The procession and state funeral of Queen Elizabeth II. Video / NZ Herald
The musty air was full of suspense. A solitary thud of a soldier's staff every few minutes echoed gently through the grand hall.
The sheer scale of the space filled with silence was eerie but calm. Lemmings descended down the grand staircase, every colour, size and race.
Some wore allblack, others were in sneakers, some wore their uniform, all wore withered faces.
The night had been long. It began with a united desire to get to the end, a jovial sense of an adventure and that very British instinct to find joy in a queue. But after five hours of pretty much crawling like a snail along the South Bank, tiredness began to take its toll.
It's true that I had a whole new appreciation for the beauty of London at night, for some of the amazing bridges and buildings that had been lit up in purpura.
Sarah Emilie Leonard, left, says everyone near the front of the queue had withered faces. Photo / Supplied
I remember standing and looking at Charing Cross Bridge, all cloaked in that instantly recognisable regal colour, and it took me instantly back to the day I was honoured to escort HM The Queen to the unveiling of a statue.
She pulled the Tyrian purple silk and her smile shone for all to see, despite the fact that she was unveiling a rather strange statue. She really did have such a remarkable smile: it was a smile of enduring reassurance. I will miss her smile dearly.
Huddled underneath my black woollen cape, I desperately tried to keep out of the cold. A piercing wind was funnelling down the river and there was no escaping it.
We spent an hour and a half on Lambeth Bridge: it was the longest 90 minutes of my life. There was no sign of movement.
I'd finished my tea hours ago and the chocolate no longer seemed appealing. With the queue longer than we'd anticipated, the Farmer opted for a bed rather than a pavement, Teo passed the time listening to the Beatles and Tito tried to keep us amused with games. Finally the queue started to move. We were so close and yet so far.
As we turned the corner into Victoria Gardens with Victoria Tower in sight we were faced with a snaking queue longer than I've ever seen at any international airport.
It seemed to go on forever and just when we thought we reached the front, we realised the police were teasing us. The queue continued.
My eyes were caving in, I could feel the cold pumping through my veins and my body wanted to collapse. But we were in this together.
Sarah Emilie Leonard struggled through the night in the queue to see the Queen's coffin. Photo / Supplied
We took shifts to sit out by the wall and this did provide momentary relief but it was hard. I'd be just falling asleep with my head in my hands when I'd hear Teo's voice in the darkness calling me to take over. Up I got.
It was a real ordeal, a test of endurance against tiredness. There was no escape, my thoughts were empty, my mind was blank and my body was dead.
Dawn was awakening. Ahead were the lights of cameras and through the queue I could see brighter-eyed reporters carrying microphones. We must be getting close.
All of a sudden, we were at the security check and with the blink of an eyelid we were inside. Nothing else mattered.
As I edged down the steps of Westminster Hall, my eyes were fixed on the coffin. It was so small, so beautiful and a sight I will never forget. The guards didn't flinch. They were immaculate. The set-up was impeccable. The Royal Standard draped over the coffin was a powerful sight. The soft, elegant, bright colours contrasted sharply with the wooden expanse of the hall. So too did the uniforms of the soldiers and the Beefeaters who stood guard with such precision and grandeur. The jewels on top of the coffin were dazzling.
The Queen always radiated glamour and beauty, even here on her deathbed. It was a truly stunning spectacle. The golden orb and sceptre were a very poignant symbol to me of her divine reign. What a faithful Queen we had.
I stood there and became fixated on her crown. It felt so wrong to see it sitting there on her coffin like that. I could feel tears weighing heavily.
I was desperately trying to hold them back. I didn't want the boys to see me shed a tear. My chin froze and I felt like I was going to physically choke. I was struggling to breathe and had lost all movement in my jaw. I was on the edge of completely losing it. Time froze. This was a moment in history.
I slowly and ever so anxiously edged closer to the coffin, conscious of the boys a couple of steps behind me. My whole body felt overcome. I stood before Her for several seconds. I dropped my head in sadness and curtsied. This was a subject before her Queen.
Overcome by loss. Lost in wonder. Lost in awe. This was the definition of majesty. This was the price we pay for love.
* Sarah Emilie Leonard is a London-based writer whose family live in Havelock North.
