Farewell to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
Farewell to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
Words and images by Julia McCarthy-Fox, originally from England and now living in Te Awamutu. Julia was a photographer, both amateur and professional at different times, following the royal family throughout the UK and sometimes further. She had met and spoken with Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh on several occasions. We have published her reports and thoughts on a number of notable royal events in the past two years.
What a week this has been. Waking this morning (Tuesday) in the UK I am still exhausted and my head is full of vibrant colours and the sound of marching feet as I try to process all that I have witnessed in the past seven days.
If there had ever been any doubt as to whether the UK could produce a farewell fitting for a Queen of over 70 years that doubt was most definitely misplaced.
To say that what I have witnessed has been spectacular would not do it justice, and I am not sure that there is any single word that could, so I will stop searching, and instead try to describe what I have been doing on my unexpected trip home to England to say farewell to my Queen.
Farewell to Her Majesty. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
I have a pile of newspapers beside me, and I know that once I pick one up I will be immersed once more in yesterday and so I will wait until I have written my own words, as I don't want to repeat someone else's, although with a finite number of superlatives available to us all that will inevitably happen.
This has been a long farewell, divided into parts for me, and all have given me memories to last a lifetime.
After seeing the Queen return to Buckingham Palace in the specially commissioned state hearse on Tuesday evening I met up with my son and we took refuge in his parked car for a few hours as it was pouring with rain.
At around 4.15am we collected up our things and walked the short distance to The Mall to find a spot to wait for the procession that was still many hours away. Staying out overnight with tents had been discouraged by the Metropolitan Police so there were only a handful of people already there and plenty of space on the front.
Julia McCarthy-Fox of Te Awamutu (left) with her son Zachary and long-time friend Sheila about to queue in London for a final farewell to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
After much discussion about trees, lampposts, camera stands and the multitude of other things that could potentially block our view we agreed on a spot and put up our chairs. Then began the long wait, during which we were joined, by chance, by a friend that I had not seen for many years, but with whom I had slept on the pavement almost exactly opposite where we were, for the wedding of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson back in 1986. We must do it again in another 36 years.
The procession taking Her Majesty to the lying in state was due to leave Buckingham Palace at exactly 2.22pm, and by the time it was light there was a steady flow of people around, many taking flowers to add to the tributes in Green park before taking their places along the route for later.
There was a certain amount of dispute from the crowd around us when it became apparent, mid morning, that the area between the two sets of barriers in front of us had been assigned as a press pen, but that "somebody" had forgotten to label it as such.
I freely admit to being one of the most vocal in protesting about this to the hapless members of staff from the Home Office who were there to supervise the photographers, and while nobody was rude to them there was a definite lack of sympathy for them and their attempts at making excuses for the bad planning and I suspect that Tuesday now ranks high on their lists of bad days at the office.
Eventually, a compromise was reached and having made the biggest fuss we ended up with the clearest space in front of us, which is fundamentally unfair, but I was dissuaded by my son from pursuing that particular argument further.
By the time the procession started on its steady walk, it was sunny and The Mall looked beautiful – the Union flags flying on each side of the road had long black tassels attached to reflect the national mourning, and there were black ribbons flying from the painted crowns on the top of each flag pole.
The procession itself was dignified and beautiful, with Her Majesty borne on a gun-carriage of the Kings Troop Royal Horse Artillery, the coffin draped in her royal standard with a simple wreath of white garden flowers sitting beside the Imperial State Crown, diamonds sparkling in the sunshine. This is a sight that strikes to your heart – the colour and splendour of the gun-carriage is stunning, and then in stark contrast, you become aware of the opposite side of the image, the sombre faces of those walking behind not just their Queen, but their beloved mother and grandmother.
Staring fixedly ahead the new King and his siblings looked devastated as they accompanied the Queen in order to hand her over to her people, to allow them to pay their respects.
Grieving King Charles III following his mother the Queen's coffin. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
Members of the royal household also walked in the procession, each of them facing a very different future with the inevitable change that a new monarch brings. It was a very moving experience that brought more than a tear to my eye, and I was very pleased to find that, unlike the previous night when the Queen had been loudly applauded as she passed by in the hearse, the crowd this time maintained a dignified hush as they watched her continue her journey, which to me felt far more appropriate.
It was simply beautiful and I smiled to see a hardened photographer, who I have known for many years, surreptitiously wiping away a tear as he put away his cameras.
Once the procession had passed and was out of sight it was time to move on to the next part of my grand master plan, so we returned to the car park, fortunately managing to avoid any of the ever-changing one-way systems being used to control movement of crowds throughout the area.
Leaving the overnight bags and seats with my son, who was returning home at this point, I met up with a friend and we hopped into a taxi, asking, to the horror of the driver, to be taken "to the end of the queue for the lying in state, wherever it is".
He was not happy at this request, although for the £40 fare I would not have been complaining. There had been warnings of queueing times in excess of 30 hours, so we had decided to be as close to the front of the queue as possible to ensure that we would eventually get in.
This proved to be a wise move, and we joined just by London Bridge at 4.50pm, 10 minutes before the first people entered.
The queue moved briskly for an hour or so, and we were issued wrist bands to allow us to move out of our place for food, etc, although there was a delay as the initial supply of precious yellow bands was exhausted rather more quickly than anticipated and further supplies had to be fetched from the wrist band fairy working nearby.
By the time we received them we were almost at Westminster Bridge where we had to detour to the bag drop facility to leave my camera bag before rejoining the queue after taking a different route to Lambeth Bridge.
At this point the zigzag queue began, and nobody would give any idea how much longer we would have to wait. It moved slowly but continuously, pausing every 20 minutes or so as the guard inside was changed.
I demonstrated my ability to sleep standing up, to the astonishment of the people behind us, and then my friend dramatically fainted, giving us the opportunity to experience the first aid facilities.
Once she had been checked over we were returned to where we had left the queue, although that was not a very precise art because we could not see anyone that we recognised and had no idea whether we were ahead of or behind where we had been.
I think, having spoken to somebody about what time they had started queueing, that we probably gained about half an hour because of the fainting episode, but for the sake of 30 minutes I would not recommend it as a tactic.
Eventually, we were through the final security check and into the building and the anticipation was growing. This was going to be a very special moment and I wanted to savour it.
I had waited many hours to see the Queen on multiple occasions over the years, so for me this was no different in that respect.
I had attended the lying in state of the Queen Mother in 2002, so I knew what to expect, but it was still a very special moment to reach the top of the stairs into Westminster Hall, to turn, and to see the scene in front of you.
It is dramatic and theatrical to see, the lighting making the vibrant colours of the royal standard seem to stand out, and the Imperial State Crown, which now had those other great symbols of state the Sceptre and Orb beside it, shone brightly in the slightly subdued overall light of the hall.
Then descending the stairs you become aware of the height of the catafalque on which Her Majesty is resting as it towers above you, surrounded by guards resplendent in their respective uniforms.
Pausing briefly to bow or curtsey to the monarch the people around me gazed in awe at the magnificence of the sight, and I knew that, like me, they would not forget this night, with its fleeting opportunity to sat a personal thanks and farewell to a lady who served us so well for so many years.
Finding myself walking half in reverse, determined to be able to see for as long as possible, we were almost at the exit when the signal was given for the guard to change, so we stopped to watch. This became dramatic when one of the members of the watch suddenly fell straight forward off the stand, landing face first on the stone floor.
We were given assurance that he was all right as we were hastily asked to move on.
Outside on the pavement we glanced up at Big Ben to find that it was just after 12.30 midnight, and that collecting the camera bag was going to make us miss the last train, so we decided not to rush, instead strolling back to the park and enjoying the views of the Thames at night.
Seeing the lengths of time that people had to stand and wait over the next couple of days, compared with our mere eight hours, confirmed that we had made a wise decision with our timing – although we had not factored in not being able to go anywhere afterwards.
But that was a mere blip, and we enjoyed a short stroll in the dark before coming across a silent pipe band looming out of the darkness towards us, clearly indicating that we had found ourselves a rehearsal to watch, which we did for a couple of interesting hours outside Westminster Abbey.
Chance encounter with an early morning rehearsal by pipe bands outside Westminster Abbey. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
We then walked to Victoria Station to find somewhere to sit out of the cold wind that had blown up, and having done so we dozed on and off until it was time for breakfast. Real food, sitting at a table, was a treat and we enjoyed it. It was still early but I was so tired I could barely walk and probably looked drunk to anyone who saw me, but I still had a couple of things to do so I carried on, very slowly.
After doing some radio interviews and meeting a couple of friends I finally caught the train and was collected from the station shortly after 3.30pm.
Walking indoors I sat down in the chair to look at one of the newspapers and the next I knew it was pitch dark, so I stumbled to bed where I didn't wake until almost 8am – I guess I needed the 15 hours sleep.
Having had to queue for considerably less time than had been anticipated, I had a couple of days to rest before the final leg of my farewell started, and it was just as well, for this was another marathon.
Setting off at 7am on Sunday with supplies, seats and a pillow I met a friend in London and after finding ourselves caught in one of the oneway systems and walking for an extra 40 minutes in order to cross the road, we set up our chairs exactly where I had planned to be, at around 11am, and there we stayed until it was all over the following day.
Sitting just observing what was happening around us was interesting – there were so many people, and they were all just walking along as directed.
I know that the British penchant for queueing has been laughed at for years but it is generally something I am happy to do if I know I will end up where I want to be, but this weekend has elevated it beyond measure – it was as if the police were determined to micro-manage every step taken by every person in the area. But in doing so they actually created far more of a crowd issue than there would have been if people could just come and then walk away, as most wanted, because nobody could turn round or get out without walking miles, literally miles.
Proud Kiwi contingent marching in the funeral procession. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
It was a nightmare, and all we heard as we sat in our seats was people complaining about how far they had been forced to walk, to go somewhere that they did not want to go. The one-way system also created a situation that I have never seen before, in that it unbalanced the distribution of people joining the crowd as they were unable to cross the road and go where they wanted to be. At one point the crowd behind us was 36 people deep, while on the opposite side of The Mall there was a single row.
Eventually it was full everywhere and people were directed to Hyde Park to watch proceedings on a big screen there, while we stayed exactly where we were, eating chocolate and sandwiches into the early hours of the morning. And throughout the night the people just kept on coming, and walking in circles, more and more and more of them. I have slept out on plenty of occasions before, but not with anything like this number of people around me.
Many had no idea what they were going to see, they just wanted to be there, to be part of it, to be able to say that they said farewell to the Queen, and if it meant sitting out all night they were happy to do it.
There was a low buzz of chatter all night but I wrapped up in my jacket and used the blanket that my son had brought for me to cover my legs as I was wearing shorts, and I had a few hours sleep before there was a very loud announcement about putting down tents at 5am.
I was very happy with the position by the gates of Clarence House as the King is still using it as his London home and we had seen him coming in and out in the car a couple of times on Sunday, before he returned with his Queen after the reception at Buckingham Palace, with the light on in the car so that we could see – the reception that they received from the cheering crowd was very reassuring to hear.
Before the funeral itself we saw the King and the new Prince of Wales leave for Westminster Hall and then the Queen Consort and new Princess of Wales departed accompanied by Prince George in his black tie, and Princess Charlotte, who reminded me of Jane Banks in Mary Poppins with her pretty little hat.
We watched the solemn procession transferring Her Majesty from Westminster Hall to the Abbey on a mobile phone, her family again walking behind the gun carriage, which was now the navy one used for previous monarchs' funerals, passing pavements lined only with troops.
Royal Heralds in the funeral procession. Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
Speakers had been put along The Mall and we were able to hear the entire funeral service clearly, and with orders of service available online there were words available for anyone who wanted to join in with the hymns.
The service ended with a silence, and as with the nationwide one observed the previous evening it was astonishing how loud silence sounded in a huge crowd of people.
Shortly before the service a very bright rainbow had appeared over the Palace of Westminster, and while we were waiting for the procession to reach us seven geese flew directly down the centre of The Mall in a perfect V formation as if in salute to the Queen before the sun started to try to come out and we suddenly found ourselves in a bright shaft of sunlight – typical weather for seeing the Queen in my experience.
And then finally it was here, the final chance to see my Queen.
I had suddenly thought on the train on the way that this was the very last time, after so many years of doing so, that I would be catching a train to see the Queen, and it had been a sad thought.
Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
And now, this was going to be my very last time to see my Queen, my last photo to take of the Queen. And that was devastating.
After taking so many thousands of photos of her in every outfit imaginable, from gumboots to tiaras, from evening dress and diamonds to headscarves and tweed skirts, I had seen it all, but this final image is different and will stay with me forever.
After the wonderful procession of military personnel from throughout the Commonwealth, and accompanied still by her closest family who were guarding her to the very end, suddenly there was silence in the crowd, and as I craned my neck I could just see the gun carriage approaching, and I watched through tears as it approached. It was as magnificent as it had been in that great hall.
Now adorned with colourful garden flowers and a card from the King the Queen's coffin still bore the crown, sceptre and orb, and in the sunshine they shone and sparkled as Her Majesty had once done when she smiled at you. It still had the essence of the Queen about it, which I loved as I had been afraid that in the drama and magnitude of all the glorious sound and colour of the procession it was easy for people to forget that the Queen was right there in the middle of it all, inside the box. I think that maybe some did forget, but I didn't.
This was my final farewell that I had travelled so far for, and it was perfect. I watched until I could see her no more and then it was over – she was gone forever.
But that was not quite the end – unable to leave our carpark because of the volume of people my son and I met a friend of his in a pub nearby, where they were showing the proceedings for customers, so we were able to watch from afar as Windsor welcomed home its most beloved resident, with thousands of people lining the Long Walk as the Queen returned to her much loved Windsor Castle a final time.
As they drove between the flowers that have been so lovingly laid out on the grass Her Majesty's groom had her pony standing beside him to say farewell, and after disappearing from public view the flower-covered hearse was again joined by the King and his siblings on foot for the final part of the drive to St George's Chapel for the committal service.
This was something I had not expected to be able to see as it happened, and the pub was full - some people watching, some not and some pretending not to be.
The loud audible gasp as the crown and other visible declarations of who the Queen was were removed one by one from the coffin showed how many were in fact watching and I found that a very powerful and shocking image – this really was the end and Elizabeth II was our Queen no more.
Photo / Julia McCarthy-Fox
We sat and watched to the end, and I was astounded that as the National Anthem started to play, with subtitles only, there was no sound in the pub, a couple of people started to sing, then more, and more, until every person inside and some outside was singing rousingly, making the hairs on my arms stand up. What a wonderful and unexpected end to the day.
It has been a joy and a privilege to live in the era of this remarkable monarch, and I have been beyond lucky to be able to follow her and know her as I did.
Has it been worth it to travel right around the world to come and say goodbye? Without a doubt — it has been worth every cent and every second.
