Battenberg’s sword — to cut the 6ft, 500lb cake.
But outside the Palace the crowd was waiting, and not always patiently. The people of Britain began their chant of loyalty.
But it was not this time ‘we want the King!’ but ‘we want the Bride!’ Urgent, imperative, irresistible, the sound beat against the front of the palace like a great wind. The stamping of feet was as relentless as the sea.
The thrusting wall of men and women and children swept aside the police, the soldiers. It swept into the forecourt of the palace itself, cheering, chanting, shouting for the bride.
But even when they broke the bounds and the cordons, this crowd was a British crowd: good-humoured, considerate of humanity and human decency, even in its headlong, indistinctive rush.
Then, the words of the chant changed, though the rhythm remained the same. Not ‘we want the Bride!’ but ‘here comes the Bride!’ Naval officer and Princess, Duke and Duchess, future Queen and Consort stood together on the balcony.
The King, the Queen, Princess Margaret, the bridesmaids, the majestic figure of Queen Mary — all appeared. But it was only the two that caught the eye and, with it, the heart of that mass of happy humanity.