Proof of a nation's love

IN the hours after the news from Balmoral, I walked through St James’s Park, joining little streams of others converging on Buckingham Palace. Reaching the road, we found many more coming down the Mall.

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 Before us was the Victoria Memorial, already occupied by a crowd of young men and women, and, beyond that, the Palace, lit up as it had been only two months before for the Platinum Jubilee. Then it was the backdrop for lively celebration; tonight, it was the silent symbol of the monarchy that is our nation’s stay and strength.

No sign of life within, save for the lone guardsman in his place beyond the gates, dutifully marching at intervals from end to end. In the fading light and the gentle rain were hundreds and hundreds of people— many in their twenties and thirties—in suits and ties, work clothes and T-shirts. They had come, as we came, because they felt they had to do something to say ‘Thank you’. Simply to stand there, to push flowers through the railings, to photograph the flag at half mast and softly to sing again and again