This was not just a funeral. It was a triumph
It has been a magnificent spectacle, awe-inspiring and moving. I suspect that many of us have felt a profound sense of loss but also a deep national pride. After Winston Churchill’s funeral, the then Earl Marshal spoke to Lady Churchill: ‘This was not a funeral. It was a triumph.’ Later today, his successor will be able to say something similar to King Charles.
Amidst all the splendour, we should not forget gratitude, for those who made it all happen. Over many years, large numbers of officials have devoted themselves to planning for a day which they hoped would never come. Their efforts helped to make it a triumph. Ceremonial on this scale is a nerve-racking business. I remember having a jolly lunch in the Cavalry Club a few years ago with three officers from the Household Division. They were clearly out for large-scale enjoyment, and one of them explained why: ‘Only two more rehearsals.’ They were all involved in the Trooping of the Colour and had spent the morning being drilled, re-drilled and re-re-drilled.
They did not resent the rigour. Trooping is a mightily exacting piece of precision engineering, involving humans. Men march briskly towards each other. A collision seems inevitable; the least misjudgment would be disastrous, like a Highland reel turning pear-shaped because someone like me is one of the reelers. A Birthday Parade in Berlin did once go awry. The Brigadier had to fly over and apologise to the Queen. He told friends that it was much the worst moment in his life. Berlin would be bad enough. Imagine if that happened in London. No soldier wants to go down in history as one on the participants in the Trooping catastrophe which has passed into infamy. In the approach march to the Trooping, the drill-sergeants slave to ensure that this will never happen. Others slave with them, and rarely begrudge doing so. They know what is required to achieve standards worthy of their traditions and their Monarch.
The last few days have seen the equivalent of several Troopings run together. It is hard to find words adequate to express the deserved thanks. It is to be hoped that there will be recognition in the Honours’ List.
‘The captains and the Kings depart.’ Once the ceremonies are over, there should be a period of rumination. But there is absolutely no hurry for this to happen. Over the past few days, we should surely have learned that one area of our national life is working superbly well. Monarchy is not just a matter of grandeur, of pomp and pageantry in magnificent surroundings, and in sacred ones. Our Sovereigns are sustained by the steadfast hearts of a loyal people. The lion is often cited as the beast which expresses this nation’s finest qualities. Churchill, leonine in nature, insisted that he was merely the lion’s roar. The lion was the British people, vast numbers of whom would be proud and honoured to serve as lions protecting the throne.
There is a conclusion to be drawn from this. One senses that some officials most closely involved in Royal matters would never lack loyalty, but can lack confidence. Some of them no doubt bear the scars of difficult periods. It is time to forget all that. The great majority of His subjects have opened their hearts to the new King and to his wonderful Consort. That should set the tone.
For years, with a complacent thoughtlessness characteristic of Leftish pseudo-intellectuals, some have repeatedly argued that the new Reign should see a slimmed-down Monarchy: fewer palaces, fewer Princes, less flummery. Those who write like this have often given the impression that they could not wait for the Queen to depart so that they could set about vandalising the glory and trashing the magic. Over the next few weeks, we will read them in the Guardian and in the New York Times, now a contemptible husk of a formerly world class newspaper. It appears to have reinvented itself as the anti-British Times. We should take comfort from that. As it seems to hate our country so much, we must be doing something right. That should encourage senior figures in the Palace to brush aside the peevish critics, whose real aim is not to put the monarchy on a diet, but to see it wither away.
In 1935, at his Jubilee, George V was astonished to discover that he was popular among his subjects. All over Europe, Monarchies had fallen; he may have feared a similar fate. But the lions were already guarding the Throne. The same was true in 1977, the late Queen’s first Jubilee. A lot of bien-pensants, some of them highly placed in the BBC, assumed that no-one would care. Almost everyone quickly put them right. There is a lesson in all that.
The custosdians of planning and protocol are entitled to some rest and recreation. They have all earned a stiff drink and perhaps even a good lunch in Clubland. Then it will be back to duty, preparing for the Coronation. It will presumably be held in late spring/ early summer next year and let us pray for glorious weather to match the glory of the day. The Abbey could hold over 8,000 people. In 1953, over 7,000 attended. Why not the same again?
There might be one obstacle. The new King may need to be reassured that the vast majority of decent people will be looking forward to the Coronation: looking forward to full-hearted rejoicing, looking forward to a ceremony glorious even by British standards, that will go down in history as the way the British do things – and, therefore, the way in which things should be done.