The kingdom to come

Queen Elizabeth II was a political and diplomatic asset who spoke with the moral weight of the wartime generation. How will Britain face her loss?

- Jonathan Freedland

In death, as in life, all eyes were on her. Inside the same abbey where she was crowned nearly seven decades ago, there stood, this time, not a hesitant young woman dressed to dazzle, but a small coffin. Still, in 2022 as in 1953, it was impossible to look away. In a sea of dark suits, mostly pale faces and much grey hair, it was the coffin that provided the colour and chief spectacle: the reds and yellows of the royal standard, the polished gold of the orb and sceptre and, resting on a purple cushion, the sparkling diamonds and pristine sapphire of the crown.

For all the pomp and finery around Monday's funeral service - the brocaded uniforms and muffled drums, the feathered hats and musical laments - it was that draped box that commanded the attention. Its emergence from Westminster Hall shortly after 10.30am, shouldered by men who had sworn an oath to defend the Queen in life, like the sight of the coffin placed on a gun carriage, pulled by a column of naval ratings, touched some deep corner of the collective memory. There was something ancient, even elemental to it: young men bearing the body of their fallen queen.

Contemporary Britain understands itself to be largely secular or, if not that, then avowedly multifaith. And yet the service in Westminster Abbey was robustly Christian. The hymns, the readings, the eulogy - all stressed the late monarch's abiding faith in Jesus Christ. No inclusive generalities, no offerings from leaders of non-Christian creeds: this was a Christian funeral for a committed Christian. Charles once wanted to be known as Defender of Faith - in general - but his mother's funeral confirmed there was to be no shifting on that point. Defender of the Faith she was, and Defender of the Faith he will be.