THANKS A MILLION
Last hurrah: More than a million people filled the streets of London yesterday as the heroes of Team GB and Paralympics GB, led by gold medallist Jessica
Ennis, paraded through the capital. It was a final chance to pay tribute to the athletes and volunteers who made 2012 a summer we’ll never forget
THE words ‘Thank You’ flew noisily over the greatest assembly of British Olympians in history. Down below, up to a million people cheered and applauded – and performed the Mo Farah ‘mobot’.
London has generated many unforgettable images these last few weeks. Yesterday was right up there with the best of them.
And with that, the curtain finally fell on this astonishing, life- affirming summer which we will forever refer to, simply, as ‘2012’.
For 100 days, London – and, by extension, the whole country - has lived in a bunting-draped cocoon of exuberance.
And this historic three-month party finished just as it began – with a colossal parade through London and a foot-stomping party in front of Buckingham Palace.
At least yesterday’s parade had the advantage of being drier and warmer than the great Diamond Jubilee procession along the Thames way back in monsoon June.
But the crowds were of the same bewildering size, shoehorning themselves into every crevice on every pavement from the City of London to the Mall.
And so, too, were the twin sentiments which brought the capital to a euphoric halt once again: a profound sense of pride and an earnest determination not to miss out on a Great Moment.
We have had so many eye-popping theatrical extravaganzas over the last three months with all those open-air concerts, opening ceremonies and closing shows; we have seen more fireworks than a Cantonese pyrotechnics inspector.
Yesterday was a much simpler – and cheaper – affair with a very straightforward theme: stick 800 sporting heroes on a convoy of lorries and drive them through the city in the confident expectation that a lot of people might like to see them. This was an occasion that owed more to the late Eddie Stobart than Danny Boyle. It was probably just as well that the authorities had chosen a school day in the working week for this event. However much it may have irritated the millions of workers and children who couldn’t make it, there really wasn’t room for so much as an extra coachload.
It was lunch hour in the City as the parade began its business with a royal fanfare at Mansion House. The bankers were certainly out in force. If your share portfolio took a dip yesterday, blame Seb Coe.
It is safe to say that the State Trumpeters of the Household Division have seldom been invited to herald a fleet of articulated trucks. The 21-vehicle convoy had been arranged alphabetically by sport, led by archery and athletics.
There was no mistaking the impish figure commanding whoops of recognition on Float Number One. As soon as anyone spotted Mo Farah, their instinctive response was to ‘do the Mobot’ and replicate the great man’s trademark handson-head victory routine.
He happily responded in kind – over and over again. If it has started to grate, the infectiously goodnatured Farah didn’t let it show.
When you have acquired two gold medals, two daughters and global renown in the space of a month, what’s a couple of hours of repetitive head scratching? The poor man was still cheerfully doing the Mobot as his juggernaut finally halted at the Queen’s front door shortly before teatime.
There was no order of precedence on each float. Olympians and Paralympians, medallists and wooden spooners, mingled and snapped away and egged each other on. There were plenty of wisecracks and jokers in the crowd. Diving’s Tom Daley and the gold-winning long jumper, Greg Rutherford, were both on the receiving end of several marriage proposals.
From St Paul’s to Fleet Street to the Strand, the crowds showed little inclination to move on once the convoy had passed and the Band of the Royal Marines had brought up the rear. These athletes were like the credits rolling at the end of some great blockbuster. You didn’t want it to end. You didn’t want the lights to come up.
ARECURRING sight was of athletes filming us filming them, banks of mobile phones and cameras all blazing away in opposite directions. This lot may have acquired celebrity status but most remain refreshingly oblivious of celebrity etiquette. Another endearing sight was that of the mounted members of the Metropolitan Police high-fiving the crowds. Despite the hefty numbers, this event was a doddle for the cops. The crowds were beautifully behaved, as were the athletes. There was no repeat of the 2005 Ashes Victory Parade when some of England’s cricketers were staggering around with beer bottles. No one looked as if they had been out on the town all night, even though some Paralympians had only grabbed a few hours’ kip following Sunday night’s closing ceremony.
As every athlete acknowledged afterwards, it was when the parade reached Trafalgar Square that the enormity of the occasion sank in. You could see them all mouthing one word as they took in the view around Nelson’s Column: ‘Wow’.
No one seemed too bothered as the official schedule fell apart.
The idea was for all the athletes to line up in front of Buckingham Palace in time for a mighty flypast. But the lorries had slowed to crawling speed in the Mall and many athletes were still on board as everyone looked to the sky. First over was a British Airways airliner with ‘Thank You’ imprinted on its underbelly. What a British way to round off this
lively episode in our modern history. Yesterday was an occasion when everyone was so busy thanking everyone else that I never once heard a single voice say: ‘It’s a pleasure.’
The organisers could not resist one last showbiz act, although it was hardly needed. The Pet Shop Boys were wheeled out to serenade the athletes as they lined up on the memorial. They may be a great British band but we did see them at the Olympic closing ceremony the other day. Could we not, just this once, have allowed the Brigade of Guards to take centre stage?
The athletes dutifully stood through a couple of Pet Shop Boys’ hits, wondering whether to dance or stand to attention. With everyone in their Team GB uniforms, it looked as if a couple of pranksters had invaded the school photograph.
The Prime Minister finally led the official delegation on stage to reflect on ‘a golden summer’. Remarking that his own children, like everyone else’s, now aspire to Olympic greatness, he declared: ‘We salute your brilliance.’ The Princess Royal – who has been a quiet pillar of these Games as a member of the International Olympic Committee, president of the British Olympic Association, a former athlete and the mother of a silver medallist – looked back proudly on the mammoth undertaking of winning, preparing and then staging these Games.
And Boris Johnson congratulated the entire caboodle – right down to those benighted G4S security staff and the transport workers who were threatening him with a strike only the other day. He praised the Games for delivering up a scene as rare as a yeti: two strangers actually talking to each other on the Tube.
Afterwards, he told me, simply: ‘ These Games have been the best thing I’ve been involved in in my life’. He also urged bosses and head teachers to go easy on those who had skived off to be here. ‘Indulge them this once,’ he pleaded.
As the athletes drifted away, I caught up with a few of those who will forever be associated with the summer of 2012. How have their lives changed? ‘It’s lovely but I have to factor in about an hour to go down to the shops for a pint of milk because everyone wants a chat,’ smiled Greg Rutherford. Jessica Ennis concurred. ‘I do a lot more online shopping now,’ she joked. All had been touched beyond words by yesterday’s scenes. The Olympic ‘magic’ holds fast.
What a summer. What a finale. And what the hell do we do for an encore?