The news that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II had passed away was a blow to us all.  As our ‘Commander in Chief’, the allegiance we all swore to her will never diminish.

It was with a heavy heart and seeing TV news of the arrangements for the Lying in State, that I suddenly realised I wanted to be there too.  But what about my stamina, toilet needs, and how do I find where to go?  Do I leave home in the afternoon and queue all night, or in the morning?  With vision cleared and info found, I decided to catch the first train from Dorchester on the Friday morning, dressed as I would be all day in Blazer with our Association Crest, slacks, beret and a small bag with food, water and a waterproof.  Oh and wearing what I thought were comfy shoes!!

The first train out was at 06:00 but cost double that for the 06:37.  So, I was on my way at 06:37 and arrived at the start of the queue in Southwark Park at 09:50.  I had spotted another RAF type on the tube and we nodded to each other.  He was an ex Regiment chap I called Rock!   We met up again later in the queue along with other strangers, all corralled together as the line slowly moved forward, up and down the lanes zig zagging many painful times. 

During this first period, I was called to the barrier by a film crew and an ‘easy on the eye’ presenter from Sky News Australia.  ‘Sheila’ asked me all about why I was there.  I told them the Queen was our Commander in Chief and we swore allegiance to her and that I could not help but want to be part of this historic event.  I told her about our Association, the RAF SC, and our common heritage, and how the TSW chaps were usually ‘first-in and last-out’!  

They were very respectful of us Vets, and thanked me for the interview.  Being a cheeky young chappie, I asked if they could let me have a free airline ticket to Aus so I could see the program in person.  They had to tell me their budget did not run to that just yet!!  One cannot help but try!

By now, our little ‘group’ was bonding well.  There was a Tea Grower from Malawi, a lady from Singapore, a chatty chap from London, a ‘something in the city’ lass from America and Fritz, a Jamaican from London now living in Portsmouth, who is a PE and maths teacher.  (my least favourite subjects!).  During the course of the long day, we helped each other along, giving support when at a low ebb, which I suffered twice!  The shoes I put on were not comfortable and as I write this some 6 days later, I still have painful blistered toes and aching hips!  (Where were my mountaineering boots?).

We had many laughs together and when I was approached by a reporter from the Daily Express, and gave my story again, an aura of something approaching VIP status descended from the group!!!  I was also offered the chance by the volunteer stewards, to leave the queue and as a ‘Veteran VIP’, move forward without queuing.  This rankled somewhat as our ‘group’ had gelled, so I politely refused and carried on…You ex Forces chaps are martyrs!!  They said!  No pain No gain I retorted.  Anyway, I am loyal!

Later, during a very painful period when my Paracetamol had worn off, Fritz’s wife offered me some of hers.  At first I said no, but soon said yes, thank you.  “I thought you were going to be a martyr forever”, she said.

As we progressed, and the day turned to dusk, there were many Police in evidence.  I thanked several groups for being there and they said their thanks, to us Veterans, for our Service.  There is a deep respect for Service Veterans which I had rarely perceived before in the country, but it’s there and real.  Later, as we passed a few shops and hostelries, a chap came up to Rock and me with a cup of tea each.  Out of the blue it was, and he thanked us both for our Service.  Such a touching moment that the groups clapped in delight!  The tea tasted wonderful!!  Thank you kind fellow.

It was striking throughout the day that there are many levels of Police on our streets, from the simply attired and equipped Bobbies, to well geared up, experienced and hard looking lads.  I thanked many for being there and keeping us safe.

After some 11 hours of slow progress, we crossed over Westminster Bridge and onto the embankment opposite the Houses of Parliament, which were lit up and a wonderful sight.  “Only up to Vauxhall Bridge now, turn right on the other side and we are there”!!  But someone said it would be another 3 hours from there!!   ‘Never’ we exclaimed, but oh yes it was!!  Painfully we moved forward, passing the National Covid Remembrance Wall and over the bridge to the gardens at the end of the Palace of Westminster.

By now, we were all very weary, but took the opportunity to unload ‘contraband’ such as water, any liquids, any food, sweets and other possible nasties.  Ladies had to part with their perfumes, lipsticks, hand wipes etc!  At the airline style checkpoint, experienced Police Sergeants, watched over by armed police, searched bags and guided us through the detectors.  My Sgt, said don’t bother taking your coat and belt off, just pop through the detector frame Sir, it’s ok.  I did so and nothing happened!!  ‘Are the medals plastic? said one!  I thanked the heavily armed police in the security tent, and the thanks were mutual.  (They have some lovely looking bits of kit these days!).

Very soon after 28 more zig zags, we entered Westminster Hall.  It was dead on midnight and the mood changed.  It was the culmination of our efforts.  The effects of a tiring day slipped away as we turned the corner to look down at Her Majesty’s coffin, standing in the Great Hall with the instruments of State placed on the coffin: the Crown, the Orb and the Sceptre.  It was a very moving moment.  The wreath of flowers was glorious.

I drew level with the catafalque, turned, threw up the crispest salute of my life, bowed and moved away, full of emotion.  I remembered the day some 22 years earlier when Her Majesty presented me with the MBE, which I was now wearing with pride, a medal she had held in her own hands.

We dispersed after saying our goodbyes and I arrived at Waterloo station to find there would be a 3 hour wait for the first train out.  Even then, there would be a change of train and another 90 minute wait at Southampton.  It would seem that Dorchester is at the back of beyond for train access!  Consequently, I availed myself of a ‘warming train’ standing on a platform to shelter stranded passengers.  Interviewed, yet again, this time for a piece in the Sun, which illustrated “passengers kipping” in the warm train.

I arrived at Dorchester station at 08:00, nearly 26 hours since I left.  Martine collected me and I drifted off to sleep paralysed with fatigue, but content at having taken the initiative, and done the journey to say my personal farewell to our beloved Monarch.  A moment never to be forgotten.  God Bless Your Majesty and Thank You.

God Save the King!