Our noble Queen

 Our noble Queen

They filed slowly and patiently past Her Majesty the Queen, quiet, polite and deferential. They looked around Westminster Hall thoughtfully, stared mournfully into the middle distance, faces frozen, grim, melancholy but still stunned and shocked. The vast crowds are now queuing in their thousands along the Mall, across Lambeth Bridge and then they stood again grief stricken, mortified and crestfallen. Most are inconsolable, hardly able to gather their thoughts together because, quite frankly, there is little more to be said.

For over a week now the good citizens of the world and of course Britain have been focused on one memory, one image, one lady of distinction and grace. They convince themselves that the death of our Queen couldn't have happened because the lady in question is still residing in our hearts, smiling at us radiantly, believing quite fervently that things will always turn out for the best. 

And yet the fact is that Her Majesty the Queen has now come home to the capital city where it all began in 1926. She had travelled all the way from Balmoral in Scotland and back towards the now dark, early evening streets of London and Buckingham Palace. On Monday evening the royal coffin had moved gently towards its destination. The rains had come and gone but nothing would come between the British people and our noble Queen. In fact, there was a romantic quality about the whole evening in as much that autumn had come to greet Her Majesty and there was still a pervasive warmth about the occasion.

Suddenly, the gravity and solemnity of it all began to hit you quite emphatically. Her Majesty's adoring family had walked together in harmonious unison, private thoughts etched clearly on their faces. The walk had that palpable air of stateliness and sorrow that had been a recurring theme for over a week. It was inevitable and perfectly understandable. It would be the last time they would ever see their beloved Queen, a monarch who stood for seamless continuity, steadfast stability in a world of almost constant flux and unflinching loyalty to her subjects. It was tear jerking, appropriate and deeply touching.

But Monday evening represented much more than the end of an era or the passing of several generations. It was the end of a supreme reign, over 70 years of caring and compassion for her Majesty's people, a Queen who always listened to those who may have felt completely marginalised and alienated, excluded from society, homeless and disadvantaged. For Queen Elizabeth the second had been there for everyone at all times, never forgotten, always including us, making us feel special and important. 

The truth is Her Majesty has been nobility personified, deeply in love with her people from all backgrounds, races, religions and cultures. Nothing had ever been too much trouble for Queen Elizabeth the second. She had always been a passionate stickler for etiquette and protocol, always welcoming heads of state from every country, island, state and city in the world with humour and cordiality. Of course she'd waved regally for everybody who had come to revere her, idolise and worship her but this was duty and service.

Even now the legendary bridges of London are heaving with people, the global population, the men, women and children who had kept all the royal memorabilia. Those were the people who had accumulated vast quantities of royal mugs, T-shirts, postcards, knitted creations of the Queen, the ones that had possessed cupboards replete with Union Jacks, red, blue and white hats, telegrams from the Queen, photographs of the monarch and all manner of sentimental keepsakes. 

Above all Britain had lost one of its most wondrous of figureheads, a friend to all nations, never discriminating, singling out or rejecting anybody. Of course there was something angelic about our wonderful Queen, an aura of ethereality that would never disappear from view. As has rightly been pointed out repeatedly but fundamentally Her Majesty was a mother, grandmother and great grandmother. But she was no ordinary mother, grandmother or great grandmother.

In 1997 Princess Diana had died in a tragic car crash and across Britain we turned to Her Majesty. When Her Majesty vanished from our TV screens for a while, the nation privately questioned and then resented her absence. But of course Her Majesty was still there for us, perhaps dumbfounded and disbelieving. She then proceeded to do what Her Majesty always did best. She went before the TV cameras and insisted that she was our Queen and of course she was heartbroken and promptly waxed lyrical about Princess Diana. And that's all we needed to know. 

When Her Majesty's precious and beloved Windsor Castle was severely burnt, she must have thought that her world ended. But there was a lovely resilience and hard-nosed fortitude about the Queen that just wanted to move on from this horrific tragedy. So while the rest of her family seemed to be going in all the wrong kind of directions, the Queen forged ahead, still delighted to see everybody, chatting sociably to everyone and making them feel nicely at home.

And now across the farmlands, villages, mountain ranges, cities, suburbs and quaint market towns in Middle England they will be bowing their heads unashamedly, tears flowing from their eyes, redness in their cheeks, handkerchiefs at hand to dab those tears. They will get out of their cars, buses, lorries and vans to think for a while, to compose themselves, pausing in complete silence and lost in almost spiritual contemplation. The factory floors will suddenly turn off their machinery next Monday, the supermarkets will refrain from selling their essential food and drinks and by the end of the day, we will all be emotionally exhausted.

So it is that today the people from all four points of the universe will converge on Westminster, casting their minds back to their childhood, remembering recent times and full of fond recollections about our personal encounter with our gracious Queen. They will ponder reflectively on where they were when the Queen celebrated her Silver, Diamond and the Platinum Jubilee, what exactly happened on the day of those joyful street parties, when we pretended to have cream teas and scones with Her Majesty. But above all they will remember this day of all days, this week of weeks in our lives.

At the moment, ardent monarchists and lovers of everything connected to the late Queen will take their place at the Westminster Hall after queuing for what will probably seem like an eternity. In the centre of the great hall there is a beautifully decorated coffin complete with the deep red and yellow cloth depicting the Irish harp and the English lion rampant. The catafalque rested comfortably in the middle of an austere yet uplifting setting. The coffin itself is surely one of the most aesthetically stunning sights you're ever likely to see.

Meanwhile around the coffin are the elegantly dressed Beefeaters and Yeomen of the Guard somehow bereft of all emotion but understandably so. It is all steeped in rich tradition and history, the most moving and poignant of all occasions in recent history. We will never see its like again and you wondered whether the country, Commonwealth and the rest of the world will ever recover from its sense of grievous loss.

Mile upon mile of people are stretching across London just desperate to share the national mood, embracing the monarch who never stopped believing, hoping and then reaching out to those in pain and suffering. Across the UK and the Commonwealth, we now await the state funeral of our Queen, the one constant in our lives, the rock of security, the voice of re-assurance, a powerful force for good and the lady who never despaired when others were losing touch with the Royal Family. Let this time be devoted to recalling our paragon of virtue, our shining light, flawless, glamorous, tireless and the lady who made us all smile. Thankyou Your Majesty.