We looked back with love, Ma’am
IT WASN’T the solemnity of the occasion, nor the sight of the coffin high on its purple catafalque that brought the tears. It was the walking away. For four days and nights, a river of love and respect ran through Westminster Hall. Interrupted only by the changing of the guard, twin streams of tired, grieving people trickled down the steps to swirl and eddy past Queen Elizabeth II, lying in state. Young and old, white, black, brown, of every race and creed, a quarter of a million of them came. Some spent 14 hours walking for ten miles. Burdened with blankets, carrier bags and rucksacks, they shuffled sore-footed through the cold night to make their farewells to a small, frail woman who was their Queen. They stood before her for two or three seconds. Some bowed extravagantly, some gave a brisk nod of the head. A few walked by, just looking. The Japanese bent almost in half with respect; Asians touched brow, lips and heart with clasped hands. Many people crossed themselves. Red-eyed women bobbed awkwardly and blew a kiss. Some were in their best clothes, others in hoodies and jeans. Veterans wore their medals with pride. A man in a wheelchair was helped to stand so he might bow his head. An assistance dog gave a sharp bark. A little girl held out the skirts of her dress and dipped down. Some hobbled past on crutches. Servicemen shuffled into position, then backs were straightened and crisp salutes made. An elegant woman in black — surely a dancer? — swept into a full court curtsy. Scruffy teenage boys took their hands from their pockets and bowed. It was after the whispered ‘Thank you, Your Majesty’ and ‘Thank you, Ma’am’, the final salute to ‘The Boss’ that lips were bitten to stifle the sobs, and hands passed over eyes to brush away tears. It was the looking back one last time that did it. That, and the walking away.
JILL DAVIES, London SE27.