The tiny group of people congregates against the concrete wall in anoraks, red wool caps, and Union Jack flags as the sky becomes gloomy and the rain begins to fall.
People are lining up on the south side of Lambeth Bridge to pass the Queen’s coffin, which will be available for viewing starting at 5 p.m. today and is expected to draw 330,000 people at a pace of 3,000 per hour.
And this group would hate to miss it.
Which is why several of them, like 56-year-old Vanessa Nanthakumaran, Anne Daley, and Grace Gothard (right in the front), hurried down here when there was talk of crowd restrictions, quotas, and warnings from the Department of Culture of queues wrapping around half of London.
They had been here since Monday, and by the time I arrived yesterday soon after midday, a historian, a caretaker, a professor, a retired construction worker, a medium, and a few more people had all joined their little group, bringing the total to eleven. Like the most of them, retired gardener Martin J. Shanahan hesitated before getting in line.
It’s better to come three hours early than five minutes late, as my mother used to say.
thirty minutes? There are still at least 28 hours before the line can even begin to move as we converse in the wet. However, this group is unconcerned about the delay or the rain. Their devotion to the late Queen warms them from the inside out.
Sarah Langley, 55, who is in line five, exclaims, “She was such a wonderful, amazing lady,” her eyes spilling. She remained with her work for 70 years and, my God, did she do it well. “We’ve all had jobs we loathed and simply jacked them in.”
Delroy Morrison, number four in line and 61, has the same sentiments and will remain in line for the duration despite having had two heart attacks. He adds, “I’ll be here for her as long as my heart beats.” “After all Mom has done for us, it’s the least I can do,” I said. In contrast, this is a slice of cake.
It’s still uncomfortable, however.
In addition to the rain, the dismal DCMS “banned list” forbids queuers from bringing tents, sleeping bags, chairs, hampers, or even a mischievous Paddington Bear.
Which means that Sarah arrived directly from the conclusion of her duty as a customer service ambassador at a train station at midnight on Monday and has only managed to get an hour’s worth of sleep while resting her head on her bag on the damp pavement. I didn’t bring anything since I don’t breach the rules, she claims. But I had to come now since I had to be back at work on Thursday at 6.30 a.m. I just had a little opportunity to see her.
In addition to several boxes of chopped apple and carrots, Delroy, a retired construction worker who had insulated some of the windows in Buckingham Palace, came around 8.30am. He also brought a thick wool cap from his home Jamaica.
A 75-year-old ex-serviceman named David Carlson arrived fueled by a single meal and “plenty of smokes,” adding cockily, “If I have to stand the whole time, I will.”
Very impressive. The three women in positions one, two, and three, who are decked out in flags, clutching royal relics, and making court to the world’s press all day from identical green camp chairs beneath a beige pavilion constructed by the council to keep them dry, seem to be subject to a distinct set of regulations. At one point, even the Archbishop of York stops over to meet them and joins them in singing.
One person in the line murmurs inaudibly, “It seems a little like the royal enclosure.” in their throne chamber, sitting! The remainder of us out in the rain!” Thankfully, the rain stops and the crowd increases as the day goes on.
Thai native Mariean Kaewthong travels from Wrexham with dahlias and a brand-new tent that she isn’t permitted to erect. Using a wheelchair, Gary Keen, 55, and Lisa Simms, 54, join in, unfazed by the idea of spending the night on the streets. One man said it’s easy compared to the 44-year history of waiting in line to see U2.
And while Stephen, a ponytailed Wakefield medium, often converses with the dead, he says he is now unable to talk with the Queen. “Bless her, she’s sleeping! There are many people she needs to catch up with.
Sarah is in shock after learning that MPs and parliamentary staff automatically qualify with a plus one without having to wait in line all night. By 4.30 p.m., the crowd has more than tripled, the women beneath the gazebo are singing Praise my Soul the King of Heaven, and the crowd has more than tripled again. She screams, “That’s completely pants!”
David, a poor man, takes a funny turn farther down the line, buckles into the sidewalk, and is hoisted up by other line members. It turns out that preparing with only one sandwich and a package of cigarettes isn’t the best idea after all.
You’d think he’d go home right afterwards and take a nice bath. No chance, however. If he does go, it will be through Westminster Hall.
He exclaims, smoking on a motivating cigarette, “I’m not giving up now, if it’s the last thing I do I’ll be walking in there tomorrow.”
As evening falls, there is discussion of numbered wristbands that would allow individuals to quickly leave for the restroom, a meal, or a little nap without losing their spot. The first 2,000 will receive them, the security officer said, and after that it would be “dog eat dog!” Golly. The next 328,000 will so just have to cross their legs.
It’s a strange setup all around. From what I’ve seen today, it reminds me of the crazy Wimbledon camping lines from the past, but without the tents, beer, music, or any companionship. And unlike Wimbledon, there is no other way to ensure that you will see the Queen laying in state than waiting in the rain. No online tickets, no poll, nothing.
Which naturally excludes anybody who is unable to skip work, has children to care for, or is frail, aged, or infirm.
Or, despite how much we like the Queen, we just can’t bear to stand on a hard, damp sidewalk without a chair for hours on end. Is this truly what she would have wanted, I wonder?