The making of a modern monarch
This glorious, golden medley of medieval splendour will live for ever in my mind
STEP BY DAZZLING STEP, 25 MILLION WATCH HISTORIC BROADCAST AS BRITAIN USHERS IN NEW ELIZABETHAN ERA
ThE Queen, still wearing the diadem and crimson robe in which she arrived, is at her Chair of Estate and the Archbishop of Canterbury, aglitter in mitre and cope of silver and gold, is at the altar.
All heads are bowed for his words: ‘Almighty God, that we may perfectly love Thee.’
A tide of emotion sets in. We are piercingly aware of our common unity — Queen, prelates, peers and people — as we look beneath the lintel of an experience we are about to share together.
It is a very small area, this theatre where the transepts meet — very small to bear the beating camera-gaze of all the world!
Far above it the rose windows glimmer. The floor covering is all of glowing gold. The Throne is covered with roseate pink and emblazoned with the Queen’s cipher.
Opposite, where I sit, are the massed rows of some 400 peeresses. From my distance they look like a glorious bank of white flowers edged with crimson leafage, drenched in a diamond-dew so rich that when they move it seems like living fire.
Now we are come to the Anointing. For this mysterious and solemn rite the Queen has all her earthly splendour taken away. While they remove her heavy robe and lay aside her diadem, the choir sing handel’s Zadok the Priest.
Then we see her coming back to King Edward’s Chair, a lonely little figure clad in pure white linen. The very symbol of service amid so much magnificence.
It is now, as she is covered with a golden pall, that the sun makes its one brief appearance, sending a column of radiance like a benediction from the high eastern windows. We hear the Archbishop in the silence: ‘Be thy hands anointed with holy oil.’
Now the Pall has been carried out of sight: the Queen rises and a long gown of gold cloth is put upon her.
She reseats herself to receive the Spurs and Sword. She is given Orb, Ring, Sceptre and Rod.
And now the silence upon all this multitude is intense. The whole congregation rises. The Queen sits erect. To the utmost limit of his reach the Archbishop holds the glittering Crown high above her for all to see and then places it upon her head. The beauty of this moment will ever live in my mind. We hear the bells over our roof clashing in jubilation and the cry rings out within: ‘God Save the Queen!’
The Archbishop’s voice rises strong amid it all: ‘God crown you with a crown of glory.’
Pacing very slowly under the massive Crown, the Queen, supported by the Bishops of Durham and of Bath and Wells, mounts the steps.
So glorious a medley of medieval splendour, of gold and scarlet and silver, can on no other occasion ever be seen.
And now the homage begins. After the Primate comes the Duke of Edinburgh. he takes off his coronet, kneels, places his hands in those of the Queen, swears fealty, touches her Crown and kisses her cheek. What a lesson for an age in which service and submission are so little comprehended.
The drums crash and the fanfares ring as the Queen is escorted back to the altar. These were the last few moments during which she would ever wear St Edward’s Crown. There she was, our treasured Queen, swathed in gold, sceptred and crowned Majesty.
The Archbishop gave the ancient blessing. And a lovely flight of ‘Amens’ winged upward to fade away in the highest arcs of stone.