Ten days of mourning for the death of Queen Elizabeth II reached their climax at Westminster Abbey today, with a tear in the eye of the nation and hundreds of world leaders in attendance. They came to honour not power or achievement but a ceremony of nationhood in one person. They have witnessed an extraordinary week of recent British history, a week in which nothing else was allowed to happen.
Modern monarchy has always been based on the orchestration of emotion. The stage-management of the Queen’s funeral has barely broken step. The fusion of a family’s grief with the passing of a national figurehead has been elevated by ritual, yet diluted with informality. The media management has seemed effortless. Royals in uniform have never been offstage, always against the backdrop of a sombre, smiling, adoring crowd. The scene has been underscored, hour after hour, by a never-ending queue; the nation as Greek chorus to the events. The queue to Westminster Hall, with its relentless vox pops, could have been almost rehearsed. And even as “the reign” comes to an end, continuity is rammed home with cries of “long live the King”.
