Westminster
Abbey had been filling up since very early in the morning, at the soggy,
dripping, chilly break of day.
Some peers and peeresses, those who could attend with their coronets in
hand, had brought sandwiches and sweeties hidden inside, so that they might not
miss “elevensies,” presumably. It
was a sensible use for their headgear until the moment when the Archbishop
would place St. Edward’s crown on the head of Britain’s fortieth monarch. By
then, their snacks would have to be consumed so they could cover their bared
heads with the emblems of their own rank.
Hours later, the Royal guests began
making their way up the long aisle, finding their places, along with the
designated representatives of nations.
The Crown Prince of Norway came up the aisle, Prince George of Greece,
General George Marshall of the United States and Georges Bidault of France, and
His Royal Highness Prince Chula Chakrabongse of Thailand. There were sultans and ambassadors and
prime ministers and queens in attendance.
In
the Sanctuary, the Regalia were being delivered from the Jerusalem
Chamber. These are the Coronation
articles of royal and spiritual significance, from the Armill bracelets to St.
Edward’s Crown; their names were “In the Program.” Had the guests all gone home, had the cameras and lights all
failed, the Regalia had to be present.
The
Princes and Princesses of the Blood Royal began their procession, followed by
the arrival of the Queen Mother.
She was beloved of the British and the Commonwealth nations. Ever at the side of her conscientious husband, together they had led the British people during the terrible
war years. She was always brimful of courage and unfeigned compassion. She would arrive in those days on the
scene of a bombed out building, stepping over rubble and seeking out the
wounded and the grieving, the danger of a Blitzkrieg
attack always present. When
the Palace was bombed, her response was, “now we can look the East End in the
face.” In their sorrow and
devastation, the people were relieved by their Majesties’ nearness. King George VI and his wife had done what
they had been crowned to do, and they were loved for it.
This,
now, was her daughter’s Coronation.
Brian Barker, member of the Departmental Coronation Committee and Gold
Staff Commander, wrote that he saw the Queen Mother pause for a moment, as her
Mistress of the Robes gathered up her long train, to glance at the empty,
ruby-red Throne beside which she had sat at her husband’s crowning and her own;
no one alive knew better than she the duties and the dedication to which
Elizabeth would be bound.
A
long drum roll, majestic and momentous, reverberated against the marble walls,
indicating that the Orders of Chivalry had begun their march, but spines had
not yet been electrified as they were about to be. The Knights of the Realm continued their advance, and then .
. . the earthly manufacture of heaven’s own instrument . . . the silver trumpets of
the heralds, began to cry Her Majesty’s arrival. Everyone knew, with no mistaking, the young Queen was at the
door.
St George's Chapel, Windsor
interior
Banners of the Orders of Chivalry
by permission, Josef Renalias
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