We can be heroes, just for a day. On her death, Queen Elizabeth first gave us The Queue. A chance for the UK to show its kinder, more united self. That we could be very nice to each other if we put our minds to it.
Then, at his funeral, his second gift was, at least temporarily, to restore to the country a sense of his importance. The thought that we were a nation in decline, with large numbers of its population unsure whether it could afford food and warmth in the coming months, was put on hold. We had a history worth celebrating. We and the country mattered.
Leaders from around the world were gathering at Westminster Abbey to pay their respects to our late Queen in a ceremony unmatched in pomp and splendour. We could tell ourselves that no one else could have given their head of state a better exit. We were the center of attention. We were a superpower. We could be proud. Delusional, maybe. But proud Just for one day.
Guests began arriving at the abbey shortly after 8am. One of the first was a Jacob Rees-Mogg in a top hat. Then came selected members of the public, non-reigning monarchs – take a bow the Prince of Venice and the Margrave of Baden – and other politicians.
Next were the minor heads of state, many of whom were transported by bus. Several tried to display their orange invitations at the door. They just waved them through. No one expected any gatecrash for this event. The only uninvited guest turned out to be the spider that had gotten into the flowers on the Queen’s coffin. We never got to see who sided with the North Koreans. Or if there was an unofficial Naughty Step for dubious regimens. The seating plan must have been a logistical nightmare.
Joe Biden arrived in his own car and had to wait at the west gate to allow the procession of Victoria and George Cross holders to take their seats in front of him. Then came the former prime ministers. First John Major, by all accounts the Queen’s favourite, and ending with Boris Johnson, by all accounts the most hated. His last service to the country while he lived was to watch his back. Johnson was sitting next to the Mays. But unlike in Westminster Hall a few days earlier, this time Theresa was able to put her husband, Philip, between her and Boris. Philip didn’t seem particularly pleased to have drawn the short straw.
The junior royals took their places: James Severn, Prince Edward’s son, is only 14 but has still managed to rack up a couple of medals, along with the Princess of Wales and her two eldest sons, Prince George and Princess Charlotte. The subtext of succession was inescapable. All is well with the House of Windsor.
Meanwhile, at Westminster Hall, the Queen’s four children along with the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Sussex were preparing to walk behind the coffin as more than 140 sailors pulled it in a carriage. Andrew and Harry were back in morning dresses instead of military uniform. It seemed harsh for Harry to receive the same punishment as Andrew, but the royal family can be ruthless when they want to.
Outside the abbey, there was a few cheers but mostly a sense of calm. Even the planes had been diverted. The only interruption, at least on the BBC, was the sound of Huw Edwards telling everyone what they could already see and promising that there would be no commentary during the service. A blessed relief. The last 10 days of having to talk about solemn platitudes for 14 hours a day has understandably driven Edwards a little crazy. It is almost as if he is now considered an integral part of the royal household. Someone without whom you can no longer function.
The whole occasion was at once quintessentially British in its ceremony and also deeply un-British. Usually, we try to hide death somewhere where it can’t be seen. Or felt Somewhere we can pretend it’s not the price we pay to live. However, here we had death in the limelight. The Queen’s coffin in the center of the abbey. It felt healing somehow.
After opening prayers and hymns, Lady Scotland read the first lesson, taken from Corinthians. He spoke magnificently, so much so that even those without faith could half believe that faith could triumph over death. That there was an afterlife. Predictably, Liz Truss murdered St John’s second lesson. Speaking out loud isn’t his strong point and he hasn’t yet realized that punctuation is there to help you make sense of the text. Still, her deadly monotone wasn’t entirely out of place at a funeral, and the Queen would have been glad it was someone else for Boris to read.
Former prime ministers were among the congregation at the Queen’s funeral. Photo: Gareth Fuller/AP
The Archbishop of Canterbury also had a few comments to make about world leaders in general and Johnson in particular during his sermon which was unashamedly political. Only those, like the Queen, who served first and foremost a higher power will be remembered. Those whose only God was their own fragile ego would be forgotten.
There were more surprises near the end of the service with the election of Charles Wesley’s Queen of Divine Love. This hymn is a Methodist hymn. Anti-establishment religion gave voice to the most established occasions. Perhaps the Queen was a more complex and conflicted woman about her faith than many had thought. Maybe there was an egalitarian side to her that got lost in the privilege.
The king looked thoughtful as the congregation played the national anthem. Well, I could. He doesn’t just mourn his mother, he must follow her example. Who knows if the country will ever come to love him as much as they loved the Queen? Or, indeed, if he can hold the monarchy together. William and Harry often seem more interested in their personal feuds. Without the queen, everything could fall apart.
After the service, military bands played a medley of funeral marches as the cortege made its way to Marble Arch. The Heralds and the Pursuivants, who looked like extras from a Disney theme park, tried to leave in time without stepping on horse poo, while the royals took their places behind the gun carriage. His departure from London was to oversee the transfer of the Queen in the hearse. A few flowers were thrown, but this was not Princess Di’s moment. A time for greatness and dignity rather than sensitive emotions.
The final public ceremony took place at St George’s Chapel in Windsor. Despite a congregation of 800, it felt intimate. Almost as if we were intruding on something private. Something historical like the mace, orb and crown were removed from the coffin. A majestic thing when the lord chamberlain broke the wand of office and placed it on the coffin. An unbearable thing when the King stood in front of the coffin as it descended into the vault. The last we’ll see of the Queen.
Charles looked so alone. Lost even. As if he had waited 73 years for this moment and now he didn’t know if he really wanted it. The wailing of the bagpipes spoke for him. As he did to all of us. Rest in peace.