The Queue… would I do it all again? Absolutely
Scarborough-bred author and pageant judge Sally-Ann Fawcett took part in a very different sort of line-up last Friday: the queue for the Queen's Lying in State ceremony. She now lives in the South but visits Scarborough every week. This is her account of what was affectionately dubbed 'The Elizabeth Line'.
We only wanted to go and look at The Queue.
This four-day, unique line was fast becoming an internet craze. Twitter was on fire with fans confessing to becoming addicted to the rolling live stream showing mourners walking into Westminster Hall to see the
Queen lying in state.
Some had queued for hours, some had travelled hundreds of miles, but all were united by their desire to pay their respects to Britain's longest-serving monarch.
So my husband Anthony and I got to Southwark Park, saw the queue… and joined it.
We only intended to join it for an hour or so to experience the atmosphere. Then we got talking to our queue neighbour Miranda, from North London, and suddenly we were two hours in and heading for the Thames.
We were joined in chat by Mala, who showed us photos of her son's Indian wedding and asked me to help her compose the cover blurb for her book about being a grandparent.
By then, we were in Surrey Quays, enjoying the old trading buildings, now turned into snazzy (and very expensive) flats.
I think it was by the time our new friendship group approached Tower Bridge that we realised that, by stealth, we were committed: in it for the long haul.
And what a long haul it was. If it were a marathon, we'd have collected sponsorship money.
It was, without question, the most mentally demanding physical challenge I've ever undertaken.
The queue often didn't move for 20 minutes at a time. It was like a reverse race: take as long as you can to complete a five-mile walk.
Standing still for long periods is tough on the skeleton and on the mind; you have no control over your onward passage whatsoever. The queue moves when it moves.
We didn't receive our official wristbands until we were five hours in. Then it dawned on us that we'd been, up until that point, queuing for the queue.
But pity those back in Southwark Park. Due to full capacity, the queue was closed for six hours, leading to the bizarre situation of people queuing to join the queue for the queue.
Tourists walked past us with cameras, fascinated at this very British spectacle as we stood, shuffled, stood some more, walked (a painfully stiff novelty at that point) and swapped life stories with our new friends.
Was I ever tempted to throw in the towel? Just once. We'd just passed the
London Eye, desperate for a cuppa but resisting due to the loo situation, but buoyed by the knowledge that Westminster Hall was just round the corner.
"Nope," said one of the route coppers, cheerfully. "Five hours to go. At least".
But as the sun disappeared along with our spirits, the sight of the Houses of Parliament lit up against the darkening sky couldn't fail to perk us up. We could do this for the Queen. She never gave up and nor would we.
After the longest set of zigzag walkways in history, we arrived at the security tent, to be relieved of water, chewing gum, apples and an eyeliner sharpener I'd intended to chuck out anyway.
And then suddenly just like that - 14 hours after we went to "just have a look" at the queue for the queue, we were in: down the steps into the revered hush of Westminster Hall, filing quietly past the Queen's coffin draped in a Royal Standard, the glittering crown in all its glory.
We bowed, curtsied, and were overwhelmed with emotion as we gave our silent thanks to this remarkable woman who gave so much for so long.
Then, we were back out into the cold night air, hugging our friends with promises to stay in touch, and on to trains home.
That night, I dreamed I was back in Southwark Park, facing 14 hours of zigzag lines and laughing policemen giving us everincreasing end times.
And, yes, I'd do it all again.
For the camaraderie, the spectacular scenery, and for the privilege of being, for one final time, in the presence of the Queen.
And, well, because we Brits love queuing!