"I queued eight hours for the lying-in-state - and saw the best of British" by Martin Milnes
My friend Martin Milnes - writer, director, performer - queued eight hours to witness the late Queen’s lying-in-state and sent me this account of his experience.
Guidelines were crystal clear: all are welcome to pay their respects but this pilgrimage is not for the faint-hearted. As a happily robust 35-year-old, I was undeterred, even by the wildly estimated queue times – publicised as anywhere between twelve to forty hours. No matter. This was a moment in history and I had to be there. Moreover, I felt that even forty hours was nothing in comparison to 70 years of unfailing duty.
I went not only for myself. I went to represent those whom could not be there. At 96, my friend Eileen is two weeks younger than Her Majesty. ‘Please send her my love,’ she asked me on the phone. I also went for my friends Hazel and Peter – she a wartime West End star; he, a hero of Bomber Command. I went for my contemporaries, whose inflexible work schedules could not fit around so gruelling a schedule. I went for my friends in the States. And I went for my seven-year-old niece Tess, at school in the Midlands, but fully appreciative and comprehending of the magnitude of events.
Wednesday: Lying In State was set to commence at 5pm. Trotting to the tube at 4:40pm, the online queue tracker advised heading to London Bridge … 2.5 miles from our final destination, Westminster Hall. My suitably-sized bag (adhering to advised dimensions) contained a book to while away the hours, plus the essentials: jumper, scarf, woolly hat, umbrella and, of course, sandwiches (‘for later’). As it turned out, however, the sandwiches were all I would eventually need!
Fifteen minutes later at London Bridge, a friendly and helpful TFL worker directed me to the queue … down an assuming alleyway with an unexpected turn along the river. By 4:58pm, I was the back of the queue; and happily chatting away to the lady in front, Miti. Originally from Ghana, she too was representing a 96-year-old: her mother, still in West Africa, who maintains a deep and abiding love for the Queen. This, in turn, had been instilled in Miti; just the night before, she had been lucky enough to witness Her Majesty arriving at Buckingham Palace for the final time. Also in our little cluster were Rosie, Carol and her husband Leslie. We merry band of five were prepared to remain on the Southbank ‘til the small hours if necessary … but at 5pm, on the dot, the queue suddenly and magnificently surged forward with purpose and clarity. At unexpected great pace, for half an hour we galloped along familiar London landmarks – the Cutty Sark, the Clink. Finally, we ground to a halt on the river just opposite St Paul’s. Samaritans and other helpful volunteers had guided our route – all with a smile, all with good grace.
Camaraderie was high. No complaints, no grumbling, no fits, no fights, no feuds and no egos. Amigos together, the crowd spanned all ages and ethnicities united in a common purpose – to unhesitatingly pay tribute to a lady, the likes of whom we shall never see again. Talk, inevitably, centred on the Royal Family. Love and respect for the Queen was mixed with palpable excitement for the reign of King Charles III. With the Queen Consort at his side, supported by the new Prince and Princess of Wales, stability and continuity, we felt, was assured.
Two hours on, countless little groups in this splendidly British queue had bonded. There was also a sense of surprised optimism at the speed of our journey. Perhaps, Carol and Leslie contemplated, they might actually get to stay at the hotel they had booked, rather than stumbling back at check-out time … but who gave a hoot either way?! Today was a special day, so whatever the hour, Miti would treat herself to a taxi back to Richmond. Rosie would book an Uber to Cheam.
Outside the British Film Institute, historic footage on outdoor screens showed a young, glamorous and smiling newly-crowned Queen; the Prince Consort steadfastly beside her. Just past the National Theatre, a helpful Samaritan informed us ‘You’re one mile away, but it’ll the slowest mile of your life!’ Prophetic words …
A winding route eventually brought us to Jubilee Gardens, wristband distribution, and then to Lambeth Bridge. Once again bounding forth, it seemed our destiny to reach the Queen e’er long! Carol chirped ‘Why is it that ever time I’m in Lambeth I want to sing “Doing the Lambeth Walk”?”’
‘That’s most appropriate!’ I offered. ‘George Formby was one of Her Majesty’s favourite artistes! In fact, I’m reliably informed that Her Majesty could often be heard around Buckingham Palace singing, word-perfect, every verse of “When I’m Cleaning Windows”’!’ (That’s something I learned from Gyles Brandreth … he knows everything!).
Then – The Palace of Westminster. Excitement building, we passed into the grounds, confronted by a sea of zig-zags. Surely beyond this lay the Queen! No half and half affair, we buoyantly zig-zagged … and we zig-zagged … and we zig-zagged. Thousands snaked before and after us, whilst across the river, the light of the shining moon silhouetted striding individuals passing along by the Covid Memorial Wall (reminiscent, I thought, of the shadows of Blitzed Londoners illuminated by searchlights as they queued for safety in tube stations).
Brilliant volunteer Scouts walked amongst the crowds providing free bottles of water. Taps at the top of every zigzag allowed empty bottles to be re-filled. At the portaloos, queues within The Queue bonded and bantered whilst waiting for an ‘opportunity to tidy’ (the tactful phrasing used by Buckingham Palace to describe a scheduled loo break on HM’s itinerary; I learned that from Gyles Brandreth, too!).
Then, just as we thought we’d zigged our final zag, there lay before us, previously hidden from view, yet further zig after zag across yet another large field! Nevertheless – we had come this far – and the least we could do to honour 70 years of selfless service was to zig and to zag a little more. And nowhere, amongst these countless thousands, was anyone found in a semi-despondent fury. Moreover, the cast of characters paying their respects reflected how Her Majesty had touched all generations.
The vast majority present were, I’d say, under 55. There were countless hoards in their twenties and thirties, all making new friends en route. Strolling down the opposite zigzag, a cheeky ‘Mr Lucas’-type chatted up a ‘Miss Brahms’: “So, Bianca! What is it that you do?”’ Young Jewish men wearing kippahs mixed with young Pearlie Queens; those who had seen military service – of various ages – proudly displayed their medals in honour of Her Majesty. All ethnicities were represented; more than once I heard animated conversations in foreign-languages (earlier that day, watching the procession to Westminster Hall, Rosie had met a Spanish man who’d flown from Barcelona just that morning especially to pay tribute – he’d felt that he couldn’t not come).
At last – adieu to the final zigzag! We formed a snake-like line towards the interior of the Palace of Westminster. Young volunteers – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the start of a long late-night shift – advised us to deposit all liquids, including hand sanitiser and deodorants. Clearly, the end of our journey was upon us. Round a corner, we reached, to quote the staff, ‘airport style security’. Quite rightly, this was zero tolerance – and more thorough, my group observed, than actual airport security. I thanked the Security Officers – their sterling work protected both us and Her Majesty.
At 1am – eight hours after setting off – at last we arrived at our destination. Westminster Hall dates back to 1097. Here is where Sir Thomas More, Charles I and Guy Fawkes were sentenced to death. The voices of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn were heard within these walls. Centuries later, Edward VII became the first monarch to lie in state. The Queen’s father, King George VI, and her mother, Queen Elizabeth, were later so honoured; as was Sir Winston Churchill, ‘to whom both my husband and I owe so much and for whose wise guidance during the early years of my reign I shall always be so profoundly grateful.’ Now, 148 years after the birth of her first Prime Minister, our moment had arrived to pay tribute to Queen Elizabeth II.
A reverent hush descended as we mounted the stairs to the doorway. Gently filing through, there before us lay the coffin of our Queen, draped with the Royal Standard. Units from the Sovereign’s Bodyguard and the Yeomen Warders of The Tower of London nobly stood vigil. Atop Her Majesty’s coffin we beheld the Imperial State Crown, the Sovereign’s Sceptre and the Sovereign’s Orb. The breathtaking sparkles of these priceless jewels appeared to be dancing in the light. No camera lens could ever do justice to such a sight. In life, Her Majesty always claimed, ‘I have to be seen to be believed.’ So too, did she in death.
As I filed past the coffin, I stood directly in line with the Imperial State Crown, bowed my head and thanked Her Majesty for her profound impact upon both the life of the world and the lives of countless individuals. I sent her love from Eileen, last respects from Tess and the gratitude of all I represented. After my fleeting, but unforgettable moment, I continued out through the main door, turning back a few final times to comprehend the magnificence of magnitude of all I had witnessed.
At last, Miti, Rosie, Carol, Leslie and I departed Westminster Hall. Our pilgrimage had spanned eight hours of a unique and unforgettable day. Today, we are all still reliving these spellbinding moments via our new WhatsApp group!
Between 5pm and 1am, I truly observed the Best of British. Her Majesty has once again united our country and inspired the greatest examples of human kindness, empathy and understanding.
As for the experience of queueing eight hours … was it worth it? Wholeheartedly, yes! Is this journey for the faint-hearted or vulnerable? No. But by reading the guidelines thoroughly, you will know exactly what to expect. All official advice is completely spot on. The staff and volunteers are remarkable people who deserve our thanks – they are enabling us to pay our own personal tributes to, arguably, the most remarkable woman in modern history. The strains of a long day are completely outweighed by the emotions and closure felt both today and, I’m sure, decades into the future.
Her Majesty and our Royal Family are a unifying force for good not just in the United Kingdom but across the world. They do more than we know. Thank you, Your Majesty. God Bless Queen Elizabeth II. God Save The King.
Martin Milnes, September 2022