Salute to magical Coronation Day
I HAVE fond memories of what I was doing as an 18-year-old on Coronation Day, June 2, 1953. As a Royal Marine, I was smartly attired in full dress uniform as part of the street-lining party on the Embankment for the procession to Westminster Abbey. Behind us were children from many parts of the United Kingdom. They kept us well supplied with sweets, which were surreptitiously placed in our gloved hands by Met WPCs when we were standing easy between breaks in the procession. When the ingoing procession was completed, we were marched round into Whitehall ready for the procession leaving the Abbey. The weather was atrocious and we all got soaking wet. The back of our unit officer’s uniform was streaked white with blanco running down from his pith helmet. We had been warned not to over-blanco our helmets to prevent this happening — I bet his batman was subsequently ‘spoken to’. The passage of the marching bands was impressive and my eyes could not fail to follow them even when I was standing to attention. A strange optical effect of this was that whenever there was a gap in the procession, the crowds on the stands on the other side of the road appeared to be moving in the opposite direction. What stood out for me was the band of the Royal Marines, of course, and though I’m a Yorkshireman, the pipes and drums of the Scottish regiments with their impressive Highland dress. Another memorable moment was seeing the joyful Queen Salote of Tonga, obviously enjoying every moment in her open carriage, despite getting wet in the rain. When the procession had passed, we were marched back to the Embankment where coaches waited to return us to our accommodation at the Clapham South Deep Level Shelter. As we marched along Whitehall towards Derby Gate, we were all feeling rather damp and despondent when suddenly someone in the crowd shouted: ‘Three cheers for the Royal Marines!’ Resounding cheers rang out and instantly we were marching smartly with our shoulders back and enjoying the experience again. Back at Clapham, as part of the Royal Navy contingent, the order was given to ‘Splice the mainbrace’ — a ration of rum. This went down well and was much appreciated. It was then a matter of grabbing an iron to dry out and press my uniform ready for a ‘run ashore’ for a memorable evening in the West End — but that’s another story . . . I have the greatest respect for the Queen, Prince Charles and Prince William and their families and hope they all enjoy this momentous Jubilee.