A river of people flowed endlessly to the lying-in-state of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and I was one among the many that joined and were carried along it.
We each came for different reasons, some to mark a moment of history and others to pay their respect. Some had met the Queen in person, others had not, but regardless we all responded to the pull of gravity and arrived at Southwark Park.
My friend came from Paris with her daughter, my goddaughter. They brought forward their visit to ensure they had time to complete the journey to the lying-in-state. Many others came in twos and threes, and some were alone; and here and there, we saw larger groups but could not tell if they were not simply smaller groups coalesced together.
We all soon became friends with those around us, bonding to make up a river of people flowing to Westminster Hall. Now and then, the path of the river meandered into organised zigzags and collected into lakes of people. Then, we could see those who are hours ahead of us and those who are hours behind. Every ethnicity was represented. Most were dressed for a special occasion, in black for mourning, in uniforms, in national costumes, and Sunday bests.
There was an African lady whose knee gave her pain with every step. There was a mother with her teenage children and their friend. We shared sweets and biscuits with a mother and daughter from Gloucester. They were an accountant and a dental nurse, but whatever our professions and statuses, on that journey, they were all left behind.
We all gradually chatted and melded together. Every distinction that normally define and separate us disappeared. We became part of the same river of people, youthful with energy, bubbling with joyful voices, quiet in reflections, and bursting with eagerness. We watched London pass us by and were surprised when the day turned into night.
The Queen meant something different to everyone present. For me, she stood for constancy in a shapeless world. Even over the years of my adult life, everything had changed. Looking further back to the year of her coronation, there are now three people for every one who lived then. Our language, customs, and even faith have changed during this time. The words that would have been used to congratulate her at her coronation could easily give offense today. In these intervening years, microchips, genetic engineering, investment finance, digital media are only a few of the things that brought us prosperity, and contributed also to our increasing inequality. Life is so much more complex. It is impossible to tread without the appearance of prejudice and privilege, yet she moved through it as a wealthy person without wealth. Her annual speeches understood the compromises we make daily between work and family. She empathised with the pain of troublesome youngsters bringing public shame and the devastation of fairy tale endings crumbling into dust. Her annus horribilis spoke to us of things we all know too well – that those years will always come and go.
The river of people carried us to Lambeth Bridge and crossed the other river, the River Thames. We then entered Victoria Tower Gardens for a final meander of tight zigzags. The electric signs encouraged us by saying there were only two to three hours left to go. My friend gave one of the marshals the chocolate she brought from Paris. The marshal told us she could not manage the physical journey we were making to see the Queen lying-in-state, and so volunteered so she too can do her part cheering us on for a monarch who did so much for others.
Grief found a new emotion in that river of people – joy. It contradicted the cynicism we are constantly told about people today. In our simple act of joining and forming that river of people, through the momentary silences and shared reflections, we came together from everywhere to show we care.
We spoke about many things on that journey. We talked about the changing world, our lives, and even politics. We talked about climate change. “Of course it is up to people to make the difference,” the mother and daughter we walked with said resoundingly. People will come together. It will not be governments or businesses.
I have watched the lying-in-state since on TV, and the images of it cannot capture what it was truly like to be part of that river. They simply do not show just how much people can still genuinely care. We cared for more than a moment of history, we cared for more than paying respect. It was a transformational journey. Each of us who were a part of it left renewed.
We came and formed a river of people, and it charged us with renewed hope.
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it was a very moving moment for us, thank you for sharing