year. ‘Stronger than usual.’

I didn’t need to ask what the rumours were.

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The ailing health of our longest-reigning and greatest Monarch had been the subject of increasingly febrile speculation for months as she courageously battled to even appear on the balcony of her own Platinum Jubilee celebrations.

Now it seemed she had either finally died or was about to.

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By bizarre coincidence, I was doing a magazine photo-shoot at the time and the photographer had me sitting on a large red throne-like chair, chomping on a self-congratulatory cigar, for a mocked-up ‘King of TV’ theme.

I immediately jumped off.

‘The Queen is either dead, or dying,’ I explained. ‘So, this shot is now very inappropriate.’

A stunned open-mouthed hush fell on the previously busy, noisy room full of assistants, make-up artists, stylists, and magazine executives.

And I felt the sudden rush of shock and adrenaline which all journalists experience when really massive, historic news breaks.

For my entire career, I’d waited for this sad moment to come.

As a newspaper editor for ten years, I updated countless obituary tributes to Her Majesty, so we wouldn’t be caught unprepared if she suddenly died.

But it was one thing to prepare for this huge news, quite another to face the reality.

At 12.32pm, a media advisory was sent out from Buckingham Palace that said: ‘The Queen’s doctors are concerned for Her Majesty’s health and have recommended she remain under medical supervision. The Queen remains comfortable and at Balmoral.’

There was a flurry of urgent activity in Parliament with notes being passed among grim-faced ministers, and then the BBC’s lead news anchor, Huw Edwards appeared on air looking very sombre in a black suit and dark tie, as reports came in that all the senior members of the Royal Family were flying to Scotland.

It was increasingly, painfully obvious what was happening.

I left the photo shoot and raced to the TalkTV studio.

At 4.50pm, I took a call from a very trusted contact, someone very close to the Royals.

‘Piers, I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Her Majesty has passed away a short time ago. There will be a formal announcement very soon.’

We didn’t speak for long, but it was still an extraordinary, and emotional, conversation for both of us – two staunch Monarchists coming to terms with the loss our greatest Monarch and the only one we’d known during our entire lives.

To my surprise, when I hung up, I felt tears well up in my eyes.

I only met the Queen a few times, and she wasn’t a member of my own family or a good friend.

But she felt like one, to me and to many millions of other people in Britain, and the knowledge that the country’s extraordinary rock had gone was a gigantic blow to our national psyche.

At 6.30pm, I formally broke the news to TalkTV viewers, and it was hard not to shed a tear again.

But I was acutely conscious that the Queen barely ever showed emotion in public, preferring the stiff upper lip quality that I wish hadn’t been so absurdly denigrated in recent times.

The whole studio was completely quiet, in genuine sadness and reverence.

I’d only ever experienced this kind of eerie atmosphere once before, in the Daily Mirror newsroom in 1997 when Princess Diana’s death was confirmed in the early hours of a Sunday morning.

The difference this time was that my mobile phone – still a rarity back then – exploded with messages from friends all around the world offering condolences and continued to do so late into the night.

At midnight, I got home, poured myself a drink, and made my own private toast of gratitude to the Queen, whose photo with me (bowing to her at a Royal Variety Show) was – and still is – in pride of place on my sitting room mantelpiece.

I remember thinking then that I’d miss her terribly.

But if anything, I underestimated just how much.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Britain seemed to lose its moral compass when we lost our Queen.

For so many decades, we took for granted that ever-constant comfort blanket of grace, dignity, stoicism, humility, and quiet authority that Elizabeth II brought to her role as our figurehead.

She never said much, but my God, when she did speak, every word was memorable and impactful.

And she had that wonderful instinctive knack of always knowing the right thing to say, and do, at the right time.

I mean no disrespect to her son and heir King Charles III, a man I hugely admire who I think has done a superb job since acceding to the throne, when I say that much of the magic of our Monarchy sadly died with her.

It’s not impossible to get it back, and as a fervent Monarchist, I hope it happens, but there’s no denying a very bright royal light went out a year ago. 

There was just something unique and special about the Queen that made her one of the most beloved and respected public figures in modern history.

Through her 70-year reign of selfless service and duty, she inspired so many of us to be better people through her own deeds, rhetoric, and conduct.

How many leaders could survive that long and barely put a foot wrong?

She was just an astoundingly good human being, and a magnificently skilled and competent leader.

Since she’s gone, Britain’s felt like a total basket-case, careering from crisis to crisis without any sense of moral purpose and leaders, from bumbling rule-breaking buffoon Boris Johnson to reckless lettuce-beaten gambler Liz Truss, who’ve inspired nothing but mockery and revulsion and made us a laughingstock on the global stage.

Our NHS is broken, our public services are paralysed by strikes, our rivers seep with sewage, violent crime infests every part of our society, and families are struggling to feed their kids amid raging inflation.

This week, we saw a perfect illustration of the current grim state of Britain as 100 schools were suddenly closed on the eve of the new term because they’re literally crumbling to pieces.

To rub salt into the miserable wounds, Education Secretary Gillian Keegan gave a template example of how NOT to behave in public life.

First, she refused to leave her summer holiday to deal with the unfurling disaster.

Then, when she finally did come back, she refused to accept any responsibility for any of the scandalous state of our schools.

And worst of all, when she thought the rest of us couldn’t hear, she was caught on a TV camera pathetically whining about not being thanked for doing a supposedly ‘f***ing good job’ as ‘everyone else has sat on their a*ses and done nothing.’

Could you imagine the Queen doing any of these things?

This was a woman who always put the country before herself, never sought gratitude despite doing so much for us to be thankful for, and never used crude profanity.

And don’t even get me started (again) on the dreadful new breed of renegade royals like Prince Harry and his wife Meghan who spend their entire time moaning, blaming, suing, playing the victim, and trashing their families and the Monarchy in a way that so dismayed his grandmother while she was still alive.

I miss the Queen so much.

Even more than I thought I would.

It turned out she really was irreplaceable.