Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? / I've been to London to visit the queen. / Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there? / I frightened a little mouse under her chair!

Just as we will never know whether Queen Victoria was "not amused" (as she was wont to say when displeased) at pussy's antics, so we will never know whether our present queen was being diplomatic, coy or was actually seething when George Bush gave her a wink to break the solemnity of the White House reception for the visiting British monarch this week. The president had just committed another of his malapropisms: Reminding the 81-year-old monarch that she had already dined with 10 U.S. presidents, he said, "you helped our nation celebrate its bicentennial in 17- " said the president, just managing to stop himself before 1776 could slip out. The crowd erupted in laughter. The president and the queen turned to each other, Bush winked, the queen gazed. Bush turned back to the crowd: "She gave me a look that only a mother could give a child."

Bush's unconventional attitude to royalty had occasioned such a look once before in the queen's presence - from his own mother. In 1991, the first President and Mrs. Bush played host to their own state dinner for the queen. Barbara Bush confided that she seated her son far away for fear he might make a wisecrack. Then, to his mother's horror, George Jr. told the queen that he was his family's black sheep and asked "Who's yours?"

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This week's "white tie" reception was billed as the highlight of the queen's six-day U.S. tour. It definitely was not. The centerpiece was Her Majesty fulfilling a lifelong ambition to be at Churchill Downs racetrack on Kentucky Derby Day. She was the guest of honor at the blue-ribbon event, which is steeped in tradition - the equivalent of Royal Ascot.

The queen not only realized her dream, she undoubtedly helped the winner home.

A Buckingham Palace spokesman said: "She took an extremely close interest in the runners but didn't place any bets."

Calvin "Bo-rail" Borel, the winning jockey in the 133rd Derby, settled in his favorite inside location with his mount Street Sense avoiding the early speed. He was as far back as 19th halfway through the 1.25 miles. He looked blocked. Then, just as Borel asked Street Sense for a run, the tiring horses in front on the rail drifted out to set up a path straight into the winner's circle. As he weaved his way to the front, "it was clear," Borel said afterward, "that it was just a matter of by how much he was going to win."

How do I know of the queen's part in this? The queen is not only an avid horse enthusiast - she knows exactly how a perfect derby should be ridden.

It was the summer of 1979. Israel was participating in cricket's mini-world cup, which preceded the full World Cup. I was the Israeli captain. Along with the 23 other teams, we were invited to Buckingham Palace.

We filed through the long, resplendent palace halls. Garlanded stewards came down the lines to inform us of appropriate etiquette - how to bow, not to pose questions, etc.

Having passed the test of the introductions, we moved on to a giant banqueting hall where the queen, Prince Charles and Princess Ann were excelling at what they do best - "circulating," engaging in pleasantries with clumps of players and officials who stood around shyly in little groups. It was 10:30 A.M.; whiskey and other soothing liquids were flowing freely, but nary a peanut, nor a snack in sight. It was hard to keep the etiquette instructions clear.

Then came the turn of our group. Elizabeth II soon proved her majesty, and just how good she is at the job: Amid friendly small talk, she asked pertinent questions about cricket in the various remote outposts of the game and what prospects there might be for it to grow. Politely, I told her it was unfortunate that the Mandate had not planted a stronger cricketing heritage. She showed interest, but you could tell she was really just going through the motions.

Then, the manager of the Canadian team broke the rules and popped the queen a question: "How are you feeling today, Ma'am?" (He had done his homework - it had been reported that the queen had a touch of a cold.) She smiled sweetly and replied: "Oh, much better, thank you, but yesterday I didn't have such a good day."

"Nor the day before," I piped up, my colleagues astonished at the apparent affront. Queen Elizabeth was not peeved, however. She knew exactly what I was referring to. Suddenly she was all alive, talking animatedly, excitedly even.

The "day before" had been the running of the derby at Epsom Downs, and it is no secret that there is nothing more, absolutely nothing, that the queen would adore than for one of her horses to win the derby.

That year, one of her horses had been highly fancied - third favorite, I believe (the nag's name escapes me, Church something or other). Church XXX promised much in the middle of the race but then faded to finish nowhere.

"I had hoped for better," the queen confided. "The way the race was handled was quite disappointing."

But didn't the winner ride a good race? I ventured.

Whereupon the queen became still more animated, launching into a very detailed explanation of just what had gone wrong with the way her jockey had ridden the race - "wrongly placed going into Tattenham Corner," "should have been tracking them closer through the ups and downs of the course," "should have waited for the right moment to cut through the field" (just as indeed Street Sense did last Saturday at Churchill Downs).

No commentator, however astute, could have given a better description of a race won and lost. From that moment, I was a confirmed royalist for life.

This sentiment was soon strengthened as the queen continued to circulate and Prince Charles arrived to chat with our informal group ("what a nice young man," Menachem Begin was to observe a couple of years later).

Now, not horses, but politics, however restrained. Prince Charles: "I've always been so intrigued by your country, especially the way young people seem so positively involved in shaping the society" (this was 1979, remember).

"You really ought to come over to meet them."

"I would love to, but they won't let me come to the Middle East."

"But they let your mother," (the queen had just been on a trip to Saudi Arabia).

"That's different, they won't let me. I'm sorry about that."

Whether or not "they" are now finally ready to let the queen come, that Afula dirt race track must be properly up and running. That would be a real incentive in getting Her Majesty to make the first royal visit to this country. She would be most welcome.

And, just maybe, she could get the man to whom she threw that withering "mother's look" to join her - once he has abandoned the white tie for his favored cowboy boots.