It was the grandest day of royal ceremonies since the late Queen Elizabeth’s coronation in 1953 and people from across the UK — indeed across the world — were determined to be a part of it.
While presidents and prime ministers took their seats in Westminster Abbey for the Queen’s state funeral, outside the streets of London filled with hundreds of thousands of ordinary people who felt drawn to make the journey to the capital.
The early birds won prized places along The Mall and Constitution Hill to watch a procession of 3,000 immaculately turned-out military personnel deliver the Queen’s coffin from the abbey to Wellington Arch, from where she departed London for the last time to be buried at St George’s Chapel in Windsor.
As the main viewing spots filled to capacity, other mourners spilled out into Hyde Park where they watched the funeral service on large screens, taking their seats on the grass in a kind of solemn picnic.
Many had made the effort to come from far away, such as Norma Smith, who said she had dragged her two children Blair, 10, and Blake, 12, out of bed in Liverpool and on to a train, wearing her Union flag bucket-hat for the big day.
“We had to bribe them with the promise of ham sandwiches on the train, and even then we only just made it,” she said as the sound system relayed the first hymn from Westminster Abbey. “But we’re here, and we’re part of a piece of history.”
Just as some ordinary mourners wore suits and ties, so central London was also dressed in its ceremonial best, as the city provided the backdrop for an event that was expected to be watched by 20mn people in the UK and several billion more worldwide.
The streets of Whitehall and Westminster were cleared of much street furniture — traffic lights and security barriers — that might break the spell of the pageantry. Union flags hung not just all down the Mall, but also from the doorways of the hotels and clubs of St James’s.
The lucky few who made it ringside witnessed a military procession nearly a mile long, including drummers from the Royal Marines draped in leopard and tiger skins, Grenadier guards in bearskin hats, and horse-borne members of the Household Cavalry with breast plates and plumed helmets.
Ninety-eight sailors from the Royal Navy towed the gun carriage carrying the Queen’s coffin on its 45-minute journey to Wellington Arch, as Big Ben tolled and ceremonial guns fired from Hyde Park.
“It’s only pomp and ceremony but you can’t take that away from the English,” said David Payne from Southend in Essex, who saw the occasion as a great unifier, bringing together people from all walks of life and from across the world.
“It says a lot. The quiet majority don’t scream and shout but when things like this turn up we come together,” he said, adding there must be something about it that other nations envy, because tourists from all over the world mingled with the crowds.
A disco technician calling himself Teddy ‘the Voice’ had travelled from Milan in a Union flag suit and tie tailored for the occasion. “The Italian people truly loved Queen Elizabeth during her 70-year reign. This is my way to say thank you to the Queen,” he said.
Many of those attending said they had come to take part in a piece of history, to pay their respects to the Queen, and to witness what they assumed would be the biggest funeral in their lifetimes.
They included Jeremy Hunt, former foreign secretary and recent contender for the leadership of the UK’s ruling Conservative party, who had come to The Mall with his two daughters. “It’s a very sad day but also a very British day. It’s bringing everyone together,” he said.
Some Londoners with an eye for a business opportunity took advantage of the moment, hawking their wares to the passing crowd: ‘official’ programmes for £5, roses for £3.50 and small Union flags “two for a pound”.
Business looked brisk, although none of the vendors clutching thick rolls of £5 notes were too keen to admit it. “It’s been all right, my man, but only all right,” said one, who declined to be named.
Despite the obvious solemnity of the occasion, a sense was also evident of a great day out, for people who, years hence, would be able to say they were present at a royal event that may not be eclipsed for decades.
As the Queen’s coffin passed along the processional route, frenetic attempts were made to capture the moment on smartphones. Children stood on railings clinging to their parents for support.
Among those who had dressed in their best was Pearl Thompson, an 83-year-old mother of 14 children, who was born in Jamaica. She had a special affection for the Queen because of the motherly role she had played as head of the Commonwealth.
“She was humble and kind and always smiling. Like me with my children, if they do anything wrong I speak to them lovingly. I never bullied them myself. I never heard of the Queen telling someone off,” she said, adding with sorrow: “I don’t know anyone who will have her heart.”
For some, the moment of collective meditation on the late Queen’s life was also a chance to ponder their own personal trials and tragedies — with many of those shedding tears saying her death had caused them to reflect on losses in their own families.
Elisha Raj Sidhu, a 27-year-old paralegal in the City of London who recently lost her grandmother in sudden circumstances, said the scene had blended something highly personal with the grander sweep of history.
“Granted, we’re all incredibly far from the Queen,” she said, clutching a bunch of red roses. “But the royal family, with all their power and positions, also lost a grandmother, just like me, and like every other family.”
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