The hush had settled on the waiting crowd even before the Queen’s cortege appeared over the rise in the road from Balmoral. An oblivious toddler chattered into the silence on Ballater main street, where the country’s longest-serving monarch shopped for barbecue sausages at the local butcher.
It was a typically Highland farewell to a woman those lining the village streets considered a treasured neighbour: deeply felt, but understated in its expression. There was no applause, no spontaneous chorus of anthem or hymn as the coffin passed by sedately, and all eyes were pulled to the east to follow it beyond sight. Then, as though released from a trance, the bystanders turned to nod to friends and disperse promptly, leaving behind the metal crowd barriers, taking home the weight of their loss.
